WHOM SHALL I SEND? by Ron Walters

To Soren Kierkegaard, Christmas was absurd. The Biblical Yuletide story, complete with a virgin, baby, angelic visitors, and a host of other nativity guests, was utterly irrational. And that, he concluded, was what made Christmas so perfect.

This 19th century Danish philosopher and church reformer had ruffled plenty of religious feathers. His brilliant literary fight against depersonalized religion served as a blowtorch to the cold and rigid Church of Denmark. Its icy theological traditions had numbed the hearts of the people. Ministers of God had become civil servants. Sermons were reduced to speeches. The warm hope of the Gospel was gone. Worship had become mechanical. And the things the church leadership couldn't explain, they simply excused. "After all," they muttered, "just because God doesn't make sense, doesn't mean we can't."

That's where Kierkegaard came in. He reasoned that the Christian faith, by necessity, is completely irrational. "No one can achieve spiritual birth by objective examination," he said. Rather, a subjective "leap of faith" is what propels us into God's family. Logical impossibility is both God's method and His trademark. That, in part, defines who God is. He is not bound to the rules of logic. He eternally lives out of the box.

Kierkegaard saw Christmas as the classic example of Christianity's absurdity. "A God, who is infinite and eternal, was born a man, who was finite and mortal." The Danish writer never tired of that profound paradox. Nor of its appeal.

Once he told the story of a mighty king whose heart was completely smitten by a beautiful young maiden in his kingdom. But how would the king pursue such a romantic notion with a mere commoner? Should he descend on her cottage with his entourage heralded him coming with blaring trumpets? Should he dazzle her with his royal crown, kingly robe and title? Should his minions display the wealth of his throne as the king knelt to ask for her hand in marriage? Or, perhaps the king should simply demand her betrothal. After all, as sovereign ruler he was entitled to the queen of his choice. But, by using his rightful authority, the king wondered how he would ever know if she truly loved him. Ultimately, the wise king chose a third option. He decided to leave his crown, riches and servants at home. Alone and tattered, he arrived in the woods disguised as a beggar, seeking first her favor, then her love.

Kierkegaard's story is the incarnation. The undoable was nicely accomplished. The unthinkable was well thought out. Absurdity got an A+. For the first time in eternity's history, The Almighty stepped completely out of character. He took on humanity's weak form. Nobility was forsaken as He became a lowly Jew. He was mothered by a virgin, thereby casing doubts and rumors upon His legitimacy. He was born in poverty, thus alienating Him from influential decision makers. The timing of His birth was all wrong. A godless political party was in power. Even His big debut, Christmas' opening night, appeared terribly disorganized; instead of a palace, crib and midwife, the King of kings had a stable, feed-trough and shepherds. And all of this in a one-intersection town, Bethlehem.

A well designed plan by the Creator? Apparently not. Is this the best Omnipotence can do? Madison Avenue would have laughed. What will God think of next? A cross?

Deep within the list of God's unexplainable agenda is His choice of messengers to tell this divine story. Only the most worthy would qualify. The obvious pick would seem to be sinless angels: beautiful, powerful, articulate, godly. But, as usual, God has a different plan. He accepts defective human volunteers to do His work! To every generation He asks, "Whom shall I send, and who will go for Us?" Naively, we responded, "Here am I. Send me." And with heavenly confidence He says, "Go." You and I have been chosen to declare this deep and marvelous mystery. His Story of Stories is ours to tell. We are part of His logical impossibilities. Isn't our God full of surprises?