Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

Tears filled her eyes and cascaded down her face as she surveyed their accommodations. Things were not at all how she’d planned. Nothing was. Nothing had been for the last several months. Not since the surprise visit from Gabriel. The announcement of her unplanned pregnancy had thrown her perfectly laid plans in disarray. The painstaking wedding planning was suspended, the betrothal cut short.  Parenthood loomed before her far sooner than she hoped. Yet still she had hope.

Her mother’s heart had spent these last months planning and working, crafting tiny clothes and carefully stitched blankets. Her house was immaculate, swept, dusted, arranged and rearranged in an attempt to determine the perfect place to lay her precious Child. The midwife had been made aware of the impending necessity of her services. Every possible provision Mary could think of had been made to ensure a perfect, warm, loving birth of her Child. As long as it happened at home. 

She should have known better. Known not to construct air castles. Not to build a store of dreams. Not to create a list of means and methods. She should have expected something unexpected. Something like the decree forcing them to travel from Galilee to Bethlehem so near her due date. It was an ill-advised journey in the late stages of her pregnancy. A long journey. Ninety miles of tiresome schlepping. Days of wondering, worrying. Every pain making her heart stutter. Every ache causing her mind to wonder. 

Consistent pains had started a few hours ago. She hadn’t told Joseph. What little she’d heard in whispered confidences had her hoping they would stop, hoping it was just a practice session for the real thing. Her situation forced her to assume it wasn’t. Damp eyes glancing around the ugly space that would house them for the night, Mary sighed. The tears flowed again. It wasn’t what she’d planned. It wasn’t the warm, cozy, inviting atmosphere into which a child should be born. Her carefully prepared blankets and Joseph’s beautifully crafted cradle sat useless in their little cottage ninety miles away. There was nothing here but straw. And dirt. And animals. And a rock hard manger. When she planned to give Him everything she could, all she had to offer the Savior of the world was a drafty, dirty, desolate stable. It simply wasn’t enough.  

Mary wasn’t confused about Who nestled beneath her heart. It wasn’t just a baby sleeping there. It was the Baby. The Messiah. God’s Son. Heavenly royalty. Although she hadn’t heard the description of golden streets and gates of pearl, she knew her coming Child deserved more than she could afford. Grandeur. Magnificence. Splendor. Grand hallways that would echo with childish laughter. Marble floors for sock-encased feet to zoom across. Polished banisters surely made for sliding. Loyal subjects who would recognize His face, bow at His feet, and honor His name. Her heart ached that she couldn’t promise Him those things. None of them. Not at home in Galilee. Certainly not here. Right now she couldn’t even promise Him a decent place to lay His little head. And it was quickly becoming clear they would be needing a place for that very purpose.

The pains she’d hoped were trial runs had not dissipated. Indeed, they had continued into the evening hours with increasing strength and frequency. Resting hadn’t helped. Sleep wouldn’t come. Her body was loudly telling her the Child she carried was planning to appear on His own timetable. No matter how far they were from home. Regardless of their current surroundings. Despite the dearth of soft blankets in which to swaddle Him, Jesus was coming. And He did.

 Into the dark stillness of a dank stable, Jesus was born. A tiny, wrinkly, slightly grumpy newborn who’d just battled His way into the world, He was still the most beautiful thing Mary had ever seen. Wrapped in strips of cloth hastily gathered from a caring and benevolent neighbor and carefully tucked into the scratchy straw of the uncomfortable manger, He still seemed to glow with the light of Heaven. Sweetly slumbering in the poorest possible circumstances–a borrowed stable, borrowed hay, borrowed manger–the Savior of the world willingly left the opulence of Heaven, humbly rested in the poverty of earth, to provide mankind the opportunity to personally know the King of Kings. (Luke 2:1-7)

Admittedly, I wonder at the details. The trip notwithstanding, couldn’t there have been at least someone with space to properly house them? Family? Friends? Acquaintances? Just one tiny room in an inn? Why did it have to be a stable? Why was His first earthly resting place a manger? Why were the ones who witnessed His birth mute animals? What was God trying to tell us when He birthed Jesus in such a nondescript place? What, exactly, is the message echoing from the manger? 

Eloquently spoken by modest actions rather than flowery words, Heavenly royalty became humble humanity in order to offer hopeless mortals the extravagant opportunity to gain Heaven. Jesus’ birth to a dirty stable and cold manger unquestionably signifies there is no limit to the lengths He would go to offer you salvation. Bear the brunt of the elements. Shoulder the disdain of society. Sit in the dirt of humanity. There is no place He wouldn’t go to reach you. There is nowhere too far away. There is nothing too dirty, too evil, too bad. We are the reason He came. The only reason He came. Salvation for everyone, everywhere. No exceptions. His message rings out from the manger where a squalling baby boy wrapped in rags wiggles among a handful of straw. Salvation is for everyone. Those in the humblest of circumstances. Those in the most magnificent. And everyone in between. (II Peter 3:8-10; Acts 10:34; I Timothy 2:4; John 3:16: Romans 10:12-13)

The message is so often lost in the mayhem of commercial Christmas. In the endeavor to gain the best gifts, the biggest tree, the most stunning decorations, we forget that the greatest gift has already been given. A royal baby born in the humblest of circumstances for the most important purpose. Death on a cross. Earthly sacrifice for eternal salvation. Unfathomable love for unworthy humanity. Truly, Christ was born for this. (Romans 6:23)

 Maybe your life choices have put you in a place that seems unredeemable. Maybe your circumstances have you believing you are too far gone. Maybe someone said you weren’t worth saving. Listen closely. The message from the manger says otherwise. The Child there grew up to hang on a cross, atoning for your sins and indiscretions, your bad choices and awful habits. The Babe from the Manger would eventually cry out from the cross, “It is finished,” effectively signifying the end of sins’ reign. You don’t have to live in the place you are. You don’t have to die in your sins. Jesus came to the lowest place on earth. The place animals both eat and defecate. To prove to woefully lost humanity that no one is outside the realm of grace, no one is exempt from the steadfast, unfailing love of God. Not you. Not me. Not one soul. Jesus came for all. (John 19:30; Romans 5:12-21)

We are all sinners in need of a miracle-working Savior. A God that reaches down and rescues us from the dark alleyways of our lives. A loving Father who follows us into the dens of iniquity we can’t seem to avoid on our own. We are all in need of a ransom from sin’s bondage. So Jesus came.  Leaving the golden streets of Heaven, gently closing the gates of pearl behind Him, He willingly stepped into a flawed and failing world of fallen humanity to humbly offer Himself in atonement for the sins of the entire world. All of us. Every. Single. Soul. With His final breath He bestowed on us hope for our dire straits, salvation from our sin, and freedom from guilt’s enslavement. It was the reason He came. (I John 2:2; Romans 5:8)

There are probably a thousand messages we could hear from the manger, but today I hope we hear this one loudest. Jesus came for you. No matter where you are, what you’ve done, or how your rap sheet reads. Jesus came to give you life. Abundant life. Life everlasting. Yes, friend, Christ was born for you. (John 10:10; Matthew 1:21)