What Child is This?

What child is this, who, laid to rest
On Mary's lap, is sleeping?
Whom angels greet with anthems sweet,
While shepherds watch are keeping?


Every child is a miracle. What else would you call such a little bundle of joy? Tiny fingers, innocent eyes, soft skin, sweet smell-- but most importantly-- a person?

But what is so important about this child? How can He be more than a miracle? What makes Him so special? He is just as weak and just as vulnerable as any other little baby. He is sleeping in His mother's arms, shivering slightly in the way that babies have a habit of, and probably drooling all over her sleeve.

This, this is Christ the King,
Whom shepherds guard and angels sing:
Haste, haste to bring him laud,
The Babe, the Son of Mary! 

This is Jesus, the Son of God. He is part of the Trinity. He is God.
He made the world. All of its complexities, all of its brilliancy-- He made it. He made you. It is because of Him that you and I exist at all.

What child is this? So small? So weak? So willing to suffer, for those that He created? So delicate and breakable? So human?


This is probably the single most important question you could be asking yourself right now. What child is this? Is this really God? Do you believe it? It is beyond your imagination, if you really try. Try, right now. Put away your fears of actually seeing this. Shut your eyes, forget lists of things to do, and spend ten seconds really paying attention. This child is more than a picture on Christmas cards.

Raise, raise the song on high,
The Virgin sings her lullaby:
Joy, joy, for Christ is born,
The Babe, the Son of Mary!