Glory to the King

The praises of glory faded out for darkness.

He heard the heartbeat of someone else, someone other than his Father.

There were no voices singing “Holy holy holy” in this darkness he dwelt in. Just the steady thump of his mother’s heart, and the sound of her voice.

Then the days were accomplished, she should be delivered. Heaven came and touched the earth below as he entered the world. It was cold, the light was not bright and beautiful as the light he was used to in glory.

There were no cries of worship for him, the King.

Only his own cries filled the air, and the cries of his mother as she brought him to her chest. He heard her whisper his name, “Jesus.”

He knew he was born to die.

This was nothing like his throne in glory.

He lay here, on his mother’s chest, shivering in the cold. He heard the rustle of animals, and smelled the hay. He was covered in blood, but it wasn’t his. It was hers. She had had sacrificed her body, almost totally alone, away from her family, only Joseph at her side. She had brought this baby into the world, in a cold, dark, dirty stable. Maybe Jesus smiled at her in that moment, because though he was covered in her blood in this moment, he had come to cover her in his. To shed his blood so that she might forever be free from sin and its condemnation.

She wrapped him warmly, and laid him in the hay. He heard her groan as her broken body ached with everything she had just been through.

Maybe there was a tear in his eye, as he wished he could tell her, that he would allow his body to be broken for her. He would allow his blood to be shed. He would lay down on a cross for her. This that she had experienced to usher him into this world, was all for the sake of salvation. By his stripes, she would be healed.

She sang to him gently, softly in the dark. Until there were other voices that joined her. They were not in harmony. The voices often broke, or forgot the words. But as Jesus, looked up into the face of shepherds, who were in awe to be invited in, I have no doubt that he smiled at them too. Maybe their hot tears of worship hit his little body and almost warmed him for a moment.

Their worship was sweeter than any angel’s.

The whispers of “Jesus” filled the stable.

Just uttering his name brought joy.

The Savior was here.

Glory to God in the highest!

There was no greater peace than sitting beside the manager, looking into the eyes of the One who came to save.

Emmanuel, God with us.

The stable was full that night. It wasn’t the worship of thousands of angelic voices, it was the simple praises of people who didn’t know how, and didn’t know when, but they knew this baby would change the world.

Glory to the King.