Hark the Herald Angels Sing Pt 2
Hark the Herald Angels Sing, Part 2 (Read Part 1 Here)
Galatians 4:4–5
I still remember the first time I heard someone complain that Jesus was late. “If God really loved the world, why didn’t He send the Messiah the day after Adam and Eve got kicked out of Eden? Why wait four thousand years while humanity drowned in sin and suffering?” It’s a fair question. But when you step back and see the whole canvas God was painting, you realize the delay wasn’t tardiness. It was artistry.
Galatians 4:4 says it with breathtaking simplicity: “But when the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son…” Charles Wesley turned that same truth into poetry:
“Christ, by highest heav’n adored, Christ, the everlasting Lord;
Late in time behold Him come, offspring of the favored one…”
Late in time. Not a second early, not a second late. Right on time. I want to show you why that timing was perfect, what it means that Jesus was born “under the law,” and how His coming flips the verdict on every guilty conscience in this side of heaven.
First, why this moment in history?
Think of God like Bob Ross with the ultimate happy little tree. Every stroke of the brush across the Old Testament looked random or even messy at the time. Joseph sold into slavery—ugly brown. Israel in Egyptian bondage—dark gray. Exile in Babylon—deep purple. But layer after layer, century after century, God was setting the stage.
By the time Mary’s labor pains began in Bethlehem, the world was prepped like never before:
Rome had conquered most of the known world and, in the process, built roads that stretched from Britain to Syria. All roads really did lead to Rome—and soon the gospel would ride those roads in the opposite direction.
Alexander the Great had blanketed the Mediterranean with common Greek, giving the world one language in which to hear “good news of great joy.”
The Jews, burned by centuries of idolatry, were hungry for the true Messiah.
And the Roman army, of all things, became the unwitting missionary agency: soldiers heard Paul preach in the capital, then carried Christ home to the provinces when their service ended.
Every prophecy clicked into place. The scepter had not departed from Judah. The seventy weeks of Daniel were complete. The world was one giant canvas, and the final stroke—the Word made flesh—was ready.
Second, what does it mean that Jesus was “born under the law”?
Every human being is born under law. For the Jew, it was the Law of Moses—613 commands staring them in the face, reminding them daily they couldn’t measure up. For the Gentile, it was the law written on the conscience—those quiet accusations after every lie, every lustful glance, every outburst of anger. Thieves still steal in the dark because even pagans know it’s wrong. The whole world stood guilty.
And then, astonishingly, the eternal Son steps out of eternity and is born under the very same law that condemns us. He who wrote the law with His own finger now places Himself under it as a Jewish baby boy. Circumcised on the eighth day. Presented at the temple. Raised on Torah. Tempted in every way we are—only His temptations never let up, because He never gave in. Where we cave and get temporary relief, Jesus endured wave after wave of increasing intensity and never sinned. Not once.
Then, in the ultimate act of substitution, He who knew no sin was made sin for us. The law’s curse—“Cursed is everyone who does not abide by all things written in the Book of the Law”—fell on Him. He absorbed the wrath we earned. He satisfied every demand of justice. And when He cried, “It is finished,” the debt was paid in full.
Third, what do we get out of it?
Redemption and adoption. The text says Jesus came “to redeem those under the law, so that we might receive adoption as sons.” The moment you trust Him, two things happen simultaneously:
The law that once condemned you loses its power to damn you. You are legally free.
The Judge becomes your Father. You are brought into the family with full rights of the firstborn Son.
That’s why the angels could barely contain themselves. They had watched the plan unfold for millennia, and now the everlasting Lord, adored by highest heaven, veiled His glory in flesh and moved into the neighborhood. Emmanuel—God with us. Not visiting. Dwelling.
So this Christmas, when you hear that second stanza, don’t let it wash over you like background music. Let it hit you fresh:
Late in time—perfect time—behold Him come.
Veiled in flesh, yet still the Godhead.
Pleased, as man, with men to dwell.
Jesus, our Emmanuel.
He came right on schedule, kept the law we broke, died the death we deserved, and rose to make us sons and daughters of the King.
That, friends, is the masterpiece God spent four thousand years painting. And the best part? Your name is written in the corner, signed in blood, sealed by the Spirit, forever.
Glory to the newborn King.
