When God Came Close
The Nativity, neuroscience, and the healing power of embodied love
Part of what I’m learning about in the intersection of spirituality and neuroscience, or rather, neurotheology, is that everything begins in the body.
The same is true with the Christmas story. Christmas doesn’t begin in certainty or comfort. It begins in the body. For many, it’s a tired body. For Mary, it was a laboring body, and for Jesus, it was a newborn baby learning how to breathe.
As most know, Jesus’ birth story is certainly not triumphant, but it is vulnerable. There is a rootedness in flesh, breath, and need. When you pair that with neuroscience, it helps us understand why this matters, which is that lasting transformation happens through presence — a presence that feels safe. It doesn’t happen through force.
May this holy day meet you gently
May the noise soften
May you intentionally breathe deeply
May your body remember what your soul already knows.
You are not alone—
You are loved, and you matter.
May the Love that arrived in a manger
draw near to you now,
tenderly, quietly, and without demand.
May it be so.
When I read the story of Jesus’ birth through Luke’s eyes, I read about a very pregnant woman and her husband-to-be trying to find a room at an inn, but there wasn’t one. There was also no preparation, no nursery, and no certainty. There was only consent.
Mary was far from home as she went into labor, and Joseph stood by watching, unsure of what to do or what would happen next.
More uncertainty.
Then, a baby appears, entering the world in a dirty manger. This wasn’t a safe condition, but Jesus was held in relational presence. There was skin-to-skin as Mary and Joseph held their newborn close, listening to his breaths, soothed by his voice, and warmed by care.
From a neuroscience perspective, this is not only profound but the miracle of Love. It is deep and heartfelt.
A newborn’s nervous system develops through connection, so that skin-to-skin stuff is important. So is the heartbeat-to-heartbeat and breath-to-breath, especially between a mother and child. The calm presence of a caregiver teaches the infant how to regulate stress and trust the world. That is how the initial stages of safety are learned. It is through relationship.
The other part of the Christmas story I have been reflecting on is that God arrived, wrapped in breath and skin, not protected with power. In other words, God arrived in a way that the nervous system could receive.
Also, what if the manger wasn’t a mistake? What if it was a message?
What if it is a message that love doesn’t coerce or dominate, but comes close to be held?
So, on that first Christmas night, after Jesus was born, shepherds were startled by wonder. These are people who were trained to be vigilant, but their nervous systems shifted from being alert to receiving joy.
Take a breath and pause.
A star guided these wise men slowly. They didn’t rush. They followed the guidance of a star, and angels surrounded, singing in peace.
Neuroscience affirms what the Nativity proclaims, which is that when we feel safe, our hearts are open. I would dare to say our hearts open wide when we feel safe. It is then that our body softens and love is received.
The Incarnation is not just a theological truth. It is biological. God meets us in our humanity at the level of breath, body, and belonging.
Pause and imagine God arriving as a newborn. How does your body respond when you imagine that scenario?
What part of the Christmas story is something your body yearns for? How can you include that in your Christmas seasons?
What part of you longs for gentleness rather than explanations or debates this Christmas?
As you get into a comfortable position, let your jaw drop down and intentionally drop your tongue from the roof of your mouth. Let your feet relax. If you are seated, rest your feet on the ground, and let your shoulders relax.
Imagine the night of Jesus’ birth as something you are witnessing. It isn’t a pageant, but a lived moment.
Imagine the inhale and exhale of the animals’ breathing, and the stillness of the air. There is a gentle urgency of new life arriving.
Now imagine Mary holding her child skin-to-skin and breath-to-breath. Joseph is standing nearby. He is present, faithful, but unsure. And, that’s ok.
Notice your body as it responds to this image — God arriving as a small human being, warm and dependent.
Let your breath slow.
If you are inclined, place a hand over your heart and pray silently:
God-with-us, Emmanuel, be born in me again,
in my body,
in my breath,
and in my becoming.
Take a few deep breaths in. Pause here for a few minutes before returning to your day.
The miracle of Christmas is not only that God came near. It is how God came. It was through vulnerability and embodied love, without urgency. Jesus’ birth teaches us that healing doesn’t begin with control. It begins with connection. And, it is in this ancient truth that continues to restore us today, and is now reiterated by neuroscience.
May the Child born in the night
be born again in the quiet places within you.
May peace settle into your nervous system,
as your breath becomes steady
and Love reminds you that
even in uncertainty, hope is with us.
May it be so.
May you know that you are loved because you matter.
May your soul be refreshed.
sdg
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Read my memoir in motion, a journey of healing from a narcissistic mother/daughter relationship.