by Max Lucado
The Way Jesus Came
It all happened in a moment, a most remarkable moment. God became a man. Heaven opened herself and placed her most precious one in a human womb.
Jesus came, not as a flash of light or as an unapproachable conqueror, but as one whose first cries were heard by a peasant girl and a sleepy carpenter. The hands that first held him were un-manicured, calloused, and dirty. For thirty-three years he would feel everything you and I have ever felt. Weak and weary and afraid of failure. His feelings got hurt.
To think of Jesus in such a light seems almost irreverent. There’s something about keeping him divine that keeps him distant, predictable. But don’t do it. For heaven’s sake, don’t! Let him be as human as he intended to be. For only if we let him in can he pull us out.
Anything But a King
In Bethlehem, the human being who best understood who God was and what he was doing was a teenage girl in a smelly stable. As Mary looked into the face of the baby—her son, her Lord, his majesty—she couldn’t take her eyes off him. Somehow Mary knew she was holding God. So this is he. And she remembered the words of the angel when he said, “His kingdom will never end.”
He looked like anything but a king. His cry, though strong and healthy, was still the helpless and piercing cry of a baby. Majesty in the midst of the mundane. Holiness in the filth of sheep manure and sweat. Divinity entering the world on the floor of a stable, through the womb of a teenager, and in the presence of a carpenter. God came near! Luke 1:33 says, “His kingdom will never end.” May you be a part of it.
