The cattle are lowing, the Baby awakes,
But little Lord Jesus, no crying He makes.
I call no way! Of course, we were viewing these lyrics from the other side of the cry room's windows, because that is our penalty box, the deserved punishment for having kids and then bothering to show up to church. Mikko wasn't actually crying, just occasionally screeching whenever the service's volume grew too quiet for his comfort. He's like the guest at the party who's oversensitive to awkward silences. Behind us in the cry room was a baby using it to the max, screaming full tilt in annoyance at being newly born instead of snug in the womb -- I remember those days with Mikko very well. We made it back into the sanctuary only in time to have him slobber all over my Silent Night candle (unlit, natch) and grin droolingly at the congregants in our radius.
So, the docetic image of newborn baby Jesus calmly looking around at some cows with just some swaddling blankets and hay to warm him doesn't seem quite right, but there you are.
It's easy, in this my first Christmas with a real live baby in my arms, to lay aside Marcion heresy and embrace the fully human aspect of the Incarnation, to imagine a divine baby as annoying, adorable, warm, chubby, and hilarious as mine.
I love Thee, Lord Jesus, look down from the sky
And stay by my cradle till morning is nigh.
May you and your little loved ones be blessed this holiday. Merry Christmas.