Location: Bethlehem
Time: Circa 4 B.C.
Primary Scriptures: Luke 2:1-7 — The census that led Joseph and Mary to Bethlehem for the birth of Jesus.
A Roman-appointed tax collector stands near the gates of Bethlehem, addressing a group of curious townsfolk. His demeanor is a mix of authority and weariness, as he recounts the recent census and its effects on their small village.
From The Tax Collector:
You all know who I am and what I do. Most of you have come to my table at one time or another to pay your taxes, grumbling about the heavy burden Rome places on us. Believe me, I don’t enjoy this work any more than you enjoy paying your share, but such is the world we live in. Rome demands order, control, and above all, tribute.
Recently, however, even I was caught off guard by the scale of their demands. The decree came from Caesar Augustus himself, ordering a census of the entire Roman world (Luke 2:1). This was no small task. Every man was required to return to his ancestral town to be counted. Bethlehem, the city of David, was suddenly bursting at the seams as descendants of Judah arrived from all over.
Why a census? The Romans say it is to maintain order, to know the strength of their empire. But make no mistake: the true purpose is money and power. Taxes must be collected more efficiently, and a record must be kept of who can fight for—or rebel against—Rome. They want to know exactly who lives where, how much land they own, how much grain they produce, and how many mouths they feed.
For Bethlehem, this census has brought chaos. Our small village, usually quiet and unassuming, has been overrun with travelers. The streets are crowded, the inns are full, and families are crammed into every available corner. Merchants and innkeepers rejoice at the business, but for most of us, it is a disruption, a reminder of Rome’s grip on our lives.
I’ve seen many come through the gates in recent days, but there was one couple that caught my attention. A man named Joseph arrived with his betrothed, Mary. They came from Nazareth, far to the north, yet they claimed their ancestral ties to Bethlehem through the house and line of David (Luke 2:4). They were not wealthy, judging by their simple clothes and tired faces, and Mary was heavily pregnant—an unusual sight on such a journey.
I remember wondering why they would make such a difficult trip in her condition. Surely, they could have delayed or sent word ahead. But Joseph was determined, saying it was their duty to register in Bethlehem. Perhaps he felt the weight of his lineage, the pride of being a descendant of David, even under Rome’s rule. Or perhaps there was something more, something I couldn’t see at the time.
They found no room in the inns, as so many others had arrived before them. I heard later that they stayed in a stable, among the animals, and that Mary gave birth there. The child was a boy, and they named Him Jesus. Some say they laid Him in a manger, a feeding trough for livestock. A strange place for a child, let alone one descended from King David.
But there was something about them, something I couldn’t explain. I’ve seen countless faces pass by my table—rich, poor, angry, resigned. Yet theirs lingered in my mind. They carried a quiet dignity, a sense of purpose, as if they were part of something far greater than a Roman census.
In the days since, I’ve heard rumors. Shepherds claim to have seen angels in the fields, declaring that this child is the Messiah, the Savior of the world. They say the heavens were filled with light and song, proclaiming peace on earth and goodwill to men. I don’t know what to make of such stories. The Messiah? Born in a stable? It seems impossible. And yet, isn’t it also impossible that a decree from Caesar Augustus would fulfill the ancient prophecies of our people?
The prophets spoke of a ruler who would come from Bethlehem, one whose origins are from of old, from ancient times (Micah 5:2). Could this child, born in the shadow of Roman power, be the fulfillment of that promise? Could God be working even through the decrees of an emperor to accomplish His purposes?
I am just a tax collector, a servant of Rome, and not a scholar of the Scriptures. But I have seen enough to know that the plans of men often serve a higher purpose. What Caesar intended for his own gain may have been used by God to bring about something far greater—a Savior, a King, a hope for all people.
Closing Thought:
Even in the midst of worldly power and control, God’s plans prevail. What seems ordinary or oppressive may be the very means by which He fulfills His promises.
— A Tax Collector
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