Jars of Clay

At Christmastime this preacher talked a lot about the Incarnation, the historical fact and the present day implications.  In the body of a teen-aged girl, God became a human being.  He was born in Bethlehem of Judea and laid in a manger because there was no room in the inn.  He shared our human existence.  He became that fragile “clay pot” Paul talks about (2 Corinthians 4:7)  just like us. 

And they broke Him, didn’t they?  They beat him, laughed at him, and jammed a crown of thorns into his scalp.   They stripped and whipped and nailed Him to a cross. 

What happened to Jesus in a matter of hours happens to us all through the course of our lives:  rejection, betrayal,  mockery; hurt, pain, the feeling of being abandoned.  We carry in these bodies the death of Jesus.  What men did to Jesus life does to us.  What He did among men, He does in us—He lives! 

Under a sky the color of slate, they took his body down from the cross. The poor women cradled his body in their arms. He lay there, a lifeless mass of welts and wounds, lay in the drizzle of their tears.  

There are days when life is broken in pieces.  There are days when we lie beaten in the bed, unable to put one foot over the side.  There are days that seem like night. 

They put Him in a rock hewn tomb, rolled a massive rock over the hole, and went away.   It was done, finished, over with.

There are days we can’t seem to go on.  The page is too heavy to turn.  We’re caught between a rock and a hard place.   

And then, somehow, by a power we can never understand, by a power we can only bless, hope seeps back into our minds, life comes back into our bodies.  And we rise again!  His story is our story. 

This is the treasure hidden in jars of clay.  This is our hope, our power, our glory, our song.