Eyes flaming with wrath and justice.  Riding on the back of a white horse.  Words of anger, vengeance, and destruction pouring through a majestic breath of fire.  A mighty warrior.  An all-powerful king.  Isn’t this who they were expecting?

Certainly not this pathetic convict, crying out in agony as rusty nails steal his lifeblood.  This couldn’t be Him.  The salvation of the world, shouting pitifully for His God, forcing a request for one last drink to touch His parched mouth?  It doesn’t make sense.

Or a tiny newborn being clutched in the protective arms of a young mother.  This is the Lion of Judah?  Looks more like a helpless lamb.  In fact, He’s in the midst of lambs, all completely indifferent to this peasant couple and their new addition.  Meanwhile, passers-by just outside the gate fail to offer so much as a simple congratulation in their hurry to get back inside the warm motel.  Easier just to ignore these poor people who failed to make reservations.

Could this have been the scene envisioned by Moses, when he foresaw the Scepter who would come out of Israel to destroy her enemies? The once prince of Egypt would surely not have pictured the Prince of Peace welcomed to the world by only an entourage of young shepherds.  Or that like Moses, God’s Redemption, too, would have to be rescued from a slaughter of innocents by a ruthless governor.

Where are the red carpets, flowers, and trumpets to announce this royal birth? Could this infant, sitting in a livestock trough, truly be the one whom Isaiah said would reign forever on David’s throne? 

Abraham.  Moses.  David.  Daniel.  Job.  Isaiah.  Adam.  Centuries of anticipation by the faithful, yearning the day when God would make His word flesh, His promise alive.  Did they really expect the fulfillment of their prayers, prophecies, and hopes to come with this obscure infant, in this obscure place, at this obscure time?

But there He lies.  A king.  A warrior.  A savior.  A child.  The answer to a million prayers, and the answer to millions more to come.  Yet the answer to those prayers is also the one to whom they were prayed.  The breath that spoke the universe into existence now wails for a mother’s care.  The hands that sculpted the mountains, not even strong enough to clench a clod of dirt.  God’s own begotten Son, left in the unsteady hands of an innocent young lass.  Only His name declares His mission: Yeshua, “Jehovah is salvation.”

Perhaps only the devil stood terrified by this little one.  While rocking Him to sleep, would young Mary realize that the life entrusted to her was the source of Life itself, sent to defeat death?  He was Messiah before being wrapped up in dirty rags.  Redeemer before stepping aside from the throne of grace to enter humanity.  Lord before man’s first breath.  But the power of God was folded up in this tiny body.  The manger could only contain Him for a moment before He placed Himself in the crossfire of good and evil in order to reclaim the world that He had made.  Behold, the Lamb of God.