It is a strange and unsettling image: a King born in a manger. Stranger still when we realize that this King is the King of kings and the Son of God. No palace, no royal procession, no army standing guard, only a feeding trough, the quiet breath of animals, and the fragile cry of a newborn Child.
In human terms, this makes no sense. Kings are born into power, privilege, and protection. Their kingdoms are measured by wealth, territory, and influence. If I were a king, I would want a vast palace, unquestioned authority, and an army ready to defend my rule. That is the logic of this world. And we see it everywhere: in politics, in institutions, even in religion, where power, prestige, and control can quietly replace service and humility.
But Christ is a King unlike any other. Later in His life, He would say clearly, “My Kingdom is not of this world.” His kingship does not rest on domination but on self-giving love. His throne is not made of gold but of wood. His crown is not adorned with jewels but with thorns. And His reign begins not in splendor, but in poverty.
The birth of Jesus already reveals the heart of God. God does not wait for ideal conditions. He does not demand perfection before entering our lives. He comes into a world that is crowded, distracted, broken, and wounded. The tragedy of Bethlehem is not that there was no room in the inn, but that even today, there often seems to be no room in our hearts.
Saint John tells us, “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” Christ is the Word made flesh, sent to redeem us. He is also the Light of the world, the Light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. Yet here lies a painful truth we must confront: the Word dies in us when we refuse to live what He says, and the Light grows dim when we refuse to walk where it leads.
The Light never stops shining. The Word never stops speaking. What fails is often our response. When we choose sin over truth, comfort over conversion, pride over humility, we choose darkness, even when the Light is already before us. Sin is darkness. It blinds, confuses, and misleads. And many times, we stumble not because there is no Light, but because we refuse to be guided by it.
Even at His birth, Christ was already rejected. The powerful felt threatened. Darkness resisted the Light. Herod sought to destroy Him. And yet, far from the centers of power, the Light was recognized by the humble, by shepherds, by strangers from the East, by the Three Wise Men who followed a star through the night. They saw the Light, and that Light led them not to a palace, but to a Child in a manger. There, they offered their gifts: gold, frankincense, and myrrh, acknowledging Him as King, God, and Savior. And having encountered the Light, they went home changed, choosing a different road.
Two thousand years later, the same question confronts us: Have we been changed by the Light we celebrate? Christmas has become one of the most anticipated seasons of the year. We prepare food, decorations, gifts, reunions, and celebrations. None of these are wrong. But too often, everything is prepared except our hearts. The house is ready, the table is full, but where is the Savior in all of this?
How can we celebrate Christmas without welcoming Christ? How can we rejoice at His birth while refusing Him space in our lives? The tragedy of Bethlehem continues whenever the Guest of honor is left standing outside.
Advent and Christmas are not merely about remembrance; they are invitations to conversion. God does not ask for elaborate displays or grand gestures. The manger teaches us this truth: God’s Light needs only a humble place, a heart that is open, a sinner who dares to return, a soul willing to be changed.
To be a Christian is to follow. And following, in the truest sense, is not easy. It is surrender. It is losing one’s life in order to find it in Christ. But following becomes possible, and even joyful, when it is rooted in love. For love, by its very nature, is self-giving. When love is genuine, obedience is no longer a burden. Following Christ becomes as natural as breathing. His commandment to love ceases to be an obligation and becomes a labor of love.
Our world today is restless, wounded, and confused. Values are distorted, truth is negotiable, and faith is often reduced to convenience. Yet Christmas reminds us that God has not abandoned us. The Light still shines. The King still reigns, from a manger, from a cross, and from every heart that makes room for Him. God has already given Himself to us. This is His greatest gift. The only question that remains is this: Have we finally made room for the King?