Do not be afraid; for see — I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people; to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord. Luke, 2:10-11. 

When I was a little girl, I loved the Little House books by Laura Ingalls Wilder. From one of these stories, I learned my first bedtime prayer:

Now I lay me down to sleep,
I pray the Lord, my soul to keep,
If I die before I wake,
I pray the Lord my soul to take.

Well. That’ll keep a kid up all night.

It didn’t help that I grew up during the Cold War, in a world that-as we were constantly reminded-could be vaporized instantly by a man fingering a button somewhere. Kindergarten featured earthquake drills and stop-drop-and-roll between graham crackers and storytime. The threat of devastating change hung over our heads like a blade.

Another year or two. My prayers evolved into litanies: Dear God, please don’t let robbers break in, and please don’t let our house catch fire, and please don’t let my brother get got by the gorillas (this last intercession for my brother, serving in the Navy where Philippine guerilla fighters sought to seize power). I had learned to fear change.

It’s easy to look back on these fears with amusement, easy now to understand how a simple prayer-unfortunately worded-could spin me into insomnia. But I wonder how honest we are, here and now, about how the world takes our breath away-with its craziness and cruelty as well as its beauty. And what exactly can we expect if we call on a God so powerful he could create all this?

For two weeks now, angels have arrived in our story, and the first thing they say to Mary and to the shepherds-even before they get around to mentioning the good news-is don’t be afraid. And no wonder. They know we are ill-equipped to encounter the Holy. They know the good news will shake us to the core: everything has changed.

So we’re back in that time and place: huddled in bed, pleading for the light to be left on just a little bit longer. We await the coming of our Savior, and it’s a holy grab bag, a divine blind date. What will He be like? Will He love me? When at last He arrives, we’re simply stunned. The Lord of Hosts comes to us as a baby, an embodiment of everything helpless and vulnerable within us. His very incarnation says, “See how I’m with you now. Don’t be afraid.”