[After the “Retooning the Nativity” video, available on Igniter Media]
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That video is a helpful reminder that many of the things we associate with Christmas are more tradition than truth. There weren’t kings. There wasn’t a grumpy innkeeper. Jesus wasn’t born on December 25.
That kind of information can feel unsettling—especially on a night as meaningful as this one.
But here’s something important to remember:
Christian faith has never been afraid of the truth.
In fact, Christianity makes a far bolder claim than simply getting the details right. It claims that Truth Himself stepped into history.
Listen to how the Gospel of John describes Christmas:
John 1:1–9 ESV
1 In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. 2 He was in the beginning with God. 3 All things were made through him, and without him was not any thing made that was made. 4 In him was life, and the life was the light of men. 5 The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. 6 There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. 7 He came as a witness, to bear witness about the light, that all might believe through him. 8 He was not the light, but came to bear witness about the light. 9 The true light, which gives light to everyone, was coming into the world.
The true light.
John says this true light shines in the darkness.
He says it gives light to everyone.
John doesn’t say this light explains everything—at least not all at once.
The true light doesn’t give everyone answers.
It gives everyone light.
One of the quiet truths of the Christmas story is that no one understands what God is doing while it’s happening.
Have you noticed how many questions there are in the Christmas story?
Zechariah, the old priest, is told that his barren wife will bear a son. His question is painfully honest:“How can I be sure of this?”
In his mind, there’s no category for what he’s hearing.
Mary, a teenage, unwed mother, asks
“How can this be, since I am a virgin?”
She isn’t asking for proof.
She’s asking for understanding.
The magi arrive in Jerusalem asking,
“Where is he who has been born king of the Jews?” They know something has happened—but they don’t know where to find him.
Truth has entered the world, but it has not made everything obvious yet.
And then there are the questions Scripture never quotes—but clearly implies.
Joseph never says a word in the Christmas story. But you can imagine his questions:
What do I do now? Do I break the engagement? How should I do it without shaming her whole family? How could she do this to me? His confusion isn’t resolved by a full explanation, but by a simple word from God:
“Do not be afraid.”
And then there are the shepherds.
After the angels leave, they say,
“Let us go over to Bethlehem and see this thing that has happened.”
They don’t say, We understand.
They don’t say, We’re certain.
They say, in effect,
What have we got to lose? Let’s go see.
That’s faith in its earliest form.
And finally—there is Herod.
Herod was named King of the Jews in 40 BC by the Roman Senate. So if the magi had asked, “Where is the one who has been appointed King of the Jews?” they would have been directed to the palace.
But that’s not what they asked.
They wanted to know where the one born king of the Jews was.
No wonder Herod was troubled.
He was troubled by the same question every one of us eventually has to reckon with when Jesus shows up:
What will this cost me?
If He is the King of the Jews, then who am I?
So while Herod never asks it out loud, he is asking the most important question in the entire story:
If Jesus is on the throne, where does that leave me?
Jesus would later say that following Him means counting the cost:
“Any one of you who does not renounce all that he has cannot be my disciple.”
From the very beginning, the true light doesn’t just comfort—it confronts. It forces us to ask the same question Herod did:
If Jesus is Lord, then what does that make me?
Following Jesus is going to cost you something. It’s going to cost you control. It’s going to mean surrendering the lordship of your own life to someone else.
Jesus understood surrender.
For Him, being King of the Jews didn’t lead to a throne room, but to a cross.
Thirty-three years later, if the magi had asked,
“Where is he who has been born king of the Jews?”
they wouldn’t have been directed to Bethlehem, but to Jerusalem.
And Pilate would have said,
“There is your king—on the cross.”
That’s what the sign over His head said.
“Jesus of Nazareth, the King of the Jews.”
I made it myself.
That’s why we observe communion on Christmas Eve.
It reminds us that the candle lit in a manger didn’t burn out there. Jesus grew up. He taught. He healed. He welcomed sinners.
And on the night before He died, Jesus took bread and said, “This is my body, given for you.”
Christmas tells us that Jesus came.
Communion tells us why.
Tonight, you are invited to the Lord’s Table.
You don’t have to understand everything.
You don’t have to resolve every question.
You are invited simply to come—
to eat the bread,
to take the cup,
to remember the way that finds you,
the truth that gives itself,
and the life that is the light of all people.
[
Transition to Candlelight]
At the beginning of this service, we lit the Christ candle. It stands at the center of the wreath because Christ—the light that has come into the world—is central to everything we do.
Now we’ll do what Christians have done for generations.
The light from this single flame will be shared—one candle to another—until the room is filled.
Notice how it happens.
The light doesn’t rush.
It doesn’t overwhelm the darkness all at once.
It spreads quietly.
Patiently.
Person to person.
The true light doesn’t blind us.
It finds us.
It finds us in our confusion.
It finds us in our questions.
It finds us before we understand.
It finds us so that we may have life.
[Silent Night]
