Joseph went up from the town of Nazareth in Galilee to Judea, to Bethlehem the town of David, because he belonged to the house and line of David. He went there to register with Mary, who was pledged to be married to him and was expecting a child. While they were there, the time came for the baby to be born, and she gave birth to her firstborn, a son. She wrapped him in cloths and placed him in a manger, because there was no guest room available for them. Luke 2:4–7 (NIV)
Lord Jesus, whether or not you entered our world anywhere close to our December 25th is irrelevant. That you actually came from eternity into time and space—not as a metaphor, myth, fable or tale, that’s what matters. We needed a real Savior, not a great story.
Any other king would’ve come with great fanfare and a royal entourage. But it’s the smallness and quietness of your birth that’s arresting. “No guest room available” wasn’t an insult to you. It was your choice, your plan, the way of the gospel. From the cradle of your birth, to the cross of your death, to the crown or your resurrection, you came to be our Savior.
Indeed, you never consider your equality with God something to be protected or hoarded. Rather, you made yourself “nothing,” becoming one of us—tabernacling among as God in the fullness of our human race, that we might know the greatness of your saving grace.
“Mild he lays his glory by. Veiled in flesh, the Godhead see. Hail, the incarnate Deity, pleased, as man, with men to dwell, Jesus, our Emmanuel! Peace on earth and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled!” A thousand times, Yes!
We crave the Day when every knee will bow and every tongue confess that you are Lord, to the glory of God our Father. It’s going to be a loud and large Day. But on this Christmas Eve, we humble ourselves, in quietness and stillness, gratefulness and peace. Thank you for coming to us, Lord Jesus. Thank you for saving us from our sins. So very Amen we pray, in your great and gracious name.