The Cry of Love

The world's version of Christmas is loud. Stores hum with music, calendars fill up fast, and our attention gets pulled in every direction. But the real sound of Christmas — the one that changed the world forever — is surprisingly quiet.

It’s the cry of a newborn baby.

Every baby cries at birth. It’s a sign of life. But the first cry of Jesus was more than human — it was holy. The eternal Word, the One who spoke creation into existence, stepped into His own creation and breathed the air He made. That cry was the sound of love showing up in person.

John doesn’t give us a manger scene or shepherds. Instead, he takes us back to eternity: “In the beginning was the Word.” Christmas didn’t start in Bethlehem — it started in the heart of God. Love didn’t shout from heaven. Love came down in the flesh.

And it didn’t arrive in ideal conditions. Jesus was born into darkness — political oppression, spiritual confusion, human suffering. Yet John reminds us that the light shines in the darkness, and the darkness can never extinguish it. Love doesn’t wait for things to clean up. It enters the mess to redeem it from the inside out.

That’s why we celebrate Christmas. Not because we were commanded to, but because this moment is too big to ignore. It split time. It changed everything. God stepped into history so He could be with us — and redeem us.

Scripture teaches us that remembrance matters. Passover. Communion. Memorials. Christmas is meant to be the same. A holy pause. A deliberate remembering of what God has done.

And love always invites a response. Jesus didn’t come to condemn the world, but to save it. To all who receive Him, He gives the right to become children of God. That’s the invitation of Christmas — not to be religious, but to come home.

This year, let’s keep the main thing the main thing. Let’s slow down, quiet the noise, and listen again for the sound of love. It’s still there. And it’s still calling us by name.