Some years ago I was given an insight into God’s love, the Love that become an infant, a human child.

Here is the story. A dear friend visited her niece in California and invited me to come along, since I was studying there at the time. The niece was living with a man, in a neighborhood just a few blocks from San Quentin Prison. The two were not sure they would ever get married or even stay together. But they had given birth to a child.

This infant boy had suffered a terrible birth, deprived of oxygen during parts of it. The result was a well-formed, beautiful newborn except for one thing: he could do nothing whatsoever on his own, including breathe, so severe had been the damage to his brain.

The young mother told me that they could easily have let the boy slip away, there in the operating room. No reason to make the poor child suffer. But they couldn’t do it, she said, could not just write off this tiny personality and just get on with their lives. They were struck with love for the tender, fleeting, sweet soul that had issued from God through them.

So they bestowed a name on him. They baptized him and took him home. They rented a machine to accomplish the breathing process for him.

During his life of six months or so, one of the parents had to remain close enough to him to hear even the tiniest change of tone in his breathing. So they traded off. One would go out for a walk while the other lingered with the tiny self. Next, that other would shop and tend to necessities while the first bore duty at home. As I conversed with them, I saw that they were not terrified or burdened, but calm. Death was on its way, no illusions, but they just plain loved this utterly helpless child anyway.

I found we were in a holy place. I could feel it.

A quiet understanding came over me. Something was holding us all, gently, quietly, with an embrace that was not a restraint, but a loving caress. It was palpable. It was a stability, not a fancy display. I was not the only one to notice. The mother told me that others had reported a love emanating from the boy, a subliminal, barely readable message from him. Something of God was softly but firmly in place.

And that was my lesson.

It still is today in our world’s turmoil:

... that the journey through life can be short, seemingly bizarre, and yet sacred. Love and human life are meant for each other. This infant’s very tiny passage through life showed that fact with mysterious clarity.

And it showed how God could make his home in a newborn child. In the midst of great losses, God is here.

I think of this story at Christmas. This same subliminal holiness filled the manger and the stable on Christmas night long ago. Jesus, that tiny, charming soul, bathed in love, was born—without damages of course, but nevertheless bound to be injured and in fact mangled in the process of completing his (and our) loving trip from God and back to God.

The little boy in California went sweetly to the place he was bound for. His parents did in fact get married and they have other children now.

And Jesus is born.

We are in a holy place.