The Lamb

The Lamb

I never thought much about why Jesus was born in a stable. For years, I just accepted it as part of the Christmas story—Mary and Joseph, no room at the inn, a humble birth in a barn. It seemed... unfortunate. Maybe even sad. Like God's plan didn’t include this and he worked with what handed out in this journey.

But when I actually stopped and asked the Lord about it—really asked Him, not just wondered—everything shifted. Because here's what He showed me: nothing about Jesus' birth was random. Not the stable. Not the swaddling clothes. Not the manger. Every single detail was chosen with divine intention.

And it all starts to make sense when you remember who Jesus came to be.

The Lamb of God

Think about it: where are lambs born? In barns. Where other animals are born. And that's exactly where Jesus—the Lamb of God—chose to enter this world. It's not strange at all when you realize what He came to do.

He came as the final sacrifice. The ultimate Lamb who would take away the sin of the world. Every sacrificial lamb that had ever been offered in the temple was pointing forward to Him. And so, of course, the Lamb of God would be born in the same kind of place where all those other lambs were born—among the animals, in the hay, in the humble reality of a barn.

John the Baptist saw it immediately when Jesus began His ministry: "Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!" (John 1:29, ESV). Isaiah prophesied it centuries before: "He was oppressed, and he was afflicted, yet he opened not his mouth; like a lamb that is led to the slaughter, and like a sheep that before its shearers is silent, so he opened not his mouth" (Isaiah 53:7, ESV). Peter reflected on it: we were ransomed "with the precious blood of Christ, like that of a lamb without blemish or spot" (1 Peter 1:18-19, ESV).

From the very beginning—from the very moment of His birth—Jesus was the Lamb. And lambs are born in barns.

Fulfilling Every Detail

Jesus didn't come to sort of fulfill the law, or to fulfill most of it, or to fulfill the important parts. He came to fulfill every single piece of it. Every prophecy. Every shadow. Every symbol. Every detail mattered because it all pointed to Him.

So when I think about His birth now, I don't see an accident or a sad circumstance. I see precision. I see intention. I see God orchestrating every detail to reveal His Son's true purpose from the very first breath He took on earth.

The Lamb was born where lambs are born. It makes perfect sense.

Embracing Discomfort from Day One

But here's where it gets even more profound: from His very first breath, Jesus chose discomfort. The King of Kings didn't enter the world in a palace with silk sheets and attendants. He entered in a stable—a place reserved for animals, not royalty. And this wasn't by accident. This was the beginning of a life marked by sacrifice.

His humble birth foreshadowed everything that would come—a life of serving others, a ministry spent with the broken and overlooked, and ultimately, a death on a cross. Jesus' birth set the tone for His entire mission. He came to serve, not to be served. He came to give His life as a ransom for many.

I don't know about you, but I've spent a lot of time in barns. I've helped with animal births. And let me tell you—it's not what I would consider an appropriate setting for a human birth. It's messy. It's smelly. It's uncomfortable. There's hay and dirt and animal sounds and... it's just not the place you'd choose if you had any other option.

But God did choose that, not only chose it, he orchestrated these exact circumstances. The Father positioned His Son to be born in the most humble setting imaginable. And I think that tells us something important: sometimes God calls us out of our comfortable circumstances—not because He's forgotten us or because His plan went wrong, but because He's positioning us for His purposes.

Rejection as Divine Provision

Here's something else the Lord showed me that I'd never considered: sometimes rejection is actually the provision of God. Mary and Joseph were rejected from the inn. They were sent to a place of solitude, a place that probably felt lonely and isolating, for what would become one of the greatest moments of their lives—and of all human history.

Think about it: they were rejected from what would have been the "normal" place for a birth. There was no room in the inn. No comfortable bed. No warm fire. No midwife readily available. Just rejection. And yet, that rejection positioned them exactly where God needed them to be.

This pattern of rejection actually marked Jesus' entire life. Years later, when He began His ministry, "he could do no mighty work there, except that he laid his hands on a few sick people and healed them. And he marveled because of their unbelief" (Mark 6:5-6, ESV). In His own hometown, He was rejected. He Himself said, "A prophet is not without honor, except in his hometown and among his relatives and in his own household" (Mark 6:4, ESV).

The rejection Mary and Joseph faced at the inn wasn't a mistake or an unfortunate circumstance. It was divine positioning. It was protection. It was provision. Because if they had been accepted into that crowded inn, surrounded by travelers and noise and distraction, would anyone have noticed what was really happening? Would the shepherds have found them? Would the angels' announcement have led to the right place?

Sometimes when doors close in our faces, when we face rejection from places or people we thought would welcome us, God is actually protecting us and positioning us for His purposes. The rejection isn't the end of the story—it's often the beginning of something far greater than we could have imagined.

Even in the rejection, there is provision.

Something caught my eye in the story of John the Baptist's birth that I'd never noticed before. When Mary discovered she was pregnant, she went to visit her relative Elizabeth, who was also miraculously pregnant with John. The Scripture tells us Mary arrived when Elizabeth was in her sixth month of pregnancy, and Mary stayed with her for about three months (Luke 1:39-56, ESV). Do the math: 6 + 3 = 9.

Mary was there for John's delivery. She was there to see Elizabeth give birth. She was there to experience Elizabeth's Braxton Hicks contractions, to see the signs of labor, to assist with the birth. God provided Elizabeth with a friend and confidante during her final trimester, yes—but He also taught Mary how to give birth. What to expect. How to push. How to breathe. How to care for a newborn in those first precious moments.

Mary had her very own real-life Lamaze class, provided by the Father Himself. When she faced her own labor in that uncomfortable stable months later, she wasn't going in blind. She'd already been through it once with Elizabeth. God's provision was woven into the very fabric of what looked like rejection and isolation.

The rejection from the inn meant no midwife, no experienced woman to help—but God had already provided that months earlier through Elizabeth. "Mary arose and went with haste into the hill country, to a town in Judah, and she entered the house of Zechariah and greeted Elizabeth... And Mary remained with her about three months and returned to her home" (Luke 1:39-40, 56, ESV).

Our Own Mangers

Jesus said, "If anyone would come after me, let him deny himself and take up his cross daily and follow me" (Luke 9:23, ESV). Following Christ means we embrace our own "mangers"—our own uncomfortable places of service.

We're not called to live in the comfort zone. We're called to deny ourselves, take up our cross daily, and follow Him. Just as Jesus didn't demand comfort, we're called to surrender our expectations of ease. This might mean serving in ways that are inconvenient. Loving people who are difficult. Giving sacrificially. Staying faithful when it would be easier to walk away.

Our "manger moments"—those uncomfortable places God calls us to—are opportunities to demonstrate that Christ is worth more than our comfort.

The Danger of the Comfort Zone

When I was studying all of this, the Holy Spirit whispered something to me that I haven't been able to shake: The comfort zone is the danger zone.

It's a place of complacency. A place where we stop growing, stop stretching, stop depending fully on God. I hear people say it all the time—"That just isn't me" or "I'm not comfortable doing that." And listen, I need to be clear here: I'm not talking about what man is asking you to do. Pressure from people is not the same as the leading of the Lord.

But when Holy Spirit is leading you to do something—even something that feels way outside your comfort zone—that's different. Because we were never meant to be comfortable in our walk with God. Actually, we're called to a place of discomfort, of stretching and reaching, so that we can grow and develop our hearts, our minds, and our influence on the culture around us.

Discomfort That Brings Breakthrough

Think about Mary. She experienced the discomfort of an unexpected pregnancy, the judgment of her community, a long journey while nine months pregnant, and then giving birth in a stable. That's a lot of discomfort. But that discomfort brought forth the Savior of the world.

I've noticed this pattern in my own life and in Scripture: the seasons of greatest discomfort often come right before the seasons of greatest spiritual growth and Kingdom impact. When we're uncomfortable, we can't rely on our own resources anymore. We're forced to depend fully on God.

His Word promises us that in our weakness, His strength is made perfect. It's during these uncomfortable seasons that we must not lean on our own understanding but rely solely on Him. "Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding" (Proverbs 3:5, ESV).

Our Discomfort Has Purpose

Just as Jesus' uncomfortable (uncomfortable seems like such a kind word to describe what he went through) birth, life, and death accomplished our salvation, our willingness to serve in discomfort can lead others to Christ. When the world sees Christians joyfully serving in difficult circumstances, loving sacrificially, and remaining faithful through trials, they see something supernatural.

Our willingness to embrace discomfort for Christ's sake becomes a testimony to His worth and His transforming power. It's a place where His natural becomes our supernatural—where we stop striving and start flowing in the places we used to struggle.

Being uncomfortable and boldly stepping into the areas where we're called has incredible impact—in the Kingdom, in our communities, and in our families.

So here's my question for you:

Where is the Lord inviting you to your proverbial manger?

What uncomfortable place is He asking you to step into? What sacrifice is He calling you to make? What comfort is He asking you to surrender so that His purposes can be fulfilled through you?

Because if the King of Kings was willing to be born in a barn, surely we can trust Him with our discomfort too.

If you would like the free devotional for this post (Devotional-The Lamb) please check out the blog post at:

https://www.alreadyrescued.com