I remember a specific Christmas from when I was a much younger man. We were a young family, just getting our start, and the gap between “what we wanted to give” and “what we had to give” was a canyon.
My wife and I scraped. We picked up extra shifts. We stayed up late fixing old things to look new. We ate cheap so the tree could look full. There is a specific kind of exhaustion that comes from that season of life—a bone-deep weariness born of necessity.
I remember sitting there on Christmas morning, coffee in hand, bank account empty, body aching. I didn’t feel like a hero. I felt depleted. But looking at my family, I realized that the depletion was the gift. The lack of resources had forced us to rely on something else. We hadn’t “won” Christmas; we had simply survived it by grace. And in that survival, the joy was sharper because the desperation was real.
That was the sacrifice of the climb.
Today, life is different.
I am standing on what feels like more solid ground. The panic of “making ends meet” has been replaced by the steady hum of maintenance. The tree is full, and I slept a full eight hours last night.
And that is exactly the danger.
When we were young, sacrifice was forced upon us by circumstance. We were desperate, so we looked for a Savior. But as we get older, as we settle into the “blessing” of stability, sacrifice becomes a choice. And it is a choice we too often decline.
We confuse “being blessed” with “being comfortable.” But comfort is a sedative. It numbs us to the very ache that Advent is supposed to amplify. John the Baptist didn’t talk about adding more decorations; he talked about making straight paths in the wilderness.
That requires excavation. That requires digging. That requires intentional sacrifice.
The younger man sacrificed because he had to. The established man must sacrifice because he needs to—to break the numbness. We have to choose to feel the want again.
The Challenge: The Luke 2 Excavation
This week, we aren’t just reading the story; we are going to excavate it. We are going to trade our comfort for attention.
The Exchange: Identify one “comfort loop” this week (evening TV, morning scrolling, lunch break podcasts). Cut it out. That time is now for this excavation.
The Excavation Guide: When you read Luke 2:1-20 in that silenced time, look for these three tensions. Don’t just read words; find the struggle.
The Tension of Power (vs. 1-4):
- Look for: Caesar’s decree moves the whole world just to get one couple to Bethlehem.
- Ask: Where do I feel the “decrees” of the world pushing me right now? How is God using even those annoyances to position me?
The Tension of Priority (vs. 7):
- Look for: “No room.” It wasn’t malice; it was just full.
- Ask: My life isn’t hateful toward God, but is it just full? What “inn” in my heart is too crowded with good things to let the Best thing in?
The Tension of Haste (vs. 15-16):
- Look for: The shepherds said, “Let us go now.” They left their livelihood (the sheep) immediately.
- Ask: When was the last time I moved with haste to meet with Jesus? Or is my faith a “when I get around to it” activity?
The Prayer
Father,
Forgive me for falling in love with my own comfort. I have let the stability You gave me become a barrier to You. Make me desperate again. Help me to excavate the room in my heart that has become cluttered with ‘good enough’. I lay down my distraction to pick up Your presence.
Amen.
Stay Anchored.
humble