#1 Hoy Wit - Sidecar Reflections
A Humorous Reflection on Micah 5:2
Bethlehem, Population: God Knows
You can almost hear the town council of Bethlehem, Ephrathah, if they’d had one.
They’re sitting around on folding chairs in the back of the synagogue, sipping something that isn’t coffee but plays the same role, looking at the ledger.
“Well,” someone says, “we’re still small. That’s something.”
“Any news from Jerusalem?” another asks.
“Oh, Jerusalem,” comes the reply. “Palace, priests, prophets. Always some big religious conference, some summit on holiness. They’re busy being important.”
And Bethlehem settles back into what it does best: being overlooked.
Nobody moves there to be somebody. You’re born there, you herd sheep, you bake bread, you get dust in your sandals, and the most thrilling thing that happens all week is when the bakery loaf actually rises like it’s supposed to.
If you want big spiritual experiences, you go to Jerusalem. That’s where the action is. God’s house is there, His festivals, His crowds. Bethlehem is just the place you pass when your donkey needs to rest.
You can imagine someone in town hearing Micah’s prophecy and saying, “Out of us? Come on. He must mean the other Bethlehem. The famous Bethlehem. The one with a waterpark.”
Because that’s how we think.
If God’s going to do something serious, surely He’ll start in the spiritual capital—somewhere with a good skyline and decent hotel options.
We feel this personally.
When you picture your own “spiritual life,” you probably imagine it happening in Jerusalem: the conference, the big church, the powerful worship night where everyone’s crying in the dark and the sound system works.
You almost never picture Bethlehem: the kitchen table, the school run, the job that feels small, the town where nothing much happens and everyone knows your business and your business is not impressive.
And yet, when God writes His plan down, He takes the divine highlighter and draws a circle around the very place everyone else writes off.
“Bethlehem Ephrathah,
though you are little among the thousands of Judah…”
It’s like God leans over and says, “Yes, that one. The little one. I’ll take it.”
If we were running the universe, we’d do a location-scouting tour. We’d get a consultant. We’d say, “The Messiah needs a better launchpad. Think brand. Think optics.”
God says, “I’ll take the place where the rent is cheap and the streets are dusty and nobody expects My arrival. That’s where the King will slip into the world.”
This is wonderful news if your life feels more like Bethlehem than Jerusalem.
If you are not the impressive Christian, not the platformed person, not the spiritual influencer; if you’re just someone trying to be faithful, carrying groceries in from the car and wondering if your quiet prayers count—congratulations. You’re exactly the sort of address God likes to put on His mail.
The child from Bethlehem grows up, and one day He stretches out His hands and calls Himself the Bread of Life. He was born in the “house of bread,” and to nobody’s surprise but ours, He spends His ministry handing Himself out in pieces—to fishermen, tax collectors, women with bad reputations, people whose lives look decidedly un-Jerusalem.
It turns out the King from eternity is very happy to spend His time in small places: crowded houses, borrowed boats, little villages, ordinary tables.
So if your life has looked depressingly like that—small rooms, simple meals, nothing Instagrammable—be encouraged. You are exactly the kind of town God likes to move into.
The only real question is whether, when He knocks on your door with dusty feet and no entourage, you’ll say:
“Sorry, Lord, You must be looking for Jerusalem. They’re the important ones.”
Or whether you’ll do the deeply Bethlehem thing:
Open the door, clear a little space at the table, and let the eternal King share your bread.
#HolyWitBibleStudy #GordonMcGinnis #ChristInTheOldTestament #Micah52
A Humorous Reflection on Micah 5:2
Bethlehem, Population: God Knows
You can almost hear the town council of Bethlehem, Ephrathah, if they’d had one.
They’re sitting around on folding chairs in the back of the synagogue, sipping something that isn’t coffee but plays the same role, looking at the ledger.
“Well,” someone says, “we’re still small. That’s something.”
“Any news from Jerusalem?” another asks.
“Oh, Jerusalem,” comes the reply. “Palace, priests, prophets. Always some big religious conference, some summit on holiness. They’re busy being important.”
And Bethlehem settles back into what it does best: being overlooked.
Nobody moves there to be somebody. You’re born there, you herd sheep, you bake bread, you get dust in your sandals, and the most thrilling thing that happens all week is when the bakery loaf actually rises like it’s supposed to.
If you want big spiritual experiences, you go to Jerusalem. That’s where the action is. God’s house is there, His festivals, His crowds. Bethlehem is just the place you pass when your donkey needs to rest.
You can imagine someone in town hearing Micah’s prophecy and saying, “Out of us? Come on. He must mean the other Bethlehem. The famous Bethlehem. The one with a waterpark.”
Because that’s how we think.
If God’s going to do something serious, surely He’ll start in the spiritual capital—somewhere with a good skyline and decent hotel options.
We feel this personally.
When you picture your own “spiritual life,” you probably imagine it happening in Jerusalem: the conference, the big church, the powerful worship night where everyone’s crying in the dark and the sound system works.
You almost never picture Bethlehem: the kitchen table, the school run, the job that feels small, the town where nothing much happens and everyone knows your business and your business is not impressive.
And yet, when God writes His plan down, He takes the divine highlighter and draws a circle around the very place everyone else writes off.
“Bethlehem Ephrathah,
though you are little among the thousands of Judah…”
It’s like God leans over and says, “Yes, that one. The little one. I’ll take it.”
If we were running the universe, we’d do a location-scouting tour. We’d get a consultant. We’d say, “The Messiah needs a better launchpad. Think brand. Think optics.”
God says, “I’ll take the place where the rent is cheap and the streets are dusty and nobody expects My arrival. That’s where the King will slip into the world.”
This is wonderful news if your life feels more like Bethlehem than Jerusalem.
If you are not the impressive Christian, not the platformed person, not the spiritual influencer; if you’re just someone trying to be faithful, carrying groceries in from the car and wondering if your quiet prayers count—congratulations. You’re exactly the sort of address God likes to put on His mail.
The child from Bethlehem grows up, and one day He stretches out His hands and calls Himself the Bread of Life. He was born in the “house of bread,” and to nobody’s surprise but ours, He spends His ministry handing Himself out in pieces—to fishermen, tax collectors, women with bad reputations, people whose lives look decidedly un-Jerusalem.
It turns out the King from eternity is very happy to spend His time in small places: crowded houses, borrowed boats, little villages, ordinary tables.
So if your life has looked depressingly like that—small rooms, simple meals, nothing Instagrammable—be encouraged. You are exactly the kind of town God likes to move into.
The only real question is whether, when He knocks on your door with dusty feet and no entourage, you’ll say:
“Sorry, Lord, You must be looking for Jerusalem. They’re the important ones.”
Or whether you’ll do the deeply Bethlehem thing:
Open the door, clear a little space at the table, and let the eternal King share your bread.
#HolyWitBibleStudy #GordonMcGinnis #ChristInTheOldTestament #Micah52
#1 Hoy Wit - Sidecar Reflections
A Humorous Reflection on Micah 5:2
Bethlehem, Population: God Knows
You can almost hear the town council of Bethlehem, Ephrathah, if they’d had one.
They’re sitting around on folding chairs in the back of the synagogue, sipping something that isn’t coffee but plays the same role, looking at the ledger.
“Well,” someone says, “we’re still small. That’s something.”
“Any news from Jerusalem?” another asks.
“Oh, Jerusalem,” comes the reply. “Palace, priests, prophets. Always some big religious conference, some summit on holiness. They’re busy being important.”
And Bethlehem settles back into what it does best: being overlooked.
Nobody moves there to be somebody. You’re born there, you herd sheep, you bake bread, you get dust in your sandals, and the most thrilling thing that happens all week is when the bakery loaf actually rises like it’s supposed to.
If you want big spiritual experiences, you go to Jerusalem. That’s where the action is. God’s house is there, His festivals, His crowds. Bethlehem is just the place you pass when your donkey needs to rest.
You can imagine someone in town hearing Micah’s prophecy and saying, “Out of us? Come on. He must mean the other Bethlehem. The famous Bethlehem. The one with a waterpark.”
Because that’s how we think.
If God’s going to do something serious, surely He’ll start in the spiritual capital—somewhere with a good skyline and decent hotel options.
We feel this personally.
When you picture your own “spiritual life,” you probably imagine it happening in Jerusalem: the conference, the big church, the powerful worship night where everyone’s crying in the dark and the sound system works.
You almost never picture Bethlehem: the kitchen table, the school run, the job that feels small, the town where nothing much happens and everyone knows your business and your business is not impressive.
And yet, when God writes His plan down, He takes the divine highlighter and draws a circle around the very place everyone else writes off.
“Bethlehem Ephrathah,
though you are little among the thousands of Judah…”
It’s like God leans over and says, “Yes, that one. The little one. I’ll take it.”
If we were running the universe, we’d do a location-scouting tour. We’d get a consultant. We’d say, “The Messiah needs a better launchpad. Think brand. Think optics.”
God says, “I’ll take the place where the rent is cheap and the streets are dusty and nobody expects My arrival. That’s where the King will slip into the world.”
This is wonderful news if your life feels more like Bethlehem than Jerusalem.
If you are not the impressive Christian, not the platformed person, not the spiritual influencer; if you’re just someone trying to be faithful, carrying groceries in from the car and wondering if your quiet prayers count—congratulations. You’re exactly the sort of address God likes to put on His mail.
The child from Bethlehem grows up, and one day He stretches out His hands and calls Himself the Bread of Life. He was born in the “house of bread,” and to nobody’s surprise but ours, He spends His ministry handing Himself out in pieces—to fishermen, tax collectors, women with bad reputations, people whose lives look decidedly un-Jerusalem.
It turns out the King from eternity is very happy to spend His time in small places: crowded houses, borrowed boats, little villages, ordinary tables.
So if your life has looked depressingly like that—small rooms, simple meals, nothing Instagrammable—be encouraged. You are exactly the kind of town God likes to move into.
The only real question is whether, when He knocks on your door with dusty feet and no entourage, you’ll say:
“Sorry, Lord, You must be looking for Jerusalem. They’re the important ones.”
Or whether you’ll do the deeply Bethlehem thing:
Open the door, clear a little space at the table, and let the eternal King share your bread.
#HolyWitBibleStudy #GordonMcGinnis #ChristInTheOldTestament #Micah52
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