We seem to hate our bodies,
Loath embodiment.
If we aren't longing to have our souls pull off into heaven,
Then we are talking about uploading our essences
To a computer singularity.
Short of that, we spend half our time
Disembodied, our minds focused
On digital substitutes for reality.
Christmas is embodiment.
The messiness and pain of birth.
A human man, walking the Earth
In sandalled feet
Mostly on dirt roads
(only occasionally on water).
He wasn't forever talking about disembodied souls.
He connected them to bodies.
Earthy illness healed - sometimes with mud.
Leaving these poor husks of bodies behind,
Christmas is the reverse.
Earthy stories about seeds and sheep
And lost objects and money.
Earthly relationships restored.
And finally,
All of creation restored.
Here.
Not in a virtual reality,
Not in a digital version of our brainwaves,
Not in a fantasy realm of clouds and harps.
Here.
On Earth as it is in Heaven.
He came to embody
With hands and feet
And a voice and a face
The goodness of a human life.
We are called
Not to disembodiment,
But to incarnation.
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