TAC NEWS LINE 
At the centre of the Christian confession stands a question both plain and piercing: Is there room for Jesus Christ? Not a corner, not a courteous nod, not a religious compartment reserved for sacred hours, but room, full and unchallenged, at the core of our being. The name Immanuel, God with us (Matthew 1:23), does not suggest divine visitation alone, but divine residence. God does not come merely to observe; He comes to reign.
When the Son of God entered our world, there was no room for Him in the inn (Luke 2:7). That detail is more than historical; it is a revelation of the human heart. We have not greatly changed. We will sing hymns to Christ, speak warmly of Him, and call upon Him in crisis, yet quietly reserve the throne for ourselves. We are content with a Christ who saves, but uneasy with a Christ who commands. And yet Scripture knows nothing of a divided Christ. “Jesus is Lord” (Romans 10:9) is not a decorative phrase; it is a declaration of absolute authority.
To make room for Jesus is to relinquish ownership. The gospel does not offer self-improvement but self-surrender. “You are not your own; you were bought at a price” (1 Corinthians 6:19–20). The cross ends all claims of personal sovereignty. Christ claims the mind and its thoughts, the will and its plans, the body and its appetites, the heart and its loves. Anything less is polite religion, not living faith.
The tragedy of much modern Christianity is that it invites Christ in as a guest while quietly retaining the keys. We ask Him to forgive our sins but hesitate to govern our habits. We want His comfort, not His correction; His peace, not His lordship. Yet the Scripture says, “Let the word of Christ dwell in you richly” (Colossians 3:16)—not as a visitor, but as a master of the house.
Still, the marvel of grace remains: Christ stands at the door and knocks (Revelation 3:20). He does not break down the door, though He has every right. He waits. He appeals. He calls for willing surrender. And when the door is opened, He comes not as a tyrant, but as a Lord who shares His table and His life.
The proof of our devotion is obedience. Our Lord Himself asks, “Why do you call me, ‘Lord, Lord,’ and do not do what I say?” (Luke 6:46). Faith that stops at words is a faith untested and untransformed. But the soul that yields fully soon discovers a holy paradox: Christ’s yoke is easy, and His burden is light (Matthew 11:28–30). His rule does not crush the life; it restores it.
May God grant us grace to make room, real room, for Jesus Christ, our Immanuel. Let us clear the clutter of self-rule, dethrone our cherished idols, and enthrone Him alone. For when Christ is truly Lord, God is truly with us, and the soul is finally at rest.
About The Author
