December 16 -- James

I'm a bit late, but some marathon midnight bonding time with Benji has given me time to think about something to share. I see that some earlier posts have already touched on this topic (and others) quite nicely; they've been delightful to read.

Several of the Christmas hymns are lullabies. One that we've often sung to Benji is "Away in a Manger." I smile when I sing the part "The cattle are lowing, the poor baby wakes / But little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes." Hint, hint, Benji.

Many times, I have sung this song and envisioned a Christ child who behaved quite differently from other babies. But now I wonder. I wouldn't be surprised if Jesus cried as much as any other baby. In fact, I would be very surprised if he didn't cry his fair share--and struggle to sleep, and spit up, and get a runny nose, and do everything else that a growing baby does.

I don't say that just because I'm a first-time father up in the wee hours of the morning. I think that while Christ deserves every praise and deference we could give, there's something that's not quite right in considering him fundamentally in a different category from us. I, at least, have subconsciously set him apart in this way. I know he had to experience mortality, including some very unpleasant things. But at the same time, because he was Jehovah incarnate, and because he was without sin, I tend to think that mortal life--and especially knowing and choosing the right--was different for him, like taking a test with the answer sheet in hand, or like a college student doing a 3rd grader's math homework.

But I don't think it was that way; in fact, I think it had to not be that way. Christ had to descend below all things (D&C 88:6; 122:8). It was somehow essential for comprehending our condition and being able to work out the Atonement. Knowing about mortality would not have been enough; he had to experience it himself (Alma 7:13). And it was important that he experience it fully. I imagine that means he had to experience it as we do.

D&C 93:13 tells us that he "received not of the fulness at first, but continued from grace to grace, until he received a fulness." At least two other scriptures mention him learning (Luke 2:52, Heb. 5:8). He wasn't born with the Pentateuch in his hand, like John Henry with his hammer. He had to start from "In the beginning" and study the scriptures like everyone else. I wonder how much they interested him initially. And of course, he first had to learn to read and write. Maybe early on he wrote some of his letters backwards. He probably made endearing mistakes while learning to talk. After all, he once was a little child, as the Primary song says. Though at twelve he was mature beyond his years, I can't imagine he skipped to adulthood without any impromptu footraces and skinned knees and bug-catching and the like, especially given the deep love and understanding of children he showed later in life.


Perhaps most intriguing for me, having worked and prayed through many life-direction decisions in recent years, is the idea that he didn't know fully from the beginning who he was and what he was supposed to do. I imagine Mary and Joseph taught him about his destiny, but perhaps not all at once. And they could only teach as much as they themselves understood. The rest he must have figured out on his own, through study and guidance of the Holy Ghost. Imagine it dawning on him, him putting the pieces together, reading prophecies and realizing they applied to him. How must it have felt? How long did it take him? Might it have been hard to accept the life laid out for him?

And, importantly, it is not only humanity that we have in common with Christ; he declared our divinity along with his own, reminding us that we are gods, children of God (John 10:34) and continually referring to God as our Father in heaven (e.g. Matt. 5:16, 45, 48). When he encouraged men to follow him and instructed them that they ought to be as he was (3 Ne. 27:27), he meant it, and not as some impossible goal. With his help, the kind of life he led is something we truly can aspire to and achieve. The hope of the Christian is to come "unto a perfect man, unto the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ" (Eph. 4:13). The early apostles and martyrs, the pioneers, and many quietly good people have shown us that a truly Christlike life is possible. Knowing this gives me courage to try harder and keep trying.

Heb. 4:15-16

For we have not an high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities; but was in all points tempted like as we are, yet without sin.

Let us therefore come boldly unto the throne of grace, that we may obtain mercy, and find grace to help in time of need.