A more lowly place of birth could not exist. Mary looks at the face of the baby. Her son, her Lord, His Majesty. And somehow she knows she is holding God. She remembers the words of the angel: “His kingdom will never end” (Luke 1:33 NIV).
Majesty in the midst of the mundane. Holiness in the filth of sheep manure and sweat. Divinity entering the world on the floor of a stable, through the womb of a teenager, and in the presence of a carpenter.
Meanwhile the city hums. People would scoff at anyone who told them the Messiah lay in the arms of a teenager on the outskirts of their village. They were all too busy to consider the possibility. Those who missed His Majesty’s arrival that night missed it because they simply weren’t looking. Life has not changed in the last two thousand years, has it?