"I Remember When Jesus was a Baby"

How often does a mother think, "I remember when _____ was a baby, he used to ________." Or, when going through ornaments on the tree, seeing "Baby's First Christmas."
Or when handling baby clothes from long ago, thinking, "I remember when he wore this. Can't believe he was ever so little!" My husband's mom, who died 20 days before our wedding, had buried Paul's brother the year before her own death. I wonder if she was remembering the day he was born soon after they told her Gary was dead. He was 33.

I was reading this morning in John 19. Joseph of Aramathea has asked Pilate's permission to take Jesus' body and bury it. Nicodemus joins him, and brings 75 pounds of spices and burial ointments, aloe and such. Can't you just feel their agony as they rub lanolin on the Lamb of God and dab cleansing creams on the deep wounds of their bloody Savior and friend Yeshua?

After they cleaned His body and applied the comforts and sealers for his burial, they wrapped him in swaddling clothes and laid him a tomb. Linens that must have looked like giant bandages around His torn flesh. Carefully they pulled out the deep thorny wreath from his scalp. They dressed the gouge in his ribs where blood and water had dripped out from the site where the soldier's sword had pierced him. They had to be careful and yet hurry. It was almost sundown. Sabbath was nearly upon them and they couldn't touch a dead body on the sabbath. . In fact this was no ordinary sabbath. This was Passover. They had to get home and prepare for the supper of lamb.

Mary his mother had seen them take down her son's naked body from the cross. What to put on him? Soldiers had already cast lots for his unique purple garment that had no seams. It was woven from top to bottom without a seam. But now it was gone. Sold to the lucky winner wearing Roman armor and carrying a sword. Maybe a blood-tipped sword.

Can you imagine being Jesus' mother Mary and having flashbacks to that evening 33 years before, when she was about to give birth? Her water broke. There was bloody show. She didn't have a lacy white layette for him or a ruffled bedskirt for his crib. His crib was a common, animal-slobbered feed trough, probably splintered from wear. He took His first breath in a barn filled with the very animals He had filled with breath. His mother nursed him--the Bread of Life--and set Him down in a place where young colts and donkeys and sheep took their daily sustenance. Mary probably brushed out the crumbs of grain and prickly hay as best she could between contractions. I remember thinking in the hospital, "This place is so clean. I can't imagine giving birth in any other country." I remember thinking also, "I hope the baby clothes I brought will fit him."

But Mary had no proper baby clothes. She wrapped her infant boy in grave clothes. Linens that accompany last rites. I'm sure it was one of those many things she kept and pondered in her heart. Her baby boy came into this world soaked in blood and water. Her adult son came down from the cross the same way. His swaddling clothes weren't proper for the Son of God, but they were fitting.