Chuck Larsen

The money that bought Jesus’ betrayal could not buy peace for the betrayers. Even the religious leaders, who had no qualms about orchestrating His death, refused to use Judas’s silver for anything respectable. They declared it “blood money” and purchased a “Potter’s Field,” a burial place for strangers, criminals, and the poor. Matthew tells us, “Therefore that field has been called the Field of Blood to this day” (Matthew 27:8). Grotius suggested that such a field was a clay pit—a brickyard of hardened earth, unfit for planting or building. Others believed it was the dumping ground for broken pottery—useless fragments that could not be reshaped. Over time, the field became a wasteland of shards and skeletons. To make matters worse, it bordered the Valley of Hinnom, Jerusalem’s smoking garbage dump, later called Gehenna—a vivid symbol of hell. A more depressing real-estate description would be hard to find: barren ground, broken pots, and burning trash.

Yet that picture is not as distant from our lives as we might think. Before Christ intervenes, our lives often resemble that field—hard, unyielding, and littered with shattered attempts at purpose. We work and worry, break and bury, stacking our own fragments in spiritual landfills. Some of us even decorate the dump, pretending it is a garden. But God specializes in transforming potter’s fields. Like Jeremiah’s potter, He looks at the marred clay of our lives and begins again. He reshapes us with divine patience, not discarding the flawed material but refashioning it for His glory. The Apostle Paul wrote, “We have this treasure in jars of clay to show that this all-surpassing power is from God and not from us” (2 Corinthians 4:7). The Potter’s touch does not erase the cracks—it redeems them, turning the useless into the useful, the broken into the beautiful.

In a greater sense, the Field of Blood points directly to Jesus. What Judas’s money purchased as a cemetery for the dead became a symbol of the Redeemer who would give His blood to bring the dead to life. Paul wrote, “In Him we have redemption through His blood, the forgiveness of sins” (Ephesians 1:7). Once, we were spiritual corpses lying in proximity to hell. Now, through Christ, we are living vessels shaped for heaven. The field of blood became a story of grace—the place of death transformed by the Potter’s hands into the promise of eternal life.

Matthew begins his Gospel with a miracle that defies human explanation—the virgin birth of Jesus Christ. He declares that this event fulfilled Isaiah’s prophecy: “Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel.” Scholars have long debated the Hebrew word Almah used in Isaiah 7:14. Some argue it simply means “a young woman,” not necessarily a virgin. However, a closer look reveals that in more than half of its Old Testament uses, it clearly means “virgin.” To remove any lingering doubt, Matthew translates it with a Greek word that always and only means “virgin.” So, if Isaiah left room for discussion, Matthew closed it. The doctrine of the virgin birth is not linguistic trivia—it is theological bedrock. It tells us that God entered our world in a way that only God could.

In a world that questions everything from expiration dates to eternal truths, the virgin birth remains a dividing line. It is more than an interesting Christmas fact—it is the foundation of our faith. Jesus’ birth was not merely miraculous; it was necessary. A naturally conceived, sinful human being could not bear the sin of the world. Only one untouched by Adam’s sin could redeem Adam’s race. To reject the virgin birth is to dismantle the entire gospel structure—it is like removing the engine from a car and expecting it to run on good intentions. As theologian Donald Macleod once quipped, “The virgin birth is God’s statement that salvation is His doing, not ours.” It reminds us that God’s plan did not depend on human ingenuity or moral effort—it was divinely initiated from the start.

Larry King, when asked which historical figure he would most like to interview, famously said, “Jesus Christ.” When pressed for his question, he replied, “I would like to ask Him if He was indeed virgin-born. The answer to that question would define history for me.” When Ravi Zacharias sought permission to quote that statement, King added, “Tell him I was not being facetious.” King was right—the virgin birth does define history. It is the moment heaven kissed earth. “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us” (John 1:14). As Matthew writes, “‘Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call his name Immanuel’—which means, God with us.” That single truth makes Christmas not just a story to celebrate, but a miracle to believe.

Matthew opens his Gospel with a bold historical claim that forever separates Jesus from every other person born into the world. “Now the birth of Jesus Christ took place in this way,” he writes. “When his mother Mary had been betrothed to Joseph, before they came together, she was found to be with a child from the Holy Spirit” (Matthew 1:18). There it is—clear, concise, and utterly miraculous. One commentator described it this way: “The spermatic matter that ordinarily produces human life was not needed for the birth of Jesus. Instead, the divine spirit entered Mary’s womb and was born as flesh.” The virgin birth is not a side note to the story; it is the beginning of the gospel itself. Through this event, Jesus entered the world as fully human through Mary and fully divine through His heavenly Father. It was heaven’s perfect plan for a fallen world.

Sadly, not everyone accepts that plan. A survey once revealed that 56 percent of ministers in training rejected the virgin birth of Christ. Even more startling, 71 percent denied life after death, 54 percent rejected the bodily resurrection, and 98 percent denied Christ’s personal return. That is like becoming a lifeguard who does not believe in water. The Christian faith stands on three giant pillars—the virgin birth, the atoning death, and the bodily resurrection of Jesus Christ. Knock down any one of them, and the whole structure collapses. Each doctrine holds hands with the others. The virgin birth makes the cross meaningful because only a sinless Savior could die for sinners. The resurrection confirms the cross’s victory, proving that sin and death have been defeated. Together, they form what the old storytellers called “the greatest story ever told,” and it is still the greatest news ever heard.

The New Testament ties all three pillars together in the person of Jesus. Paul wrote, “When the fullness of time had come, God sent forth his Son, born of a woman” (Galatians 4:4). That “woman” was Mary, and that “Son” was God in the flesh. Because He was born of a virgin, He could be both fully man and fully divine—able to sympathize with our weaknesses yet strong enough to save us from them. John 1:14 declares, “The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.” And Isaiah, centuries before, had already called for a celebration: “Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and shall call his name Immanuel.” That name means “God with us.” And that is exactly who He is—the miracle that changed everything.