In those days Caesar Augustus issued a decree that a census should be taken of the entire Roman world. (This was the first census that took place while Quirinius was governor of Syria.) And everyone went to his own town to register. So Joseph also 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 room for them in the inn. Luke 2:1-7
Dear Jesus, it’s Christmas eve—the date we’ve set aside to remember and reflect upon your nativity. Luke took so much care to fix your birthday in the context of real history and a real world… but whether or not you were born anywhere close to December 25th is entirely irrelevant. That you were born… that you actually came from eternity into time and space… that’s what’s important.
“Born that man (including me) no more may die… Born to raise the sons of earth (including me)… Born to give them (including me) second birth.” I sing these words to you today with all the gratitude and delight I can possibly muster. For the certainty of your birth and my rebirth, I offer heartfelt praise.
Though I appreciate Luke’s chronicling the historical circumstances of your birthday, it’s the quietness of your birth which astonishes me. Any other king would’ve come with great fanfare and a royal entourage. But you came into our world in utter stillness and profound humility. “No room in the inn,” wasn’t an insult to you, Jesus. It was your choice—the way you lived your whole incarnate life… the way of the gospel.
Indeed, Jesus, we marvel, we wonder, we’re in awe of you… for you didn’t consider your equality with God something to be selfishly hoarded and held onto. Rather, you made yourself “nothing,” taking the very nature and posture of a human servant—the Servant of the Lord of Isaiah’s vision and songs. At the height (or depth) of your humility, you died our death on the cross. Speechless prostration and unfettered celebration both seem appropriate, in response to such sacred and sacrificial love.
“Mild he lays his glory by… Veil’d in flesh, the Godhead see… Hail, th’incarnate Deity… Pleased, as man, with men to dwell, Jesus, our Emmanuel!… Peace on earth and mercy mild, God and sinners reconciled…” Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!
Jesus, we increasingly look forward to the Day when every knee will bow and every tongue will confess that you are Lord, to the glory of God the Father. Until that Day, focus us and free us for living and loving to your glory. So very Amen, we pray, in your great and gracious name.