When God entered time and became a man, he who was boundless became bound. Imprisoned in flesh. Restricted by weary-prone muscles and eyelids. For more than three decades, his once limitless reach would be limited to the stretch of an arm, his speed checked to the pace of human feet. Lucado, He Chose the Nails  

I could call it an ordinary day; in human terms, it was, in fact, a busy time of great importance. You see, a Roman edict had been spread throughout the Empire that all who dwelled within its borders must travel to their ancestral homes to be counted for tax purposes. That’s how a young, tired, and probably very dusty couple came to be in the town of Bethlehem. Wouldn’t you know that the baby she carried decided to be born into all that confusion, and no one, except the cattle and sheep in the stable with them, even noticed. The locals were too focused on making a few bucks while all the travelers were in town, and the travelers were visiting family members they hadn’t seen in ages and making preparations to return to their homes.

But the angels noticed, and they kicked up quite a fuss, lighting up the sky and scaring a group of lowly shepherds, who then travelled to see this special baby. And that is the short version of how the “hope” of the world was born.

After being circumcised, visited by the Magi, making a mad dash to escape the evil King Herod, and returning home only to find that danger still lurked, Jesus was finally settled with his family in the town of Nazareth. And there, he quietly grew to be a man. Other than one story of the twelve-year-old being lost during a journey and then found by his parents, where he was teaching in the temple courts, we know only what our imaginations can conjure about how “hope” spent his first thirty years. It was then that his ministry began. Often, his encounters with the people of the area where he preached brought more questions than answers. “Who is this man?” “How can he call himself the Son of God?” “He doesn’t really heal people, it’s all a sham!” And yet, many followed and heard his stories and believed he was something special, even if they weren’t quite sure exactly how he was special. But they would know soon.

When the time came for him to complete his ministry, he left his disciples, again with questions, left his mother, who had followed him over many dusty miles, and voluntarily walked to his own cross. Oh yes, there were moments of anguish, but he remained dedicated to his pre-ordained purpose. And then he was gone. After all his promises of eternal life, all his parables, all his miracles, he died. Just like any other man nailed to a cross, he died. His close followers were shocked, dismayed, and in denial. They loved him—they treasured their moments with him, but he was gone. The hope of the world had died that Friday!

And aren’t we blessed to know the rest of the story? We know about Sunday morning, the empty tomb, when Mary Magdalene, shocked to find the body gone, went in search of Peter and John. They raced to the tomb and wondered where their Lord had been taken. The other disciples, who had scattered to the wind in their escape from any known association with the man called Jesus, came tiptoeing back, one by one. Was it curiosity or a tiny shred of hope that he might yet be alive? We’ll never know… but we do know they still hid behind locked doors. Jesus, however, no longer needed doors. He simply appeared from the other side of the wall, and the shocked expressions on the disciples’ faces changed to joy as they began to realize he wasn’t dead at all. In fact, “hope” had been born again. And this time, it wasn’t just for the Jews, but for all mankind—you, me, our families, our friends, and even people like the criminal on the cross beside him. No matter what we’ve done, we’re still his children and worthy of his grace if we choose to follow him.

Why did he do it? What would cause him to suffer the torture and humiliation, the taunts and spitting? Only one thing…he loves us and wants us to be with him!

But you, Lord, are my shield! You are my glory! You are the one who restores me. Ps 3:3 CEB

Hope was born in an animal stall at Christmas, and many believed it died on a cross at Golgotha. But it didn’t. Hope is alive! It was born again on Resurrection Morning!