It can be pretty easy to think of the story of Jesus’ nativity in the Gospels in terms of a series of enormously difficult obstacles that were overcome through a seemingly impossible series of events. The account ends with the “miraculous” appearing of God’s Son in the form of a vulnerable-looking baby—the Christ child—who, even after being born, still has to contend with a king determined to do away with him.
Do we sometimes think of our own healing efforts from a similar perspective? Do we find ourselves fixated on the labyrinth of symptoms and challenges we have to face, and then through intense efforts of studying and praying, expect to find the miraculous metaphysical needle in the haystack that will enable our infant sense of Christ to heal the problem? Then, even after we’ve experienced healing, do we still feel pursued by a Herod-like feeling that the harmony we’ve seen may only prove to be temporary? If so, can we really say we’re noticing the fullness of Christ in either the Christmas story or our own approach to healing?
No matter how much a material sense of things would encourage us to see the world through a lens where good and evil are perpetually battling things out, and with darkness often being the more dominant force, isn’t a basic message of Christmas that the manifestation of God’s goodness and light cannot be stopped, and that there can’t be any real opposition to what God is doing? Looking back, we realize Truth was in charge of the whole thing from the outset and the outcome was never in doubt. The angel Gabriel’s visit and message to the Virgin Mary, telling her that she would bring forth the Savior by the Holy Ghost, didn’t end in a question mark. The light from the star of Bethlehem was in no danger of fizzling out due to all of the darkness it had to break through. The Christmas story is the story of God and His Christ, the spiritual idea of Truth, declaring to all the world and for all time, that Spirit is supreme, and the only true creator.