On this Christmas Eve, we return to a scene so familiar that we risk forgetting how radical it truly is. A young woman—very pregnant—rides a donkey through the cold night. A quiet, faithful man walks beside her. And within her womb is not only a child, but the Life, the Word, and the Truth Himself.
Mary was not merely carrying a baby. She was carrying Christ. And that matters—especially today.
Scripture tells us that King Herod sought to destroy the Child. But let us be precise about what he sought to destroy. Not an idea. Not a philosophy. Not a future movement. He sought to destroy Life. He sought to silence the Word. He sought to extinguish the Truth—before the Truth could even speak. Herod feared Christ not because He had spoken yet, but because He existed. That alone should give us pause.
Tonight, we contemplate a profound mystery that the modern world is uncomfortable naming: Christ, in Mary’s womb, was fully conscious—fully present, fully aware, fully alive. He knew where He was. He willingly accepted the confinement, vulnerability, and dependence of the womb. The Creator of the universe humbled Himself to dwell there. And if Christ—fully God and fully man—was conscious in the womb, what does that tell us about the nature of human life?
We are made in the image and likeness of God. That truth is not poetic sentiment; it is theological reality. If Christ’s life in the womb was real, relational, and aware, then the lives formed in the womb today share in that same dignity. We do not become human at birth. We do not suddenly awaken to personhood once we pass through the birth canal. We are image-bearers from the beginning.
We see this the moment a child is born. A newborn placed on its mother’s chest is calm, while that same baby placed on a stranger’s chest will cry. Why? Because the child knows. It recognizes her heartbeat—the one it lived beside for months. It recognizes her voice—the one it heard from within the womb. It recognizes her scent—the one that signaled safety and life. This knowing did not begin at birth. It began before. Consciousness does not suddenly appear. Relationship does not suddenly form. Awareness does not magically arrive. It was already there.
On that first Christmas Eve, the world faced a choice: to protect the vulnerable Life, or to justify the power of a ruler who claimed the right to decide who may live. Herod chose power. Mary chose trust. Joseph chose protection. God chose humility.
Tonight, we face that same choice. In Canada and throughout the world, we live in a culture that increasingly defends the right of modern-day Herods—the authority to determine whose life has value, whose life is inconvenient, and whose life may be ended. But Christmas tells a different story. It tells us that Life is not granted by kings, courts, or cultures. Life is given by God. And the smallest, quietest lives are often the most dangerous—to evil.
So tonight, as candles are lit and carols are sung, we must ask ourselves honestly: Are we protecting the Life, the Word, and the Truth? Or are we quietly siding with Herod—comforted by power, policy, and permission?
Christmas does not allow us to remain neutral. The Truth entered the world in the womb of a woman, and the world responded then as it often does now. But Mary said yes. Joseph stood guard. And Christ came anyway.
May we have the courage, in our time, to recognize who is good and who is evil—and to choose Life.
Elizabeth Sutcliffe 