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Luke’s account of the nativity includes the famous “no room” clause that deftly adds to the drama of the story1. When Joseph knocked on the door of Bethlehem Inn, he and his virgin bride, great with child, were turned away and forced to find lodging elsewhere. No room. Adding to their hardship, the Firstborn2 Son of God was more than eager to become the firstborn son of Mary and Joseph, while every jostle and bump on the back of the donkey was no joyride for the young mother-to-be!
Dr. Luke, being an ever so meticulous researcher and orderly chronicler of history, thoroughly interviewed eyewitnesses, organized his sources, dated events by Roman rulers, and employed precise geographical and medical terminology in his writing. Yet this careful historian, so committed to recording every detail, had no problem addressing the supernatural and fitting it seamlessly into his archival record.
In the same region, shepherds were staying out in the fields and keeping watch at night over their flock. Then an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them…(Luke 2:8-9)
Imagine a respectable journalist reporting on an event of such nature today, and matter-of-factly including signs and wonders in their report as if it was the most normal thing. That’s essentially what Luke did. Visiting angels, angelic choirs, virgin birth, prophecies and fulfillments—all are arranged equally alongside his historical accounting. These supernatural elements are nothing unusual to Luke, and yet they mean everything! Mixed seamlessly with political, socioeconomic, geographic, and historical details are heavenly interventions relayed to us as factual, without disclaimer or apology.
“Without the supernatural, there is no Christmas, and there is no gospel.”
Alastair Begg, Let Earth Receive Her King
The main characters in the First Advent had one thing in common: they welcomed the supernatural to interrupt their ordinary lives. Simeon. Anna. The Magi. And, of course, Mary and Joseph, once the plan was disclosed3. But those who weren’t as welcoming—Herod, the priests, the innkeeper, most of Jerusalem4—had no clue what was happening around them. They missed everything: the visiting angels, the heavenly choirs, the guiding star.
One of the most supernatural Christmases I remember was sitting in our family’s den, listening to Joni Eareckson Tada’s Christmas album as lights from the Christmas tree cast an ethereal glow and the scents of cinnamon and clove filled the house. I silently wept because I had survived a back-breaking fall weeks earlier, and, though permanently paralyzed, was gifted with a multitude of reasons to rejoice. I was home. I was alive. And heavenly peace filled my heart.
You might not have read words like signs and wonders in that paragraph, but I assure you, the palpable presence of the Savior from heaven was as close to me as the reality of that silent night, holy night in Bethlehem all those years ago.
It could have been different; I could have been an embittered, angry young man, crippled with sadness and bemoaning my plight. I could have hurled curses from a hardened heart, demanding to be left alone. Or worse, plotting to take my life. It happens.
Instead, I humbly made room for Jesus. And He supernaturally sang to me through a quadriplegic, and I was healed. Heaven came down, and glory filled my soul. I might as well have heard the Lord Jesus say, “Rise, take up your mat and walk”5 in that moment. Perhaps, in some small way, I did.
Advent begins in darkness, but ends in light. So let it. Anxiety, sadness, loneliness, grief, and despair are all part of the season for many, perhaps yourself. But if you’re open — if you have a room to spare — the heavens will open up and you might just hear the worshiping choir and witness the glory of God6.
Selah, beloved. Merry Christmas!
- Luke 2:7 ↩︎
- Colossians 1:15 ↩︎
- Luke 2:25-32; Luke 2:36-38; Matthew 2:1; Luke 1:26-38; Matthew 1:19-25 ↩︎
- Matthew 2:3-8; Luke 2:7 ↩︎
- Mark 2:11 ↩︎
- Luke 2:9 ↩︎