A Gospel Big Enough for "The Outsider"

Some mornings remind you that life is messy before you ever open your Bible.

This past Sunday felt like one of those mornings. Technology wasn’t cooperating. Things broke that normally don’t break. Plans unraveled before they even got started. And yet—right in the middle of the chaos—we took communion. We slowed down. We remembered not just that a baby was born, but that a King rose from the dead.

That contrast feels important, especially during Christmas.

Because Christmas has a way of cleaning up the story. We put the wise men neatly next to the shepherds. We imagine everything happening in one peaceful night. But the real story is messier, longer, and far more challenging than our nativity scenes suggest. And that’s good news—especially for those of us learning how to follow Jesus in a complicated, divided world.

This season at our church we’ve been talking about The Greatest Gift. Last week, we reflected on Joseph—an ordinary man who chose obedience in the middle of confusion. This week, the focus shifts to the wise men. And what we discover in their story is a quiet but powerful call: God has always been moving toward the outsider, the marginalized, and the overlooked—and He invites us to do the same.

The wise men didn’t come from Jerusalem. They didn’t come from Bethlehem. They didn’t come from the religious center or the “right” culture.

They came from the East—likely Babylon or Persia.

That matters.

These were not insiders to Israel’s story, and yet they were the ones who showed up ready to worship. They traveled hundreds of miles, at great cost and risk, because they believed God was doing something new—and they didn’t want to miss it.

What’s even more striking is that their journey didn’t begin with them. It began generations earlier, when God’s people were living in exile. Through people like Daniel, the story of a coming Messiah was planted in foreign soil. A promise meant for Israel was preserved, retold, and eventually acted on by people outside Israel.

From the very beginning, the gospel refused to stay confined to one people group.

God used outsiders to announce the arrival of His Son.

Let that sit with you for a moment.

When the wise men arrived, Jesus wasn’t a newborn in a manger. He was a child, living in a home. This wasn’t a spontaneous moment—it was a long-awaited response to ancient promises.

And the gifts they brought weren’t random or sentimental. They were deeply theological.

Gold declared Jesus as King.
Frankincense declared Jesus as God.
Myrrh declared that Jesus would suffer—and that His victory would come through death.

Together, these gifts tell the whole gospel story: a King who is divine, a Savior who suffers, and a victory that comes through sacrifice.

And here’s what we can’t miss: this full gospel was proclaimed first by people who didn’t “belong.”

Babylonian scholars announced the Jewish Messiah. Foreigners named the truth that many insiders overlooked. God made it unmistakably clear that His redemption story was never meant to stop at the boundaries of comfort, culture, or control.

The wise men didn’t just believe something. They did something.

They moved from knowledge to action. They followed the star even when it led them into uncomfortable spaces. They crossed political, cultural, and religious boundaries to honor what God was doing.

That challenges us.

Because if the gospel is truly good news for all people, then it must shape how we show up for people who have been pushed to the margins—LGBTQ neighbors, racial and ethnic minorities, those harmed by the church, those told (explicitly or implicitly) that God’s love comes with conditions.

Standing with the marginalized doesn’t mean abandoning conviction. It means embodying Christ.

Jesus didn’t wait for people to clean themselves up before drawing near. He moved toward them. He shared meals. He extended dignity. He told the truth—but always through love, never through fear or exclusion.

Our role is not judgment.
Our role is proclamation—proclaiming with our lives that Jesus is King, that grace is real, and that reconciliation is possible.

So, what would it look like to give like the wise men today?

It might mean laying down pride or certainty so we can listen better. It might mean releasing ideologies that keep us from loving people well. It might mean choosing presence over distance with those who feel unseen. It might mean extending grace even when it isn’t returned.

The wise men remind us that faith is rarely convenient—and that the blessing often comes because we move, not before.

Christmas without Easter is an empty promise. And Christmas without justice, compassion, and inclusion is an incomplete gospel.

This season, may we follow the star wherever it leads—even if it leads us across lines we were taught not to cross. May we be generous with grace, courageous in love, and faithful to a Savior who showed us, from the very beginning, that the kingdom of God belongs to more people than we ever imagined.

Grace upon grace—extended repeatedly—because that’s how the story has always been told.