The Baby, the Chaos, and the Call

As the year draws to a close, it feels like the whole world is holding its breath. Not just in that “Christmas is coming” kind of way, but in the kind of way where people are bracing themselves. There’s an ache in the air, a tension you can almost taste.

For all of us, it’s been a chaotic year—again. War and rumours of war, threats of nuclear exchange. Then, as you flick through the news channels, you see fires raging and waters rising; flick again, and there is talk of a cost-of-living crisis that has families stretched thinner than ever. A new government promising change, but the weight of uncertainty still lingers. And everywhere you turn—newsfeeds, headlines, social media, or conversations over coffee—there’s this undercurrent of weariness, of just wondering... what’s next?

And then, silently, so silently, Christmas comes. Right on time. It’s not just Christmas as an event or a season, but Christmas as a story—a story that interrupts the chaos, that whispers something deeper and more real than all the noise and the fear.

It’s a fantastic intervention. That very story begins here: a manger, a baby, a teenage girl trying to quiet her own exhaustion, and God wrapped in fragile flesh.

It is almost absurd, isn’t it? With all the chaos raging in the world—then and now—this is how God chooses to come. It’s a reality check for us. He comes not as a warrior or with overwhelming power, but as a child; a baby—helpless and small, born in a back corner of a busy, chaotic, Roman-ruled world.

And yet that baby changes everything.

A Chaotic World Meets an Unshakable Hope

The truth is, the first Christmas wasn’t quiet, tidy, or serene. Far from it: it was noisy, confusing, and tense. An empire flexed its expansionist muscles, bringing census, taxation, forcing people to travel, to uproot, to navigate uncertainty. And then, in the midst of it all, in a small, forgettable town, in a borrowed stable, hope was born.

Doesn’t it sound too familiar? We look at our world now—wars raging and looming, disasters escalating, trust unravelling—and we can feel like everything is spinning alarmingly out of control. But the Christmas message says something radical to a chaotic, fragile world:

God is not far off.
God has not abandoned us.
God has come close.

The manger declares that hope isn’t an abstract idea—it’s a person. Jesus is born not to watch from a distance, but to step right into our mess, to be Emmanuel, literally, “God with us”. He’s the one to bring peace where there is no peace, to redeem what feels, looks, or threatens to be irredeemable.

And that changes how we see the world, because suddenly, chaos doesn’t get the last word. The despair we feel doesn’t get to write the ending—it is God who pens history.

The Baby That Demands a Response

But here’s where the story pushes us, because it’s easy to romanticise the manger. The glowing nativity scenes, cute five-year-old angels sat on the stage, waving to grandad, picking their nose and forgetting their lines, the soft carols—it’s beautiful, but it’s also incomplete. The baby in the manger is not just cute or sentimental.

The baby is the King.

The manger leads to a cross, the cross leads to an empty tomb, and the empty tomb leads to a moment, again and again, where Jesus speaks, where He calls us to do something. There are implications to the Bethlehem message, consequences, demands, and questions where the answer does not just inform but gives a call to action...

Pause there and move on 30 years to John chapter 2. Jesus is no longer a baby. He’s at a wedding. The wine runs out, and chaos starts to bubble to the surface. Mary, His mother—the same Mary who first held Him in that manger—turns to the servants and says:

“Do whatever He tells you.”

This might be the most significant sentence in the Bible for us today, because here we are, standing at the close of the year, looking back at all the brokenness, confusion, and pain—and wondering how on earth we possibly move forward. Mary’s words cut through all of our mind-fog like a beacon of clarity: Do whatever He tells you. Just do it.

Not what culture tells you. Not what fear tells you. Not what your comfort or pride or cynicism tells you. Do whatever He tells you. Sounds simple, but it’s not always easy—it certainly is my personal agenda for 2025.

It’s a breakthrough moment. This is where Christmas becomes the catalyst for something extraordinary. The reason being: the Church, the people of God, are not meant to shrink back in times like these—no, we are meant to rise up, to listen, obey, and carry the hope of Christ into a weary world.

The key here is we have to pause, take a breath, stop, and remember that the chaos of the year—no matter how loud or overwhelming—is not the whole story. The Christmas message invites us to prepare, to realign, to remember that God has not changed. His purposes have not been thwarted. His Kingdom is silently, so silently, still advancing.

As God’s people, if we’re willing to listen—if we’re willing to do whatever He tells us—there’s no telling what God might do. For some of us, it’s stepping into generosity when we’ve been clinging tightly to what we have. For others, it’s choosing to forgive someone we’ve been holding hostage in our hearts. Maybe it’s stepping out into a new venture, engaging in church planting, praying bold prayers, or simply being present for the people right in front of us.

The point is, Christmas isn’t just a call to admire the baby in the manger. It’s a call to respond (there’s no guarantee that Jesus looked like a cute baby!), to prepare our hearts and our lives for what God is about to do—and He is doing something. Even now. Especially now.

The Breakthrough of Obedience

Back to John’s gospel, think about those servants at the wedding. They could have ignored Mary’s words. They could have scoffed, hesitated, dismissed Jesus as just another man, but instead, they obeyed, filled the jars with water, and witnessed a miracle.

This is the breakthrough. This is where the story moves from hope to action. Because when we respond to Jesus—when we step out in faith, even when it doesn’t make sense—miracles happen. Lives change.

And maybe, just maybe, a weary world gets a glimpse of hope again. So here we are. The year is ending. The chaos is still loud. But Christmas is louder. It says: God has come, God is speaking, God is moving.

The Christmas cracker question is—will we listen? Will we obey?
Will we do whatever He tells us? Why?

If we listen to the voice of the King who was born in the manger—this weary world might just see a breakthrough, with the Church stepping into its greatest moment yet.

Do whatever He tells you. Jesus in a manger—yes, but every story starts somewhere. And that’s how Bethlehem’s story moves forward, how the year ends, and the next one begins: with faith, hope, and with Jesus at the centre.

Come, let us adore Him. Loudly.