A shocking claim at the heart of Christianity is that God, the creator and sustaining force of existence, took on human flesh in the person of Jesus Christ . Stranger still, Christians maintain that God manifested as the newborn son of a peasant woman named Mary and a laborer named Joseph. Unable to secure even the humblest of rooms during her labor, Mary gave birth to the God baby in the dank recesses of a cave.

The disorienting and marvelous story of the Nativity has captivated and confounded the world for thousands of years. The idea that God would empty himself of his divinity and take the form of a servant cuts sharply against our every instinct, especially the human preoccupation with power. Indeed, the struggle for power is now so central to the human experience that even the dead are expected to participate by resting “in power” instead of peace. That God would reveal his nature by renouncing his power is not only confusing to the modern mind but repugnant.

But in the language of God, which is, in accordance with his nature, the language of the heart, the Nativity rings immediately true. More than historical poetry, the details of Jesus's birth work to repair the rupture between man and God caused by the inaugural power grab. Adam and Eve, dissatisfied with the mere gifts of life and love, longed for the power to become like gods, for the power to determine for themselves what constituted right and wrong.

And so, in his bottomless longing to reconcile with his children, God entered into the depth of our dysfunction by taking the form of a peasant baby in the most desperate of circumstances. In the Nativity, God’s obedience to the law of love reversed the disobedience of the first parents. The rebellion of pride was countered by God’s rebellion of exquisite, self-denying love.

This rebellion persists today. It is remarkable to consider how much the world has changed since Adam and Eve walked in the garden, and yet, the animating forces of the human experience remain unchanged. In all things, we participate in either the serpent's rebellion or God's.

The spirit of God’s rebellion in the Nativity persists when a paycheck is deposited into the family savings account and when a consumer denies himself a cheap product made by children in the developing world.

It persists when the temptation to lash out in violence and anger against those who cause offense is resisted, even when the anonymity of the internet makes it seem consequence-free.

It persists in the seemingly impossible choice for life in the most desperate of circumstances, and it persists in the church community that accompanies women in crisis.

It persists in the struggle for chastity in a culture that commodifies sex and encourages usury, no matter the personal cost to all involved.

It persists in those who forgive when forgiveness feels impossible and in the sincere repentance of those incapable of repaying the debts of their misdeeds.

It persists in the giving of alms when no one sees and in the faithful prayer of hope for better days.

It persists in the utterance of incontrovertible truths in the face of terrible earthly consequences.

God’s rebellion is unmoved by longing for material comfort. It is of a different order altogether.

This Christmas, may Christians and non-Christians alike meditate upon the strange and unsettling story of the birth of the God baby, and may it revolutionize our understanding of true power.

And may we heed the call of St. Paul, who said, “I will rather boast most gladly of my weaknesses, in order that the power of Christ may dwell with me.”

Peter Laffin is a contributor at the Washington Examiner. His work has also appeared in RealClearPolitics, the Catholic Thing, and the National Catholic Register.