I remember hearing a story some years ago, told by a mother about her then teen-aged son. She was remembering a time when he was much younger still, and known more for his energy and enthusiasm than for his self-control or delicate touch. Many of the gifts he had been given had probably been broken fairly quickly, over the years, and therefore his gifts tended to be sturdy things, ones that did not break easily.

But one year, apparently, he asked for a manger scene. More specifically, he asked for what he called "a breakable Jesus." In other words, he wanted a Jesus that was not made to withstand being dropped, banged, or even thrown across the room. He wanted a Jesus that was more delicate, more fragile, and, in his own mind at least, more beautiful and precious.

Often the most beautiful things are in fact very breakable. Their delicacy often contributes to their beauty. On the Christmas tree, glass balls are hung that catch and hold the light. If their glass were thicker, and therefore tougher, the light would not shine through so clearly. When we hold a newborn baby, their very vulnerability, their "break-able-ness" is part of what calls us to love and care.

Closely related to vulnerability is impermanence. We consider rainbows beautiful, often stopping our activity in order to view them, and yet rainbows never last. The sun shifts, the water fades from the air, or our angle changes, as it is gone. But there is something in that very transience that allows the rainbow to be not just an object, but a window, an indicator, of something more.

I know that the young boy years ago got his wish, and was given a "breakable Jesus." The truth, though, is that in the Incarnation, we are all of us given a breakable Jesus. At Christmas we are given the gift of the beautiful, precious, infinitely fragile Jesus, who is entrusted to us, born in Bethlehem 2000 years ago, and born in us today.