In the days after Christmas, many of us begin to put things away. Decorations come down. The house gets cleaned. We prepare for what’s next. It’s understandable. But it also raises a quiet question worth sitting with: what might our hurry to move on be revealing about who—or what—rules our hearts?

For a few more days the Church continues to linger at the manger, not rushing past the mystery, not yet arriving at Epiphany, still holding space for what has come into the world.

That pause matters.

At Christmas, we proclaim that a child has been born. Angels announce it. Shepherds hurry toward it. A quiet town becomes the center of the world’s attention. But beneath the tenderness of the scene is a far more unsettling claim. This child is not only born. He is born King.

For centuries, Israel had been waiting for such a King. The prophets spoke of a ruler from the line of David, one who would shepherd God’s people with justice and faithfulness. Isaiah foretold a child upon whose shoulders authority would rest. Micah pointed to Bethlehem as the unlikely birthplace of a ruler whose origins were from of old. God’s answer to the world’s brokenness would come through a King.

And yet, when the King finally arrived, almost no one recognized Him.

He came without armies, without power, without a throne that looked anything like what had been imagined. He entered the world in humility, wrapped not in royal garments but in cloth, laid not in a palace but in a manger. Still, the titles spoken over Him leave no room for doubt. He is Emmanuel, God with us. He is Savior. He is Lord.

The New Testament does not soften this claim. 1 Timothy 6:15 tells us that Jesus is the King of Kings and Lord of Lords. His reign is not limited by borders or time. It does not rise and fall like earthly powers. His kingdom is eternal. But Scripture also makes something else clear. While His kingship is universal, it is also deeply personal.

A King does not merely exist. A King reigns.

And that brings the Christmas story very close to home.

At the time of Jesus’ birth, there was no room for Him in the inn. The question we must now wrestle with, standing between Christmas and a new year, is whether there is room for Him in our hearts. Not simply room to visit. Not space left over after other priorities are settled. But room to reign.

I must attest that there are areas of my life that I have not yet given the Lord full reign. I still have areas where I prefer control, comfort, or familiarity over surrender. I see those places more clearly now than I once did, and as a new year approaches, I know I am being invited to surrender these areas too. Do you see some things in your life that you are being invited to surrender?

Many of us are quite willing to welcome Christ into certain areas of life: worship, prayer, generosity, or service. These feel appropriate and familiar. But there are other places we guard more carefully. Decisions we prefer to control. Habits we excuse. Fears we manage on our own. Wounds we keep protected. Areas where we acknowledge Christ’s presence but quietly resist His authority.

Scripture reminds us that no one can serve two masters. Wherever Christ is not King, something else inevitably sits on the throne: control, comfort, success, fear, resentment, or pride. None of these rule gently. None of them deliver the freedom they promise.

In just a few days, we will mark Epiphany, the moment when the Magi arrive and lay their gifts before the newborn King. Gold for His royalty, frankincense for His divinity, myrrh foreshadowing sacrifice. As that moment approaches, it invites a quieter question for each of us as a new year draws near. What gifts will we place before the King? What parts of our lives are we willing to surrender? What spaces are we finally ready to open?

The wonder of Christmas is not only that God became human, but that the King chose a path of love rather than force. He does not seize authority. He invites trust. His reign is established not by domination, but by self-giving love.

As one year ends and another begins, we find ourselves in this in-between space, after Christmas, before Epiphany, looking back and looking ahead. The invitation is simple, but not easy. Is Christ King over all of life, or only the parts we are comfortable offering?

A King is born. And the kingdom He longs to establish does not begin in Bethlehem alone. It begins wherever hearts are willing to say, “Reign here too.”

Heavenly Father, as I stand between the joy of Christmas and the beginning of a new year, help me to receive Your Son not only as Savior, but as King. Reveal the places in my life where I still resist His rule and give me the grace to open every part of my heart to His gentle reign. As I step into the days ahead, may His kingship bring freedom, healing, and peace. Amen.

AMDG 

AMDG is a Latin abbreviation for “Ad Majorem Dei Gloriam,” which means “For the Greater Glory of God.”

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Brian Pusateri
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