The nativity of Jesus Christ stands at the beginning of the Gospel not merely as a sentimental introduction, but as a theological declaration that God entered human history in flesh, time, and place. The New Testament presents the birth of Christ not as myth or abstraction, but as an event anchored in real geography, political authority, and human circumstance, because the incarnation itself is foundational to Christian faith. If Christ did not truly take on flesh, then redemption collapses at its source.
Scripture records the nativity primarily in the Gospels of Matthew and Luke, each emphasizing different aspects of the same event. Matthew situates the birth within the line of David and the fulfillment of covenant promises, emphasizing kingship, prophecy, and continuity with Israel’s history. Luke situates the birth within the broader human world, naming rulers, censuses, and social conditions, emphasizing humility, obedience, and divine initiative. Neither Gospel provides a calendar date, and that omission is intentional, because the authority of the event does not rest on chronology, but on reality.
Luke explicitly grounds the nativity in history by naming Caesar Augustus, Quirinius, and the Roman census, establishing that the incarnation occurred under identifiable political conditions rather than in an undefined sacred past. The Greek text reinforces this historical concreteness. Luke writes that Mary gave birth to her firstborn son and laid him in a manger, using straightforward narrative language rather than symbolic or poetic abstraction. The verbs are plain, the setting is ordinary, and the tone is restrained, because the weight of the moment lies in what occurred, not in how it is dramatized.
The angels’ announcement to the shepherds further clarifies the theological meaning of the event. The proclamation is not sentimental; it is declarative. A Savior has been born, who is Christ the Lord. The language unites messianic expectation with divine identity, asserting that the child born in obscurity is both the anointed one and sovereign Lord. The response demanded is not nostalgia, but recognition.
Matthew’s account complements this by emphasizing fulfillment. The birth occurs in Bethlehem, not because of convenience, but because Scripture had already framed the Messiah’s origin there. The visit of the Magi underscores recognition from outside Israel, while Herod’s reaction exposes the threat the incarnation poses to earthly power. The nativity is thus presented not only as divine humility, but as divine confrontation; the arrival of Christ disrupts both political authority and religious complacency.
Scripture is equally clear about what the nativity is not. It is not presented as an annual observance commanded by law, nor is it tied to a prescribed feast day. The New Testament does not instruct believers to celebrate the birth of Christ on a particular date, nor does it forbid remembrance of it. This silence is not neglect; it is freedom. Scripture consistently distinguishes between what is commanded for righteousness and what is permitted for remembrance.
The Biblical pattern for sacred memory supports this distinction. Throughout Scripture, God’s people mark divine acts through remembrance, testimony, and communal confession. These remembrances are not always commanded by explicit law, but they are affirmed as faithful responses to God’s work. The legitimacy of remembrance rests not in calendar precision, but in theological truthfulness.
The Apostle Paul addresses this directly when he speaks of the observance of days. He acknowledges that some believers regard certain days as significant while others do not, and he refuses to bind conscience on either side. The governing principle is whether the act is done unto the Lord with gratitude and faith. This framework is decisive under CSSTA rules, because it establishes that remembrance is permissible so long as it does not become law, requirement, or substitute for obedience.
Early Christian tradition fits within this Biblical freedom. When believers began marking the nativity, they did not claim divine command for a date; they sought coherence within redemptive history. The reasoning that associated the conception of Christ with the date of his crucifixion reflects theological symbolism rather than pagan borrowing, and it demonstrates an attempt to hold the incarnation and atonement together as a unified work of salvation. Tradition here functions as historical witness, not doctrinal authority.
Celebrating the nativity on December 25th, therefore, is not a claim of certainty about the calendar, nor is it a concession to external culture. It is a confession made in time: God became flesh. The church does not celebrate a day for its own sake; it marks the truth that the eternal Word entered history, took on humanity, and began the work that would culminate at the cross and resurrection.
Under Sola Scriptura, the test is not whether Scripture commands the observance, but whether Scripture permits it and whether the practice aligns with truth. The nativity passes that test. Scripture affirms the incarnation. Scripture affirms remembrance. Scripture affirms freedom in non-essential observances. Scripture condemns only the elevation of human tradition to divine law, not the faithful commemoration of God’s acts.
When Christians celebrate the nativity, rightly ordered, they are not adding to the Gospel; they are confessing it. They are not replacing obedience with ritual; they are bearing witness to the moment salvation entered the world in flesh. The danger lies not in celebration, but in distortion, when remembrance becomes requirement or sentiment replaces truth.
The nativity, as Scripture presents it, calls believers not to nostalgia, but to recognition. The child born in Bethlehem is Lord. The humility of the manger does not soften the claim; it intensifies it. God did not enter the world in abstraction, but in vulnerability, obedience, and historical reality.
That is why the nativity matters. That is why remembering it is Biblically permissible. And that is why, when celebrated rightly, it remains an act of faith rather than tradition bound by law.
Appalachian Post 
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