Luke 2:7
“And she gave birth to her firstborn, a Son. She wrapped Him in swaddling cloths and laid Him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.”
For four hundred years, heaven had been quiet. No prophets thundered. No fresh word from God. Just the echo of Malachi fading into the distance, leaving Israel waiting in the dark.
“Then, in a little town called Bethlehem—a town whose very name means ‘House of Bread’—Jesus, the Bread of Life, arrived. He came not in a palace, nor with the fanfare of trumpets, but in a stable, wrapped in rags and resting in a feeding trough. The eternal Word had come as a crying baby.”
We fuss over details, don’t we? Was it December 25th, January 6th, or later in March? Were there three wise men or thirty? Was there snow on the Bethlehem hills? None of that matters. What matters is this: He came.
The Savior who would one day feed five thousand with a boy’s lunch first needed a teenage girl to feed Him. On this night God spoke His loudest word of love in the language every heart understands: a baby’s cry.
I’m Lonnie Davis, and these are thoughts worth thinking.