Birth of A Savior

I don’t know where in Bethlehem Jesus was born. A few days ago I walked thru the tiny entrance to the Church of the Nativity where many say the Savior was born. Perhaps it was there, in that darkened building occupied by three major religions, replete with a maze of icons, a thousand years of dust and grime, and pushing, surging knots of people attempting to reach a point that exists, ostensibly, to honor the Christ child.

In a sense it reminds me of Christmas. The brilliant light of a guiding star and a host of Angels speaking glory to God for His incomparable, unimaginable grace, now drowned in a sea of selfishness and greed, focus on self-worth and worldly success, attempting to reach some place where an infinite God will value our human goodness.

I would rather have come with the first shepherds who visited the place where God, robed in humanity, slept quietly in His virgin mother’s arms, to then hurry off to “report the message told about this child,” and return to my field of labor “glorifying and praising God.”

I urge you to bypass the Earthly spotlight on lesser things, and concentrate your undivided attention on He who was born that you might live.