CHRISTMAS AMONG THE RUBBLE
Christmas cards tend to show completion—finished houses, polished scenes, everything in its proper place. But the Gospel dares to speak of Christmas from a construction site, where stones lie scattered and hands ache from unfinished work. The word comes from the prophet Haggai, preaching not to dreamers but to weary rebuilders.
The people have returned from exile. They have laid a foundation for the house of the Lord—but progress has stalled. What stands before them feels small, unimpressive, almost embarrassing when compared to former glory.
God speaks into that discouragement:
“Who is left among you who saw this temple in its former glory? And how do you see it now? In comparison with it, is this not in your eyes as nothing?” (Haggai 2:3).
God does not scold their honesty. He names it. This—this pile of stone and half-formed hope—looks like nothing. Christmas understands this tension. When the Son of David finally comes, He does not resemble the kingdom people imagined. No throne. No army. No visible splendor. Just a child—and not even in the right kind of house.
But God is not finished speaking.
“Yet now be strong, Zerubbabel…and be strong, Joshua…and be strong, all you people of the land…and work; for I am with you,” says the Lord of hosts” (Haggai 2:4).
This is the heart of Christmas theology: I am with you.
Not after the work is done.
Not when the structure is complete.
But in the middle of the mess.
Christ does not wait for perfection—He enters process.
Then comes the promise that feels almost too large for such a modest setting:
“The glory of this latter temple shall be greater than the former,” says the Lord of hosts. “And in this place I will give peace” (Haggai 2:9).
How could that possibly be true? The second temple would never rival Solomon’s in gold or scale.
And yet—centuries later—into that very temple would walk a young couple carrying a child.
No shouting.
No announcement.
But God Himself had arrived.
The glory was not in the stones—it was in the Son.
Christmas teaches us that God’s greatest glory does not come through external splendor but through holy nearness. The former temple held the symbol of God’s presence. The latter would host God in flesh. “And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we beheld His glory” (John 1:14).
And then God adds one more word—quiet, steady, deeply personal:
“The silver is Mine, and the gold is Mine,” says the Lord of hosts (Haggai 2:8).
In other words: I am not limited by what you lack. Christmas confirms this. God does not need human wealth to redeem the world. He borrows a womb, a manger, a cross—and turns them into instruments of salvation.
So if this Christmas finds you staring at unfinished work—dreams half-built, prayers half-answered, faith still under construction—take heart. God does His finest work among the rubble. The glory is coming. Peace is promised. And the Lord is already present.
Not after completion.
Not after improvement.
But here—right now.
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Lord Jesus—glory among the broken stones—meet us in our unfinished places. Strengthen our hands, steady our hearts, and let us trust that Your presence is enough until the work is complete. Amen.
BDD
