Jesus Isn't Decaf (By Naomi Meyers)

My mind is overwhelmed when I try to imagine how a parent handles this type of anguish. How heartbreaking to impotently watch your child suffer time and time again. Surely every other pain pales in comparison. The agonizing father in Luke 9 knew it all too well. He’d been watching his son be tormented for years. Nothing helped. Nothing healed. Nothing changed the situation. No matter what they tried, the sequence remained. Seized by an evil spirit, shrieking, convulsing, foaming at the mouth, followed by injury. His father’s heart was torn and ragged from watching and knowing he was helpless to heal his son. 

Willing to go to any length for a chance to save his only child, he came to the disciples and begged them to help. Perhaps their fear overcame their faith. Perhaps they forgot the power working through them was that of the God of impossibilities. Perhaps they hadn’t given themselves enough to previous prayer and fasting. (Mark 9:29; Matthew 17:20-21; 19;26) Whatever impeded their faith, it rendered them unable to help. The boy remained besieged. 

In a final attempt to bring peace to his son and assuage the pain in his own heart, the man joins the crowd surging around Jesus as He walks into town. The crowd is growing large and pressing. The possibility of this father even getting to Jesus seems to be diminishing. Unparalleled urgency spurs the man to action. Unwilling to let the opportunity pass, unable to wait another moment, unconcerned with what anyone thought of him, the distraught father cried loudly to Jesus from the crowd, “Please have mercy on my son!” (Matthew 17:15)

Jesus calls for the boy to be brought forward. As father and son weave their way through the crowd, the evil spirit begins to pull its pranks. The child is knocked to the ground and thrown into wild convulsions. The crowd pulls back in dismay, widening their circle. In silence they stand watching the spectacle, waiting to see if this man Jesus could or would do anything. The father stands back with bated breath. His hands clasped tightly together as if in prayer. This is his last hope, his boy’s only chance. Will it happen? Will the great Teacher do what His disciples couldn’t? 

The convulsions worsen. In a testament to the bleak loneliness of their future should the boy remain unhealed, the crowd puts even more distance between them and the convulsing child. They certainly don’t want what he has! They want to watch. They like a good show, but they absolutely do not want his germs! Unlike the fickle crowd, Jesus doesn’t step back. Jesus steps forward. He rebukes the evil spirit forever, heals the boy, and hands him back to his father. The immensity of that father’s relief must have been palpable. One moment it seemed all was lost, everything was hopeless, the future was a bleak mass of pain–but then there was Jesus. (Luke 9:37-43)

The Gentile woman from Canaan was in the same heartbreaking position. Her daughter was horribly tormented by an evil spirit. In an effort to save her child, the woman came and unabashedly cried out for help from Jesus. In spite of His proclamation that He had come to save Israel, she falls on her knees before Him in desperation and begs Him to help. Her faith in His ability doesn’t allow her to give up. She can’t walk away. This is her last option, her daughter’s only hope. From the bottom of her aching mother’s heart, she knows this Man is the answer to her daughter’s needs. She persists. Her faith pays off. When it seemed like all was lost, everything was hopeless, the future an unending episode of terror and pain–in her time of deepest need, there was Jesus. (Matthew 15:21-28)

He wasn’t just rescuing children overcome by evil spirits. Over and again throughout the Gospels, we see Jesus stepping into scenes of angst, fear, grief, hopelessness, helplessness, and pain, reaching out His hand in hope, help, healing. He walks into rooms of mourning and turns them to joy. Remember Lazarus? He had been dead for four days! His body had long been shrouded in burial linens and placed in a grave. Their hearts were broken. They were mourning. Then there was Jesus.

He came to the tomb and commanded the stone be rolled from the door. Startled at this request, and possibly trying to save herself the mental horror, Martha warned against it. Decomposition would have already started. It was not going to look or smell pretty. Jesus could not be deterred. After speaking to His Father, He called Lazarus to exit the tomb. And he did. In the middle of a helpless, hopeless impossibility–there was Jesus. (John 11:1-44)

It wasn’t only during His earthly ministry that He showed up. Gathered in terror and hiding behind locked doors, the disciples were huddled together mourning Jesus’ death. They were hiding for their lives. The drapes were pulled. The candles were gutted. No one was talking. The future was dark. Their hearts were awash in hopelessness and despair. Perhaps they were mulling over the future. Maybe they were drawing up an exit strategy. Perhaps they were writing their last will and testament. It doesn’t matter. They wouldn’t be alone for long. Into their moment of hopeless, helpless despair stepped Jesus. Just when it seemed like all was lost–there was Jesus, bringing them the gift of the Holy Spirit. (John 20:19-22)

A million things have changed in the centuries since Jesus walked the earth. Possibly everything. Except Jesus. Jesus doesn’t change. Ever. He will always be there. He doesn’t shy away from issues. He doesn’t run from problems. There is no challenge too big, no effort too Herculean. When Jesus said He would be with us always, He meant it. He never goes back on His word. (Hebrews 13:8; Matthew 28:20; I Samuel 12:22; Joshua 21:45) In the middle of your life, whether things are foul or fabulous–there will always be Jesus.

Poised on the threshold of a new year, we find ourselves looking back at the old one. It’s an awful view. The year through which we have just traversed was full of treachery, heartbreak, frustration, anxiety, and fear. As we look back, squinting to see good in the swirling eddy of unfortunate events behind us, it is so difficult to see the hand of God in all the mess. It seems impossible to find His plan. It is easy to wonder where God has been, what He has been doing the last few months. Yet faith tells us He was there. When we were locked in bewilderment, despondency, and despair–there was Jesus, bringing strength and courage and hope.

In the middle of all the loss and frustrations the past year brought, a sweet friend of mine was diagnosed with terminal cancer. She is a wonderful woman of faith, prayer and relationship with Jesus. She would happily say Jesus has been there for her every moment, every day, every year of her life. With a broken heart and tears clouding my vision, I read the post outlining her status, diagnosis, and prognosis. It was not what I wanted to hear. At the end of the post, true to their character, her husband had written this statement of their faith, “For this, we have Jesus.” It has been my favorite phrase of 2020. It will be my sustaining phrase for 2021. No matter what happens. No matter how ridiculous our society gets. No matter how far things spiral out of control. No matter how dark, how hopeless, how bleak. I must continually remind myself, “For this, we have Jesus.”

Like the children in the above Luke and Matthew accounts, the evil one is doing his best to traumatize our souls. He is hiding around every corner, behind every bush, at the top of every new day waiting to ambush our hearts. Some days it feels like he is winning. Sometimes we just aren’t certain we can endure even one more frustration, hardship, or sorrow. Our desperate hearts are burdened. Our bedraggled souls are exhausted. It feels like we’ve been in mourning most of the year. Hiding out in discouragement, despondency, anxiety, and fear seems like the only option. It is hard. I know. I also know this, when it seems like all is lost, it isn’t. Jesus is there.

As I stand looking over the blank existence of 2021, I don’t pretend to know what lies ahead. I do know this. Jesus is already there. He is not surprised by what is coming. He is not stymied by our perplexities. He will not prove unavailable when hard times come. And they will come. It’s the nature of life. And we will find, when faced with despair, hopelessness, frustration, or fear–there will be Jesus. So when your hands are tied, your resources limited, your hope dwindling, straighten your spine and firmly place your faith in the God of the impossible, solidly plant both feet on His promise to never leave us alone, and remember that for any situation, for every situation, whatever it may be, “For this, we have Jesus.” (Jeremiah 29:11; Isaiah 57:15; Mark 11:22; Deuteronomy 31:6,8)

A beautifully interesting thing happens when you consecutively read one chapter of Luke each day starting with the first day of December. Something that speaks to the question I once overheard my nephew asking a priest, “Which holiday is more important, Christmas or Easter?” I quit my eavesdropping before I heard the answer. I wish I hadn’t. I’ve pondered the question since. I have yet to arrive at a solid answer. This year, though, my annual pilgrimage through Luke has added a new dimension to my ponderings. 

As I write this, I’ve read more than 20 chapters. There are 24. I’ve read of Gabriel’s visit to Mary. The ill-timed census travel. The stable birth. I’ve read through most of Jesus’ life, been awed by His miracles, inspired by His teachings. I’ve read accounts of lives He changed with a word or a touch. I’ve read of those who refused that change. Admittedly, I’ve looked ahead. In these last few days before our celebration of Christ’s birth, I will read the account of His death and resurrection. The relevance to the above question is not lost on me.

Our society views these momentous occasions as separate events. Today, Christmas is largely touted as a season of celebration punctuated by lavish decorations, extravagant parties, and generous gift-giving. Folks get caught up in the lights, euphoria, and anticipation, forgetting the reason for the celebration–the Baby who was born to die. At Easter, the celebrations might be less, but the commercialization is more. Egg hunts, bunnies, chicks. Although exciting and adorable, not one speaks to the fact the Child whose birth we celebrated scant months before now hangs dying on a cross. We gloss over Good Friday and hop straight to Easter morning and the resurrection. We forget that Jesus didn’t have that luxury. He was born to die.    

Personally, the two accounts have become so intricately interwoven I can no longer determine which is of greater importance. The birth of Jesus celebrated at Christmas is not a separate story from the one of the cross and resurrection. His birth was just the beginning. The manger would lead to the cross. It was always meant to. On that night of strange birthing quarters, caroling angels, and rejoicing shepherds, the stark truth remained–Jesus was born to die. No other baby born in Bethlehem would do what He came to do. He wouldn’t be just another great teacher, another prophet like Elijah, another preacher like John the Baptist. He was Heaven on earth. God in human flesh. He was God on a mission. 

A mission to save the world. He’d do anything to make it happen. Change every willing soul. Heal every faith-filled heart. Teach as often as possible. Care more deeply. Love more strongly. Plead unendingly. And, when the time came, He’d sacrifice Himself freely so all humanity could be saved. Everyone. Those who mocked and scorned. Those who betrayed. Those who believed. Both then and now. He’d die for everyone. It’s what He came to do.

Jesus birth was just the first in a long line of gifts to His people. For those who then believed, He brought the joy of fulfillment and hope for the future. Anna, having spent 84 years in the temple serving, fasting, praying, waiting for the arrival of the Messiah, felt her heart swell with praise and joy that hope for the future had finally arrived. Simeon, promised he would see the Messiah before he died, praised God for the fulfillment of both prophecy and promise, speaking of the hope made possible by His coming. It wouldn’t be without pain, that journey from the manger to the cross. But all humanity would benefit from the trek. It was the reason He came. (Luke 2:25-38) 

The manger made it possible for the cross to stand between us and eternal punishment. Just as Isaiah prophesied. (Isaiah 9:6) Jesus is our Counselor. Our Advisor. In a courtroom setting, our legal defense. The Mediator between God and man. The One who cries out for leniency on our behalf. As we stand guilty and ragged and broken before the great Tribunal of Heaven, the Man from the manger cries out from the cross, “It is finished.” Completing on Golgotha the work that started more than 30 years earlier in Bethlehem. You see, it is impossible to extricate Christmas from Easter!

Over and again He has proven to His people He is their Mighty God. Account after account fill the Gospels of impossibilities made possible only by His power. The virgin birth of Jesus. (Luke 1-2) Water turned into wedding wine. (John 2:1-11) Blind regaining sight. (Mark 8:22-26) The absolution we seek, but find so elusive, made possible only through the beating and scorning, the mocking and death of Heaven’s Child. (Matthew 26-27) Oh, yes, Christmas is all about Easter! 

In the final chapter of Luke, the one I’ll read on Christmas Eve, we find our eternal, everlasting Savior. His lifeless body is taken from the cross, lovingly prepared for burial. Wrapped in fine linen. Laden with perfumes and spices. Placed in a tomb. The stone is rolled over the door. It seemed final. His followers gathered to mourn. They were in for a big surprise! Death couldn’t keep the linen from falling away. The tomb couldn’t hold the Savior down. Triumphantly victorious over sin, death, and the grave, He rose up and came calling. Calling His followers then. Calling His people now. Calling you. Calling me. Fulfilling the mission for which He came, Jesus proved once and for all that death has absolutely no power over the Father who has always been and will always be. Our salvation and eternal life rested on Jesus coming to earth to die and rise again. Don’t you see? Christmas is all about Easter! (Luke 23:50-24:1-49; Isaiah 57:15; Isaiah 43:13; Psalm 102:12) 

After Jesus’ resurrection, He ascended into Heaven to sit at the right hand of God the Father, praying for us. Groaning prayers. Aching intercessions. Prayers we have no idea how to pray or even that we need to pray them. Prayers for our salvation. Prayers for our faith. Prayers for our steadfastness. Prayers that bring us peace. Prayers that touch the Father’s heart because they come from His beloved Son. The One He sent to Golgotha via Bethlehem so His people could be saved from their sins. (Luke 22:69; Romans 8:26, 34; Hebrews 7:25; Matthew 1:21)

The truth is, Christmas and Easter are the inextricably intertwined efforts of God the Father and God the Son to bring us the one thing we long for most. The thing we wish for above all things. The thing we dream of as we lay unsleeping in the dark. The thing we hope for with every new bauble, new move, new job. The thing nothing in the world can give. Jesus came to give us peace. Peace no matter what is going on around us. Peace no matter what news we receive. Peace with God through the shed blood of Jesus Christ. (Colossians 1:20)

As Jesus hung on that cross, dragging in His final breaths, the separating curtain in the temple split in two, finishing the fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophetic passage, “He will be called…Prince of Peace”. (Luke 23:44-46; Isaiah 9:6) That torn curtain means we can leave our sheep in the pasture, our grain in the field, our oil in the cruet. Through the shed blood of the manger-born Christ-child, we can directly access the Father. We can have peace with God through the forgiveness of sins by simply calling on the name of the Lord in confession, repentance, faith. (Romans 10:13; Ephesians 2:14) Christ was born for this exact reason. Yes, friends, Easter is all tangled up in Christmas!

I find I’m no longer trying to choose between Christmas and Easter. I found the choice impossible. I cannot leave Christmas behind on December 26 and treat Easter as a separate event. I don’t even want to do so. Just as Bethlehem was the starting place for Jesus’ journey up Golgotha, Christmas has become a starting place for me. My celebrations are just beginning. Earth’s Christmas might be over, but Heaven is still sending gifts. God is still sending out invitations. Invitations for pardon, for peace. Engraved invitations in your name and mine. Invitations that can only be sent because Jesus came as a baby to die as a man so you and I could secure a seat at the marriage supper of the Lamb. Heaven gave us Christmas because we would die without Easter. (James 1:17; John 3:17; Revelation 19:9; Hebrews 9:22)

In a few days, Christmas 2020 will be history. You will put away your opened presents, pack up your decorations, and tuck away your precious memories of this year’s celebrations. The sense of deflation that comes after the realization of a much-anticipated event may settle over your soul. Don’t let it overtake you. You don’t have to stop celebrating. Pick up your Bible. Read the last few chapters of Luke. Heaven is still sending gifts. There’s so much to look forward to! Christmas might be over, but thank God, Easter is coming!

As the holidays approached this year, they have been overshadowed by an ominous cloud of all the things we are missing. So many things have been canceled. So many parties and games and festivals shut down for the season. So many families choosing not to gather in celebration of Christ’s birth for the first time in their memories. So many churches choosing to forego Christmas Eve services. We are saddened and frustrated, maybe even a little angry, to be missing the things that have brought us so much joy in the past. Indelibly etched in the folds of our memory, 2020 will be logged as “The Year of Missed Moments.” 

I wonder if Herod’s year was memorialized as such. It should have been. Herod had missed the memo. Of all the meetings, on all the days of his over-scheduled calendar, he missed that one! The most important one. The one he most needed to attend. It was unfortunate, regrettable. He had no one to blame but himself. His arrogant selfishness had robbed him of a life-changing introduction. The meeting would never be rescheduled. He wouldn’t get a second chance. Herod missed meeting Jesus because he refused to take a few minutes from his own endeavors and travel just six miles to see Him!

It wasn’t for lack of intel or opportunity. He knew about the star the Wise Men were following. He knew which town they should search. He knew the prophecies of a coming Messiah. But Herod didn’t call up his head of transportation and arrange a camel caravan to take him the short journey to meet this miracle Child. He didn’t grab a backpack, stuff in a change of clothes, a bottle of water and a couple granola bars and light off on the six-mile trek. He was too important for that. Too busy to take the time. Too self-absorbed to make an effort. Unfortunately, Herod missed what would have been the most profitable meeting of his life because he was too busy preserving his prestigious position. (Matthew 2:1-18)

What would have happened if Herod had gone to meet Jesus? We think we know. Our minds conjure up images of Herod storming into that little Bethlehem dwelling with soldiers and swords, slaughtering everyone in the house. We see him standing in the doorway, a river of blood flowing past his feet, pounding his chest as he claimed victory over an infant. But what if we are wrong?  What if Herod had come to that house, met the Messiah, and been forever changed? It would have changed his legacy. Instead of being the historic king of seething hate, burning anger and rash violence, known for brutally ordering the killing of Bethlehem’s male infants and toddlers, he could have been the king who supped with the Messiah. (Matthew 2:16)

He could have been. Except he chose not to be. Herod was too tunnel-visioned. Too intent on preserving his authority. Too selfish. Too arrogant. When presented with a golden opportunity to meet the Messiah himself, he sent someone else instead. When gifted the option to live a changed life, he opted out. When blessed with the opportunity to leave a brilliant legacy, he chose to leave violence and hate. When the opportunity of a lifetime was just six miles down the road, Herod couldn’t be bothered to throw off his cloak of self-importance and go meet Jesus. He squandered his chance and left us a legacy of missed opportunity. 

I fear we are doing the same thing. Not sending men to slaughter infants. Missing opportunities to meet with Jesus. Thousands of years after Jesus was born, we are perpetuating Herod’s legacy. Shocked? You shouldn’t be. Look at us! Slouched on our couches in front of big-screen TV’s, a cell phone beside us, a computer on our laps, bowing before the technology god. Look at us! Vainly rising up early to stay up late, working for more money, more things, more importance. (Psalm 127:2) Look at us! Frivolously spending every free moment with shopping and visiting and doing. Look at us! Falling into bed at night, too tired to read our Bibles, too spent to pray, too quickly asleep to ruminate on the day’s missed opportunities to meet with Jesus.  

Shame on us! Even more so than on Herod. Herod was six physical miles from Jesus. No matter how short the distance, he had to travel to make that meeting. We have no such excuse. We don’t need to saddle a camel, don our best walking shoes, or arrange an escort to meet Jesus. We don’t have to move six feet. Or even six inches. We have only to speak His name. Whisper a prayer. (Psalm 145:18; Acts 17:27; Jeremiah 33:3) Pick up your Bible. Dust it off. Read its pages. Hear God speak. (John 10:27; Isaiah 55:3; Hebrews 4:12) Unfortunately, like Herod, we can’t be bothered. 

What does that say about us? What does it say about our souls that we are lazier, more self-absorbed, than atrociously evil Herod? As we push aside opportunity after opportunity to meet Jesus, as we starve our souls on the altar of advancement, as we sacrifice everything for selfish vainglory, what, exactly are we hoping to accomplish? What does it matter if we gain the whole world, but miss the opportunity of a lifetime? (Mark 8:36-38)

The wise writer of Ecclesiastes says it best. It’s all vanity. It’s all useless. Wisdom, knowledge, pleasure, possessions, wealth. It’s like chasing the wind. (Ecclesiastes 1:14, 18; 2:11; 4:13-16) The truth of his words hasn’t changed over the centuries. The truth of his conclusion hasn’t changed either. The things that matter, the things on which you should be focusing, the opportunities you shouldn’t be missing, are these–fear God and keep His commandments. Not just to avoid God’s judgment, but so your children and grandchildren will do them too. (Ecclesiastes 12:13-14; Deuteronomy 6:4-9) Work to build a legacy of grasped opportunities. 

I was given such a legacy. Deeply imprinted in all of my childhood memories are images of my parents and grandparents reading their Bibles and praying. The halls of my mind echo with the legacy of faith they have written. We were beyond poor. We had little of earthly value. But we had Jesus. Daddy would rise at 5:00 every morning to spend time alone in Bible reading and prayer. Many were the mornings I would wake up and listen to his footsteps as he paced the living room talking to God and listening when God spoke back. My mind’s eye clearly recalls my mother sitting at a table or in an easy chair, her Bible open before her. Bible stories told by my Grandmother. Prayers of my Grandfather. Singing when it seemed there was no reason. Praise when things looked bleak. Church every time the doors were open. Every opportunity to meet with Jesus grasped as tightly as a precious jewel. 

Our society has forgotten how to do that. Put Jesus first. So often we miss opportunities to meet with Him because we are too busy chasing the latest craze, following the newest trend, seeking social affirmation. We plan time for work, time for friends, time for ourselves, but run out of time for Jesus. So did Herod. Look where it got him. It won’t take you anywhere different. 

In Philippians 3:8, the Apostle Paul says he has lost everything–social standing, religious standing, all the things we strive so hard to gain–but it was worth it because he gained Christ. Where he had sought to be impressive by the world’s standards, he now seeks one thing only–to intimately know Jesus Christ. (Philippians 3:8-9) You see, intimate relationship with Jesus Christ cannot be found in infrequent Bible reading and irregular prayer. Eternal legacies are not written by schedules too busy for intentional meetings with Jesus. They are carved in the hearts of our loved ones by selflessly, faithfully, grasping every opportunity to spend time with God. 

As lovely as it would be to go back and change history, we can’t. History stands as it played out. The choices of those in its pages echo through time as warnings to us. We can’t change Herod’s choice, but we can heed its warning. We can’t give him another opportunity to meet Jesus, but we can grab the next one that comes our way and hold on with both hands. We can’t change Herod’s legacy, but we can write a better one. An eternal legacy of meeting Jesus and a lifestyle that proves it.

It was late by the time darkness fully blanketed the Judean hillside. The black satin of the night sky stretched peacefully above them, a handful of glittering stars shining from its billowy depth. The bleating of ewes calling their lambs had finally quieted as they were reunited to bed down for the night. Shepherds, worn from a day of caring for sheep, slouched against trees attempting to catch a few moments rest before their watch began. Others, already on watch duty, milled about the perimeter of the meadow, senses finely tuned for any nocturnal hunter looking for an easy meal. They were all on guard. They knew their surroundings, the dangers, the pitfalls of underestimation. They knew the sounds of night in the hills, soft footfalls of creeping lions, snuffling sounds of rooting bears. They were prepared for every event. Nothing could catch them by surprise. Nothing except a choir of angels. 

As the quiet settled in, the sheep slept and shepherds dozed, that black curtain of star-studded sky rolled back to reveal the light of God’s glory and an announcing angel. Their expressions must certainly have revealed the extent of their terrified surprise since the angel’s first words were, “Don’t be afraid!”  They couldn’t believe their eyes! An angel had come out of the heavens! And he was speaking. To them. They had to focus. The angel had news they absolutely did not want to miss. The long-awaited, thought-not-to-be-coming Messiah had finally been born! In their town! They could see Him! The angel even gave them directions to His stable. In their astonished state, no one even realized the Baby should be in a house, not a stable! 

Before comprehension could fully dawn, the glowing hole in the sky produced a chorus of angels descending from Heaven, performing a concert of glorious music, declaring, “Glory to God! Peace on Earth! Goodwill to all men!” The shepherds, still frozen in silent awe from the arrival of one angel, watched in amazement as the Heavenly choir joyously sang their anthem. As the final notes of the majestic score faded away, the angels disappeared back up into the night sky, just as they had come. Silence again fell over the darkened hillside. The stars twinkled. The sheep slept. The shepherds couldn’t. They had somewhere to be. 

Racing down out of the hills, leaving their flocks behind, they rushed into Bethlehem. Once there, they found the account true. Every. Single. Word. It was just as the angel said. In a stable, cradled in a feedbox, wrapped up in strips of cloth, lay a baby. It was all true! Jesus, the long-awaited, much-discussed, Messiah had finally arrived. For a few moments, they stood soaking in the joy and awe of that momentous occasion, reveling in the beauty of His presence, awestruck that a handful of lowly shepherds should be given the blessing of faith becoming sight. 

They couldn’t stay there. They had somewhere to be. Leaving Heaven’s baby to sleep in peace, they set out toward their meadow. It took a while to get back. They had a story to tell. Silence wasn’t an option! Everyone needed to hear this sky-splitting news! Friends. Family. Enemies. The beggar on the corner. Everyone! And, as the fingers of sunlight peeked over the edge of the Judean hillside, those shepherds returned to their sheep still worshipping, praising, glorifying God for the nighttime notification that the culmination of hundreds of years of hopes and dreams had, at long last, arrived. (Luke 2:8-20)

The Shepherds weren’t the only ones looking for the Messiah. Scholars from the East were also looking for Him. As they studied the skies, a specific star caught their attention. Was it new? Did it shine brighter? Had it moved? I wonder how long it took them to realize it was the star of the long-ago prophesied Messiah. Were they, too, filled with excited amazement that the prophecies had been correct? Whatever they felt, they knew one thing–they had to see Him. They needed to see this miracle Christ-child. They longed to experience His presence. They wanted to worship at His feet. 

With a weather eye on that star, they loaded up their camels and set off to find the promised Child. Arriving in Jerusalem, they thought surely He would be there, but they found nothing. No one seemed to know anything except what the ancient texts said. Jesus would be born in Bethlehem. So to Bethlehem they went. As they crested a hill looking over the town, houses spilled out before them. Streets bustled with people, fairly teemed with children. How do you find a child in a town full of children? Simple. You follow His star. 

That star they had been watching and following for so long finally stopped moving, settling above one specific house. Overjoyed to have arrived, nervously anticipating the pinnacle of their journey, they knock on the door. I wonder if they held their breath, waiting to see who answered. Did it come rushing out in one big blast as their eyes beheld exactly who they believed they would find? The Christ-child they had read about. He was there. Immediately they fell to their knees and worshipped Him. I’m sure they had a million questions. Things they wished they knew. Answers they wished they had. They didn’t ask. All they did was worship. (Matthew 2:1-12)

As often as I’ve read and heard these accounts, this year I find myself struck by the realization that not one person–not a shepherd, not a wise man, not Simeon or Anna in the Temple–not one person, made any requests of the Messiah. The shepherds didn’t ask that their sheep be safe since they had so irresponsibly left them alone. The Wisemen didn’t ask for more wisdom or safe journeying home. Simeon and Anna didn’t ask for certain favors, make dying requests, or look for special prophecies. Everyone who met Jesus reacted with praise and glory to God. They were simply blessed beyond measure to be in His presence. It was gift enough. 

Conviction strikes deeply as I ponder this fact and compare it to how we approach God today. How little time we spend in adoration and worship. How infrequently we spend time basking in His presence. How short we are on time for God, how long on time for personal pursuits. We start our prayers with a quick “thank-you”, then rush on with a litany of wants and needs and wishes. Essentially we put ourselves above God. Our things, our desires, our progress. Gratitude takes a back burner. Praise is added as insurance God will do the next thing we ask. Unashamed for our rude ungratefulness, we press forward with our selfishness, disregarding His awesomeness. Clearly, we have forgotten in whose presence we stand. 

It appears we need the same eye-opening refresher course God gave Job. Out of a whirlwind, the thundering voice of God breaks through the prattle of Job and his alleged mourners. God poses some serious questions. Questions about the dimensions of the earth, how the ocean knows where to stop, who tells the sun when to shine, where the snow is stored,  or if they have visited the storehouse of hail. Do you know those answers? Have you measured the earth? Can you make things happen? (Job 38-39)  Well, can you?

Can you ride the clouds or walk on wind? God does. Do you give animals instruction on how to build their homes, find their food, or birth their young? No? God does. Does all creation wait for you, rely on you for their food, their breath, their very lives? No? Not your skillset? Above your paygrade? Of course it is! Only the King of Kings, the Master of the Universe, the Creator who doesn’t faint or grow weary does all these things. You are completely impotent without Him. (Psalm 104; Colossians 1:17; John 15:5; Isaiah 40:28) Yet we treat Him like He needs us. Our self-importance has overshadowed His all-importance. We have sacrificed His presence and asked only for His presents. 

I don’t know how we’ve gotten so far off track. I don’t know how we’ve managed to imagine we can separate God’s power from His presence. I don’t understand how we can so desire His power to work on our behalf, to grant our wants and whims, yet be so loath to experience His presence. Not me. I want His presence. I want to live in it. Bask in it. I want the awestruck experience the shepherds had that night so long ago as they stood beside a roughly hewn manger in a smelly stable, staring at a scrawny newborn wrapped in rags. I want the adoring adulation of the scholars as they fell before the Child they had worked so hard to find. I, too, want to be enamored by simply being in His glorious presence. No presents required. Just the blessing of His presence.

This is my hope for you, too. As you sing the carols, listen to the accounts of Jesus’ birth, and celebrate the season, I hope you take time to find something more. I hope you discover the awe of the shepherds. I hope you uncover the adoration of the scholars. I hope you take time to remember in whose presence you stand. I hope you desire Him more than the list of presents for which you pray. Most of all, I hope that, no matter how many gaudily wrapped packages you find under your tree, the greatest gift you unwrap this Christmas is the present of His presence.  

For the first time in my adult life, I own a home with a dedicated guest room. I love that room! The furniture is all brand new and carefully chosen. New bed, new mattresses, new linens. Matching nightstands flank the bed. Matching lamps grace them. In the corner sits a plush chair complete with a soft blanket should one feel a chill. The room resonates peace and calm. It is always ready for guests. Clean sheets on the bed. Clean towels in the cupboard. In spite of rarely having visitors, our peaceful haven stands ready should some friend or relative need a place to stay. Even without the promise of guests, I find peace in its readiness. 

I wonder if Mary enjoyed similar peaceful readiness as she neared the last months of her pregnancy. Had she swept out a little corner of their tiny home to place the simple wooden box Joseph had built for her Heavenly Son? Had she spent hours cutting and sewing clothes to dress her baby, made a blanket to keep him warm? Did she survey her preparations in satisfied anticipation of the Child who was promised to be a son to her and a Savior to the world? Did she rest in the knowledge she was ready for His arrival?  

So many people weren’t ready. A lot of years had passed, a million events had occurred, thousands of Jewish babies had been born since those prophecies were written. Not one had been the promised Messiah. Fervent belief and watchful waiting had faded as generation after generation came and went. Unrealized desire had left a bitter taste in their mouths. They didn’t live in eager anticipation of Christ dwelling among them anymore. It seems their belief had turned to skepticism. Perhaps years of waiting had left them uncertain they would see the Messiah in their lifetime. Perhaps that same waiting had bred unbelief that He would come at all. As a result, they weren’t even remotely prepared to have Him come and live among them. 

The arrival of the unwelcome news requiring Mary and Joseph to travel to Bethlehem must have caused concern. Delivery of the child was certain to be soon. The unenviable walk to Bethlehem would be insufferable. Mary could only hope that when she reached her destination, a kindly innkeeper would have a room for her. A room as ready for her and her soon-arriving child as the cozy, quiet space she had made at home. It was not to be. No one had a space, quiet or otherwise. 

 The ill-timed trip to Bethlehem was not met with relatives offering snug guest quarters, extra blankets, or baby gifts. Although it was likely Joseph had family in the area, no one reserved them a space. Rooms for rent in area homes were full. Inns were at capacity. The travel-weary couple would soon become disheartened as they tried lodging after lodging only to hear, “We have no room.” I wonder if the responses would have changed had those innkeepers and homeowners realized whom they were turning away. Would they have found space, made room, ejected a less vulnerable guest if they had known the Messiah stood on their doorstep? (Luke 2:1-7)

Eventually, someone carved out a little space in a stable. It didn’t smell great. Stables normally don’t. There were probably a few animals milling about. Perhaps some mice were building a nest in the corner. Possibly the freshest thing in that structure was the hay in the feeding trough. The hay where the Messiah, Redeemer of the entire human race, laid His head His first night on earth. Inadvertently, the stableboys had prepared a place for the Christ-child. It wasn’t grand. It wasn’t spotless. It wasn’t plush or regal. It was simply a mound of hay in a feedbox. Interesting, isn’t it, how Christ unquestioningly inhabits the places prepared for His coming?

I wonder how this story would read if it happened today. Oh, I know. We think we’d do it differently. We’d instantly welcome the overtired mother into our homes in a beautiful display of kindness and compassion. We’d shower her with gifts and give her a warm place to lay her head, regardless of personal hardship, because we are so full of self-righteous goodness. We’d listen to her story of the angelic visit, her claims of birthing the Messiah in tolerant indulgence because our minds are so much broader in scope than those of ancient times. The Christ-child certainly wouldn’t be born in a stable. No. He’d be born in our dedicated guest room on pristine sheets, wrapped in a soft blanket, and laid in a cradle. It would be wonderful. We would be heroes. The story would read as we think it should. 

We deeply dislike the way it currently reads. When we think of Mary and Joseph being turned away from every conceivable place of lodging and sent to a stable, we draw ourselves up in indignant judgment and unrelenting disdain for the insolent innkeepers of Bethlehem. We deem them daft. Uncharitable. From atop our self-righteous high horse, we look down in scathing rebuke at their surliness and write them off as unsalvageable bits of humanity. Incidentally, we miss the point. The point that they were completely, unequivocally, miserably unprepared to host the Savior they had been told was coming. They weren’t expecting Him. They had no plans to welcome Him. They had no place for Him at all. 

It is hauntingly familiar, this lack of space for Jesus. We are there too. We are so busy. Chasing down our comforts. Living our “best lives”. Clawing our way up the corporate ladder. Climbing the social status scale. Indulging in the pleasures of the world. We know the Messiah was born. We’ve been hearing it all our lives. We know about salvation. We go to church. Read a verse or two when we remember. Say a quick prayer before dinner, a fervent one when we nearly rear-end the car in front of us because we were distracted by our phone. If we dare to inspect ourselves more closely, we would realize that, although we would be happy to provide living quarters for a homeless mother and her soon-arriving Child, we are much less interested in making room for His holiness to inhabit our lives. With all the sins we harbor inside, it seems unlikely He’d want to stay there anyway. 

He so wants to be there. It’s the reason He came. He didn’t come to visit and leave you dead in your sins. He came to give you life. Abundant life. Life with Him at the center. (John 10:10) He wants to be a vital, active part of your life, your world. He wants to live in you and fellowship with you. (Revelation 3:20) He didn’t just stop in to drop off our marching orders and then leave, expecting us to wait for the next dispensation. He came to live and dwell among us. (John 1:14) He gave us His Spirit to fill our hearts and guide our lives. (John 14:16) Jesus wants to live in you and do life with you. Jesus wants to make you holy. He comes to you and offers His holiness in exchange for your filthiness. It’s the reason He was born. Without His holiness, no one can see God. Holiness is the way to Heaven. Without it, you can’t get there. A sobering thought in a celebratory season. (I Peter 1:15-17; Isaiah 35:8; Hebrews 12:14) 

In Revelation 3:20 lies a beautiful verbal depiction of how the tables have turned on our judgmental hearts. It portrays the image of Jesus, standing outside a closed door. He is knocking. Asking admittance. He stands there, waiting for permission to enter. He won’t barge in. He won’t force His way. He is waiting for an invitation into your heart, your life. You are now the innkeeper. You have likely heard the knocking. Perhaps you have looked frantically around your sin-littered soul and declared there is no room for Jesus. He wouldn’t want to come in there. It isn’t nice enough, good enough. And You aren’t sure you want to get rid of all the things cluttering up the place, either. You hunker down quietly, unanswering. He knocks again. 

The scene will play over and over again. Jesus doing what He came to do. Seeking and saving. (Matthew 18:11; Luke 19:10) Calling you to holiness in a world of unholiness. (Matthew 5:48; I Thessalonians 4:7) Holiness in every part of your life. Thoughts. Words. Deeds. He is asking you to choose His holiness when no one else is doing it, when it isn’t popular, when it might get you mocked or scorned. He’s offering you eternal holiness over temporary happiness. Surely you see the magnanimity. 

And still today, Jesus is knocking at your heart’s door, asking to come in and fill you with Himself, His holiness, His hope. He knows there are a lot of other things clamoring for your attention. He realizes you have years of junk piled up in your heart. It doesn’t matter. He’s stayed in worse places. A stable, for instance. So you have a decision to make. Will you continue to follow the world in chasing the next big thing, or will you choose the only Big Thing? Will you choose Jesus? Let Him in. Let Him invade your soul. Will you choose the pervading presence of His holiness? Allow His presence to change your life. Invite Him to show up in your daily activities. Ask Him to change your desires and actions and words. Let Him in. Let your life show the world that the hay-filled feedbox of your heart is full of holiness from the indwelling of the Christ-child. (Hebrews 3:15; II Corinthians 6:2)