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…