Most of us know what it feels like to wonder whether God has just lost interest—whether we’ve messed up too much, waited too long, or ended up too far gone for him to still be working. The prophet Isaiah delivered God’s word to people who felt exactly that way, and what he told them in passages like Isaiah 7 and 9 raises a question worth sitting with: does “God with us” still hold when everything around you says otherwise?
You leave the table sure you will not eat again for a week, and four hours later you are starving. In John 6 a crowd already fed comes back to Jesus for bread, and he tells them not to labor for food that perishes. He claims to be bread from heaven; they still want a sign they can see.
Christmas has a way of feeling like a destination—the carols, the decorations, the nativity—as though the manger is where everything finally arrives. John 1 won’t let it stay there: the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and the question John presses is what exactly that birth was launching toward and what it means for us now.
We all reach for something we can actually recognize and hold on to—some concrete person or presence we can truly know, not just a philosophy about. That hunger is exactly what John 1 puts its finger on: the Word who was with God in the beginning became flesh and dwelt among us, full of grace and truth.
We tend to skip the genealogy at the start of Matthew—all those names, so many of them people we know nothing about. In doing so we miss something that matters deeply to ordinary people like us who wonder whether God actually works through lives like theirs.
When a winter forecast keeps bouncing around, most of us know better than to cancel everything over what might never arrive. Luke opens his Gospel with the opposite claim: this is no chance of grace next week, but the report of what has already been fulfilled among us—Jesus actually coming in history.
The Pharisees had a preconceived notion about God that was unyielding and prevented them from understanding the fuller unveiling before them. We too can struggle as God calls us to greater conformity to His Will.
We’ve all wanted to write that resignation letter—to let the world know the hurt isn’t our fault. Joseph faces that exact urge in Matthew 1, betrayed and confused after he finds out Mary, the woman he is betrothed to, is pregnant — forced to choose between saying his peace and keeping it.
Plans go awry all the time, and in the moment it feels terrible whether the fault is human weakness or God himself saying no to what we wanted. That’s exactly where Mary finds herself in Luke 1 when Gabriel’s greeting turns her ordinary day—and her entire future—upside down.
Maybe you’ve had a Christmas where the lights and the music were all there, but it felt like you were watching from the other side of a piece of glass—present for the season, yet not really in it. Isaiah 53 describes a Savior understands how we feel on that other side of the glass and came to break it.