Silence blanketed the now-darkened city. The final candle glowing from the farthest window flickered and sputtered its way out. The streets were empty. The massive queues of travelers lined up outside every available inn and boarding house had been absorbed into rooms, squeezed into family homes, or chosen to pitch a tent on the outskirts of town. The chatter of visiting relatives reacquainting themselves with distant family and the town they hadn’t seen in years had finally ceased. The previously busy food stalls were dark and silent. The city slept. Exhausted from their journey, every soul in Bethlehem was tucked away in their beds, ignorantly snoring their way through the most important hours of their lives. Everyone except the couple relegated to the musty stable at the rear of the inn.
They were still awake. Uncomfortably so. This wasn’t how they thought they’d be spending the night. Piling hay up to make a decently comfortable place to sleep. Never had they dreamed everyone would flood into Bethlehem on the exact same day or that they would stay longer than absolutely necessary. The thought had never occurred to them that the inn might be full. The plan had always been to make the journey, sleep in the comfort of the inn, register, and return home, all before the baby’s birth. It clearly wasn’t going to be that way.
Bunching the hay more solidly behind her head, Mary sighed and forced away the tears sitting just behind her eyelids. This wasn’t how it was supposed to be. She wasn’t supposed to be traveling so near her due date. She wasn’t supposed to be feeling the first signs of labor when she was so far from home. Her baby wasn’t supposed to be born in a dusty stable with a handful of animals rudely looking on. She’d planned it so much differently. Better. Cleaner. Happier. She’d even planned to call the midwife, allow her mother to help, enlist the neighborhood women for advice on tending a newborn. Unfortunately, it wasn’t turning out that way.
Arriving at the inn, they had found it beyond capacity. The fire marshall would have had a heyday had he chosen that night to make an inspection. Their “Maximum Occupancy” sign had been roundly ignored. Not a spare room, bed, couch, or floor space was left. Whether or not the innkeeper wanted to turn away the pregnant lady and her husband, no matter how wretchedly he felt in doing so, he could hardly be expected to kick out already-paid customers on their behalf. So he’d offered them what he had. His only available space. The stable. Middle stall. Between the donkey and the cow. Nevermind the milling sheep and wandering goats. The air was rancid, but the hay was clean. It was the best they could do.
They’d had to take it. There was no other choice. No one had told them to pack a tent and camping cots. And Mary was getting desperate. Whether or not she’d told Joseph yet, the intermittent pains that began earlier in the day were growing more insistent. No amount of sitting had helped. Ignoring them hadn’t made them go away. Deep breathing had not eased their effect. They were even more frequent now. Stronger. And her mother wasn’t anywhere around. She wasn’t at home. She was in a stable on a prickly bed of hay. It was dark. Dingy. Smelly. There wasn’t time to call the midwife, nor was there a stablehand or friend to send. While everyone else in the burgeoning city slept peacefully in their soft, warm beds, their long-awaited Messiah was entering their world. And they completely missed it.
No one heard the groans of a first-time mother experiencing the ebb and flow of labor pains. No one heard the gentle voice of an overly anxious Joseph as he attempted to calm his laboring mate while making the uncomfortable stable a safe place to give birth. No one called for a doctor. No one rang the midwife. A labor and delivery nurse hadn’t conveniently booked the stall next to theirs. No concerned relatives came to help. No kind strangers stopped to offer aid. No one left the comfort of their warm beds to see the need for soft, clean towels and a basin of warm water. No one even knew what was happening in that dingy stable stall. No one heard a baby cry. No one heard the awestruck voices of new parents. No one heard anything besides the quiet lowing of oxen and gentle bleating of sheep. No one in Bethlehem saw anything except the inside of their eyelids. No one in the city knew Jesus was even there. (Luke 2:1-7)
It wouldn’t be the last time people missed Him. Even the people in His hometown would fail to realize Who walked among them. They would listen to His teachings. Hear of His miracles. Wonder from where He obtained His wisdom. Yet they would never entertain the idea of His Deity because all they could see was His humanity. Where He came from. Who His mother was. What His earthly father did for a living. So great was their unbelief that they missed out. A lot. Their lack of faith prevented Jesus from doing all the miracles He would have done for them had they shaken the sleep of unbelief from their eyes and recognized who walked among them. (Matthew 13:53-58; Mark 6:1-6)
Throughout His earthly ministry, Jesus would find Himself stalked and hunted by those attempting to trip Him up, invalidate His teachings, eradicate the place He was taking in their world. He would be despised by humanity, rejected by His people, and dismissed by religious authorities. He would be mocked and scorned because the ignorant people of His day refused to wake up, open their eyes, and see who was right in front of them. He didn’t match what they imagined, so they wrote Him off as just another prophet trying to make a name for Himself. He wasn’t. He was so much more. And they missed it. Because their souls were asleep when He walked among them. (Isaiah 53:3-6; Matthew 22:15-40; Luke 11:53-54; Mark 12:13-27)
Even after His brutal death on the cross and miraculous resurrection from the grave, some still needed proof of who He was. Proof He wasn’t dead. Proof He was again alive and moving on earth. Not the people who had never believed. One who had. Thomas. He didn’t care what the others said. He didn’t care what they claimed to have seen. If he didn’t see it with his own eyes, touch it with his own hands, he wasn’t going to believe it. A week passed before it happened. When Jesus came to visit the disciples again, He made sure Thomas was there. He offered the opportunity to place his fingers in the nail scars. He gently admonished Thomas to have faith. Believe. Even when you can’t see it. Even when you can’t feel it. Even when you have absolutely no proof of His presence. Trust Him. Believe He is there. Blessed are the ones who do. Blessed are those who, although they have never seen His face, audibly heard His voice, or physically felt His touch, still believe He is here among us. (John 20:24-29)
That’s us. You and me. We are the ones Jesus was talking about there. The ones who haven’t had the privilege of sitting in His classroom, taking notes on His lessons, asking questions, and getting immediate answers, yet still we read and study His Word because we believe. We are the ones who haven’t held audible, two-sided conversations with Him, yet still, we bare our souls to Him in moments of prayer because we believe. We are the ones who’ve never felt the physical touch of His hand yet desperately cry out for it in seasons of illness, fear, anxiety, pain, and confusion because we believe in the power and presence of God. We are the ones who have never placed our fingertips in His nail scars, yet choose to rest in the knowledge that our names are engraved on His palms. We are the ones who have never seen or heard or felt the physical evidence, but have experienced the spiritual proof because we believe in the presence and power of Jesus Christ, tangible or intangible. We believe He is here. Just as He promised. God is with us. Always. Even if you don’t immediately hear Him speak. Even if you can’t see the evidence of His hand. Even though you’ve never seen His face. Emmanuel is here. He has come. The baby everyone missed centuries ago is still with us. He walks among us. He works within us. He is here. We believe. (Isaiah 49:16; John 10:2-29; 14:18; Romans 8:35-39; Psalm 46:1)
We haven’t always. Sometimes our faith falters. We’ve all had moments when we missed Him. We didn’t feel His presence and believed He wasn’t there. We didn’t see a miracle and believed He wasn’t working. We didn’t hear His voice and mistakenly believed He didn’t hear ours. We were wrong. God is with us. Now. Always. In our darkest hours of sin and suffering. In our greatest times of pain and despair. In moments of crushing disappointment and suffocating sadness. God is with us. Even if we don’t hear Him. Even if we don’t see Him. Even if we don’t feel His presence. God is with us. We believe. When everything around us goes pear-shaped. When the news is full of disaster and gloom. When fear and anxiety shroud our souls. When grief and dismay cloud our skies. No matter the situation or circumstance. We choose to place our faith in what we cannot see. We choose to believe. God is with us. Today. Tomorrow. Always. We believe. (Psalm 27:10; 34:15; 56:8; 73:23-26)
This Christmas season, as we celebrate and meditate on everything the season entails, may you find you believe. Truly. Completely. May you believe in the unfathomable grace and infinite love of God toward mankind exhibited in the humble, unnoticed birth of His Son for the express purpose of dying as a sacrifice for your sins. May you believe in the life-altering power of His shed blood on the cross to forgive your sins and eternally save your soul. May you believe in the guiding presence of His Spirit given to mankind at Pentecost. Whatever bog you are walking through, whatever troubling circumstances surround you, whatever trial looms large on your horizon, may you believe God is with you. Even if you don’t hear Him. Even if you don’t see Him. Even if you don’t feel Him there. May you still believe. God is with you. Always. Do you believe? (Psalm 23:4; 139:7; Deuteronomy 31:6; Matthew 1:23; 28:20; John 1:14; 3:16-17)