I love the whole season… the lights, the trees, the music, the re-reading of the story, the family gatherings… all of it. However, the real reason I enjoy it so much is because of what it represents. Without Christmas, I would have nothing to sing about, and how could I possibly even understand the word joy? The lights and “stuff” are just earthy symbols of the time of year when much of the whole world pauses and collectively considers the reality of the birth of Christ and what that birth actually means.
Without His birth He would not have fulfilled the hundreds of prophecies predicted about Him. Without His birth, He would not have been able to relate to us as “God in flesh”… Immanuel, God with us. God for us. The entire hope of the human family was wrapped in rags and laid in a feeding trough.
Without the Christ of Christmas, there would have been no earthly ministry for the Messiah. There would have been no sacrifice of the sinless Lamb of God, and there certainly wouldn’t have been the resurrection on the first Easter morning that gives us the hope and assurance of forgiveness and eternal life! Who are we, after all, that a King should die for us? The Christmas story makes it clear.
Without the Christ of Christmas we would have no adequate definition of love. A handwritten letter from God with my address on it saying, “I love you,” would not have provided sufficient evidence of the grand scope of how He feels about me.
I don’t often cry when I’m listening to music. But I did recently. We seldom get a new song about Christmas. I mean, what could be said that hasn’t been said already? But this one – written in 2009 and sung by the composer* – moved me. Let the words sink deep into your soul. In part it says:
No stately house, no noble mansion
Where He would reign in majesty…
The path He chose led to an altar
Where He would give His life for me.
A bed of straw became a cradle
Embracing God in human form.
One would expect more than a stable,
But where else would a Lamb be born?
Where else would a Lamb be born.
*Where Else Would a Lamb Be Born? Steve Amerson
By Don Jacobsen