Authors such as Lee Strobel, Nicky Gumbel, and Josh McDowell have spoken around the world about these 300 prophecies of the Old Testament and how they all point to Jesus. This cannot be mere coincidence. It cannot be like playing the lottery. The evidence is so overwhelming and the prophecies so compelling that one would think that the only logical conclusion would be to say that it is true.

Unless you have the brain of a C. S. Lewis, faith doesn't come through a logical, mathematical proof of Jesus as the Messiah. That may certainly bolster your faith and add credence to your convictions. But for most, we can be presented all the logical arguments and still wonder late at night, alone in bed, "Is it true?"

Do you believe it? I'm not asking if you can prove it. I'm asking if you believe it. You know, the virgin birth, the trip to Bethlehem, no room in the inn, no crib for a bed, angels singing, shepherds visiting. Do you think it really happened ... like that?

Apparently some who teach it don't think so. Professor Bart Ehrman, head of the religious studies department at Chapel Hill, has written a book with a clever title in the wave of The Da Vinci Code. It's called, Misquoting Jesus: The Story Behind Who Changed the Bible and Why. His premise is that we don't have any original, autographed copies of Matthew, Mark, Luke, or John. What we have are copies of copies. That much is true. But Professor Ehrman claims that since there is this gap between the original writing and the copies, the ancient scribes who copied these manuscripts shaped the Bible by sloppy mistakes or by their conscious changes to advance their own religious agenda. Thus, what we have in the Bible is, unfortunately, this very flawed, human-shaped collection of books that cannot be fully trusted.

So much for the mystery proclaimed by the prophets now revealed to us in Jesus.

Now, part of what Ehrman claims is absolutely true. It's true that before the printing press in the 1400s, scribes had to hand-copy the Bible word for word. It's true that there are discrepancies among the copies. It's true that changes were made. The most famous example is the story of the woman caught in adultery in John 8. The earliest manuscripts don't have it. It was probably added later by a scribe.

We don't have one manuscript saying that it was a virgin birth and the other saying that Jesus had a striking resemblance to Joseph. We don't have one manuscript saying that Jesus died on the cross and another saying he wiped off the blood and got back in the game. We don't have one manuscript that says Jesus rose from the dead and another saying, "No, he pretty much stayed dead." In other words, the discrepancies in the manuscripts are fairly minor and come down to an "and" or was it a "but." "Is" or was it "was." Was it an inn or a stable or a cave?

It seems that Ehrman wants to push these discrepancies a bit further by putting into question many of our cherished, biblical stories and widely held beliefs such as the Trinity, the divinity of Jesus, the miracles, and Jesus as the Messiah as nothing more than fairy tales coming from the alterations by ancient scribes. So, I come back to my original question: Do you believe it? Is it true? Did it happen the way the Bible recorded it? Do you believe that this story begins before the foundations of this world? Is this a story that is foretold by prophets centuries before it came to pass? Did this story burst forth, taking the world by surprise, at the fullness of time when God decided to smuggle himself into this world in the body of a poor, young peasant girl from Nazareth?

From the casual, outside observer, this story is filled with chaos and confusion. Plan? What plan? Everything is in disarray. A young girl engaged to one man gets pregnant and we know that the fiancé is not the father — betrayal. Convinced by angels and dreams that this is no ordinary pregnancy, the two stay together, enduring the heckling and ridicule of the townsfolk — scorn. As if that weren't enough, at precisely the time in which she was nine-and-a-half months pregnant and about to burst, they are ordered by a hostile, foreign government to travel the five days on a donkey from their hometown of Nazareth to a small, podunk village called Bethlehem — bad timing.

While they do make it to Bethlehem, as luck would have it, they arrive after a thousand other travelers who arrived earlier and reserved a room for their family, leaving this woman, obviously in labor, to find refuge in stable among the animals to give birth to her firstborn son — alone, young, scared, in a strange town, and having to deliver her baby all by herself. This whole night is "a series of unfortunate events."

And not just any baby. It would be one who exchanged a heavenly throne for a feeding trough, replaced flowing, eternal robes for a soiled diaper, left a heavenly castle for a barn, and gave up the company of angels for the company of peasants and shepherds. His hands, which once held stars in their places now were wrapped around a young, poor, unwed girl's finger.

Is it true that while chaos and confusion overwhelmed the day that God's plan was actually, deliberately, intentionally, and sovereignly unfolding? Is it true that God in the flesh would grow up to be a carpenter, be fine with being mistaken as a gardener, happy to have shepherds be his first visitors? Is it true that the King of kings would stoop down to wash feet, to touch the sick, to embrace the lonely? Is it true that the righteous one would stand to be ridiculed, mocked, and nailed to a crossbeam by sinful hands?

The ancient prophecy, the mystery of old unfolds this night. And somewhere between the presents, the out-of-town visitors, the candlelight, and the music you have to be asking, is it true? Or is it really, as some would suggest, just the imagination of a maverick, renegade scribe gone wild in the sixth century making the Christmas story as believable as the story of Jack and the beanstalk? You see, there comes a point in which that question is no longer reserved for academia or the subject of a book trying to ride on the successful coattails of The Da Vinci Code or casual conversation around eggnog. There comes a time in which that question, "Is it true?" becomes a matter of life and death.

The week before Christmas, I spend some time visiting older members of the congregation who cannot make it to church to bring them communion. I had one great visit with a woman who put that very question to me. After I had prepared the wine and bread, I opened up Luke 2 and read the Christmas story for her. As I read, she recited the story out loud with me from memory. We stumbled at some points. I was reading from a new translation. She recited from the original King James Version. When I said the shepherds were terrified and she recited, "And they were sore afraid."

She knew it by heart. She learned it as a child, taught it in Sunday school, and heard it annually for ninety years. But now, unable to get out of bed, she asked me when I was through, "Is it true? This story. Do you think it's true? I'm ninety years old now. I can't get out of bed. I think about death ... a lot. I wonder about heaven. I wonder if it is true ... because at ninety, I don't have much time left. Do you think it is true?"

I said, "I don't know if the streets are paved with gold. I don't know if the walls are filled with jewels. I don't know if it was a stable or a cave. I don't know if you will see angels with harps. But I do know this. We live in a fallen world in which darkness covers us like a blanket. Nowhere in scripture are we asked to naively deny the darkness. Nowhere in scripture do we receive a pep talk that convinces us that the darkness isn't really as bad as it seems. In fact, scripture tells us just the opposite. Scripture affirms that the darkness is called sin and that we are in bondage and that with Christmas, the light shines in the darkness and the darkness has not overcome it. What I do know is this — that this child born on Christmas came to restore that broken relationship with God by taking away the stain of sin and removing your guilt. I do know this — that because of Jesus, the dead will rise again. I do know this — that those who once walked in darkness are now children of the light. I do know this — because of Jesus, one day you will see the face of God and live."

She thought for a moment, nodded and said once again, "Oh, I know it's true. It's just that sometimes (and she paused, forced a brave smile), it's just that sometimes I am afraid."

I just held her hand and I asked, "Do you remember the first words out of the angel's mouth on that first Christmas when he announced the birth of Jesus?" She nodded. She knew it by heart. So I started — using the King James Version, "And the angel saith unto them ..." and she finished, "Fear not ... for I bring you good news of great joy." "Fear not," they said. "Be not afraid. And neither should you."

Because it is true. And not just because the Bible is trustworthy and the most complete of any ancient document with over 25,000 manuscripts, and not because the Bible is the most precise ancient document with less than 2% discrepancy among all those 25,000 manuscripts, and not because the Bible is the most historically accurate ancient document bar none with some manuscripts dating back to 125 AD.

That's pretty good and the evidence is overwhelming but that's not the only reason. Luther said that reason can only bring you so far, but for that final step, it takes a leap. That's why I believe, because this story is such a leap, such an extravagant gift. It's outrageous. No one would have dreamed up this stuff in the sixth century. I don't deserve a God who humiliated himself by becoming an illegitimate child, born in a barn, betrayed by a follower, denied by a friend, and beaten by the guilty. I don't deserve a God who would do something for me that I couldn't do for myself — die on the cross. I believe because I don't deserve that kind of extravagant gift. Do you?

Judas didn't ... but Jesus washed his feet.

Peter didn't ... but Jesus gave him the keys to heaven.

The shepherds didn't ... but they were the first to be invited.

Mary didn't ... but she was chosen.

The adulterer didn't ... but she was given a second chance.

The sinners and tax collectors didn't ... but Jesus welcomed them to his table.

And really, neither do we deserve it. Not on this night. It comes as an extravagant gift — and I'm taking that leap because I'm betting my life that this story is true. What are you betting your life on? If this were Texas Hold 'Em, I'd be all in. This is not some sophomoric, academic, mental exercise. It's not some topic for casual conversation or one more book idea for the shelves of Barnes and Noble. It is the only path, the only means, the only truth for us to remove the darkness of sin and despair and live in his marvelous light. Is it true? Do you believe it? This night? Not all the details; after all, scribes will be scribes and most of the details really don't matter except one — the detail of the promise. Do not be afraid for I bring you good news of great joy. For to you is born this day in the city of David, a Savior who is Christ the Lord. That's the one on this night worth betting your life on. Amen.