What Could We Bring Him This Christmas?

Not a symbolic gift. 

Not a sentimental gesture. 

But something real.

If it were humanly possible to honor Him on His celebrated day of birth, what would actually make his heart smile?

Scripture records humanity asking that very question.

Micah 6:6–7 “With what shall I come before the Lord, and bow myself before God on high? Shall I come before Him with burnt offerings, with calves a year old? Will the Lord be pleased with thousands of rams, with ten thousands of rivers of oil? Shall I give my firstborn for my transgression, the fruit of my body for the sin of my soul?”

The questions escalate—more sacrifice, more cost, more loss—as though God might finally be satisfied by the magnitude of the offering.

No—not that.

The answer is quieter. Simpler. Far more personal.

“He has shown you, O man, what is good; and what does the Lord require of you but to do justly, to love mercy, and to walk humbly with your God?” (Micah 6:8)

What God desires has never been an impressive sacrifice, but an aligned heart.

Our modern Christmas celebrations are often loud, crowded, and overfull. Yet the first Christmas came without announcement, without applause, without room.

God entered the world not through a palace, which would have been appropriate, but through vulnerability by placing himself in human hands.

What can we offer him? 

Stillness?

Presence?

Attention?

A few minutes to meditate -on the Nativity. Not as décor—but as truth. His birth was the first of many miracles He would give to us.

When Mary and Joseph arrived in Bethlehem, there was no vacancy. No room. No welcome. And yet, Jesus came anyway. It was time. And the time stood still, like the star, for the most miraculous moment in history to date.

That detail is more than historical—it is revelatory. It says everything about who He is.

Even now, Jesus is often pushed to the edges. Not rejected outright, just displaced. Crowded out by schedules, noise, consumption, and expectation.

What unsettles people is not the baby in the manger—it is the love he came wrapped in. A love no one before or since could offer. A love that does not force itself but arrives quietly. He simply came offering himself, not demanding allegiance or surrender.

So the question this Christmas:

What might Jesus want—from me?

The answer has never changed.

Not performance. Not excess. Not display.

But response. A yes.

Does He know that nothing is competing for your time with Him this season? 

Lord Jesus, You came quietly into a crowded world, yet Your presence changed everything. Forgive me for the times I have offered you busyness instead of obedience, noise instead of nearness. This Christmas, I choose to make time for reflection and response. Shape my heart to respond—to Your Word, Your Spirit, Your love, and Your call. May my life be a willing yes.