Under the bright canopy of stars, amid the hustle and bustle of a census crowd seeking shelter for the night, comes a King. No trumpet blast signals his imminent approach, no street crier proclaims his arrival, no inn keepers keep vigil to welcome the King of kings into their homes.
Silently, within the womb of a teenage girl on a donkey, He enters the humble village of Bethlehem. His first donkey ride but certainly not his last.
Thirty-three years later, he would take another ride astride another donkey, into the city of Jerusalem. No pompous carriage for this mighty King. No handsome steed or war horse for the Lord of lords. Instead, he chose a peaceful donkey for his first and last rides.
God, deserving everything yet coming to us in humility. Coming, not for the mighty but the weak. Coming, not amid fanfare but quietly, peacefully. Coming not to wage war against the nations but to save the nations. To carry our burdens, our load, our sins upon his back.
One day, Jesus will return. Not on a donkey but astride a pure-white horse. He won’t come quietly or meekly, but will come in majesty and power, the victor over sin and death.
Jesus, our conquering Savior.