I, even I, am He who comforts you. Who are you that you should be afraid of a man who will die, and of the son of a man who will be made like grass? – Isaiah 51:12

Today's Scripture Reading (October 30, 2026): Isaiah 51

Kings and empires die. It is simply a fact of life. I have to admit, sometimes I wonder why kings don't ask themselves one simple question: How will I be remembered when I am gone? What lasting legacy will I leave my people and my family, the ones who carry my name? But instead of asking that question, the more common one seems to be: How do I get what I want out of this life? And it is not just emperors asking; that is the question on our lips as well.

I admit that I have done things in my lifetime that have hurt my legacy. Even I am not immune to the temptation to simply want what I want. Sometimes, as Christians, we need reminders that the beginnings of our faith were humble: a baby born in a manger and a people called by God to serve the culture in which they lived. In the beginning, Christianity was anti-empire; it had no means to gain power and no ambition to do so. Christians were aliens, strangers in a strange land. Christians were persecuted, but that did not seem to change their outlook; after all, their founder had been executed on a cross. For Aristotle, dying in battle to defend the king and empire was the greatest example of courage and honor. For the early Christian, to die in non-violent service to Christ the King, to be executed because of Jesus's message, was the path of real courage and honor. In the early days of our faith, many Christians died that way. However, when Constantine rose to become Emperor of the Roman Empire, all of that changed. Strangers living in a strange land became chosen and honored residents, and, in a strange twist of history, the persecuted became the persecutors. In that moment, we lost the legacy we were meant to carry (and many would argue we lost our souls, too). Almost 1700 years after Constantine, the Christian church has never regained the legacy we lost in the early moments of the fourth century.

That might be why Jesus was born in a manger rather than in a warm room in the inn: to remind us of the legacy we were meant to carry. We are still aliens, strangers in a strange land. We were never meant to be lawmakers; we follow the law of Christ, which makes us servants to those around us. We are salt and light, members of the anti-empire, or anti-kingdom, a countercultural force standing against this world's darkness. We recognize that only our God is permanent. Kings and empires will always rise and fall (as much as some of us don't want to believe it; that includes the Christian Empire, which rose in the fourth century and has been slowly diminishing for the last few generations). All the things of man are like grass; they are here today and gone tomorrow. But Christ, born in a manger, executed on a cross, and rising again on the third day, is the only piece of permanence we have. And if he is for us, "then who can be against us" (Romans 8:31)?

Tomorrow's Scripture Reading: Isaiah 52