Around Christmas, there is a lot of talk about peace and goodwill, love and giving.  

However, it often seems that Christmas is more of a time to overindulge in food and spending, the time when it's a nightmare getting a parking spot, when people are pushy in the malls and the lineups are crazy, the time when those whose lives are usually lonely feel even more alone, the time when we are bombarded by lights and decorations and artificial everything.

But sometimes in the midst of all this, we hear something different.  Perhaps it's a song on the radio that is weird and out of place with all the other music and commercials that fill the airwaves.  It is strange, dissonant, even slightly uncomfortable:  "Away in a manger, no crib for a bed...the little Lord Jesus asleep on the hay."  Are these songs just a nod in the direction of some religious tradition that is a part of our heritage?  Are they just a reminder of time past when churches used to be more sacred than shopping malls?  Or are they perhaps something more, a small voice that is marginalized, but still speaks, subverting the very festivities that carry its name?

The song speaks of a poor baby, born in a barn, sleeping on straw.  What does this have to do with the season of artificial lights, credit cards, and shopping malls?

Perhaps this strange story of the child in the barn is unsettling because it actually undermines all of the other dominant values on display during this season.  While commercials urge us to buy more and more things, the story of the baby is a story of poverty.  While decorations and lights point us to what is beautiful and attractive, the story of the baby takes place where it is dark, filthy, and smells badly.  While songs remind us that we had better watch out because Santa is only coming to the "good little girls and boys," the story of this baby's life features criminals, outcasts, prostitutes, and rebels.  While our festivities celebrate happiness, there is a huge shadow over the head of this baby because one day he will be tortured to death as a political prisoner.

For many, this story is so out of place with the dominant Christmas "spirit" in our culture that it is best just to ignore it.  But for those of us who believe that this young girl having a baby is also the story of God being born into the world, we cannot afford to ignore it.  It means that instead of coming like we might imagine with displays of power and undeniable proofs of his existence, this God sneaks up on us, comes to us where we least expect it.  It means that instead of compelling us to believe and obey, God comes to us in such a small way that we can ignore him if we choose.  He makes himself vulnerable to us and asks us to follow him.  It means that this God is not distant or removed, immune to all of our pain and the mess we are making of his world.  It means that God has come very close, close enough to touch, close enough to be wounded by us, right into the very lowest parts of our experience as human beings—pain, rejection, brokenness, death.  He is not just a 'God-over-us,' but an Immanuel, a 'God-with-us.'

For those of us who accept this story as true, it must redefine the way we look at the world.  When we look at the strange nativity scene with the poor family and their visitors who are outcasts and foreigners, we are given a glimpse of God's perspective.  If we are going to recognize God when He shows up, then we have to realize that God comes into the world in such as these.  We are going to have to learn to notice those who we might otherwise pass by, whether they are on the street, in our neighborhoods, or in our workplaces.  We are going to have to see with different eyes and hear with different ears and love with bigger hearts.

And to those of us who feel that we are the empty, the broken, that our lives are full of shame, to every single one of us, this strange story tells us that we are not left to ourselves.  We are loved.  We are precious.  God would go to such great lengths to be with us.  And when he came to rescue us, he came as one of us—vulnerable and breakable, just like we are.

So, let's consider that if this outrageous thing is true—this baby who in one lifetime would be a refugee, a homeless man, an executed prisoner.  If God comes to us like this, then maybe we are all wrong about what we think is important.  If this story is true, maybe it changes everything.

Rachel Tulloch is a member of the speaking team at Ravi Zacharias International Ministries in Toronto, Canada.