O Advent: A Manger and a Cross

The way Jesus visited this planet

One of the most important theological lessons of my life came from my wife, delivered around our family’s Christmas tree. On Christmas morning, our young family of five opened presents. For weeks, we had been preparing for the birth of Christ with Advent stories and candle lightings. That month of anticipation was always the highlight of our year — something we all eagerly looked forward to.

One Christmas, as our young children eagerly eyed the gifts under the tree, there was one large, beautifully wrapped package that stood out. It had no name on it, and we all wondered what it was — and who would get it! Then my wife stepped forward, picked up the gift, and announced that it was for the Maynard family and had to be opened before any other gift.

The wrapping came off quickly, revealing a plain box with no markings and a lid. Still no clue as to what was inside, my wife reminded us of our Advent preparation for the birth of Jesus over the past few weeks. We all nodded, and I’m sure my children, like me, were curious to see what was inside. Slowly, my wife lifted the lid, building the suspense, and revealed a remarkable painting: one of Christ in the manger — and beside it, Christ suffering on the cross. While this etching is not that painting, it captures the idea well enough.

It was a quiet moment around the tree as we all reflected on how Christ came to our world: first in a manger, and later on a cross. We went on to open our gifts, but we all agreed that the painting should be rewrapped and become the first gift of Christmas every year from then on.

I’ve thought many times about that powerful moment, which reminded us that the baby in the manger came to this world to suffer and die on the cross for our salvation. Much of our beautiful Christmas art is bathed in gold, with softly colored halos around the baby and his family. Yet, our Christmas celebrations often fail to connect the rosy-cheeked infant with the brutal treatment he would later endure as an adult.

Yes, the God who saves us spent his first days in a trough where animals fed. But this truth is helping me celebrate Christmas in a deeper way — by never forgetting that within the manger is the cross. The simple truth is that the baby of Bethlehem is the Savior on the cross of Golgotha. We forget this at our spiritual peril.

Opening my heart to the way God visited this world, I’m seeing more clearly that God’s visitation first in a manger and later in a cross is a particular kind of love. But there is nothing sentimental about Christmas and Golgotha love. God’s love is a particular kind of power: it exposes my sin, not to condemn me, but to overcome the sin and transform me. In the simple words of Psalm 35:1, God came to contend with the sins that contend with me—and that tension required both a manger and a cross. When I stop protesting that there must be another way, I begin to recognize that I can only be freed from my darkness by the One who freely came to this world to free me. The gift of freedom that comes from outside of me is found in a manger — and on a cross.

---

I appreciate all who support, subscribe, and share this independent endeavor with friends and family. If you haven’t already — please consider choosing a free or paid subscription as well as gifting a subscription to someone who would enjoy it.

I’m offering a 40% subscription price discount for any subscription through December 15. Click on this link to get this special offer that ends on December 15.

https://genemaynard.substack.com/ChristmasOffer

---

I enjoy the theories and theology of Christian spiritual formation, but I’m never content to stop there. The Compass invites you to navigate the interior way to a deeper connection with Jesus, and that journey requires both practical tools and spiritual practices, not just theories. The goal of the journey is never merely head-deep knowledge but heart-deep connection with Jesus. Below, you’ll find a visio divina exercise designed to lead you into a contemplative space where the eyes of your heart can open and see beyond what your physical eyes can perceive.