A few years ago, I wrote about a trip to London and a moment that forever changed my view of Christ. Being an American, I did not grow up with the reality of royalty as a part of my everyday life. Kings and princesses were the things of fairy tales and Disney movies, and so many of the titles that we use to describe Christ weren’t as readily meaningful to me as they would be to someone who was accustomed to the presence of a monarchy. However, standing outside of Buckingham Palace and realizing that the King of the Universe had died for me, when normally it was the subjects who were sacrificed for the sake of the Ruler, it was as if a brick hit me:
The King was killed.
The One who ruled was slayed.
For me.
It’s a moment that I often come back to in my mind, and it seems that the frequency increases during the Christmas season. Perhaps it’s because I’m reminded that not only did Christ my King die for me, but He also gave up His royal throne so that I may be saved. He gave up power, for weakness; He gave up majesty for lowliness; He gave up prestige for disregard. He left a place where He would never get tired, never cry, never hungry and never be without, in order to enter a place where all that would be His in abundance. He gave up answering prayers from Heaven’s throne, to offering prayers from the dredges of Earth. And He became dependent, reliant on the care of His teenage mother when He could of had angels at His very command.
It wasn’t a fair trade – especially if you look at it from His perspective. We often aren’t willing to give up our place in line for the sake of another who is deemed undeserving, but He gave up everything for people that couldn’t offer Him anything of worth in return. He became a baby – with all the inconveniences of infancy – for our sake. He left the throne room to reside in a manger.
May we in turn give our lives back to Him.