Tag: grace

Advent Christ is Born

Christmas Day brings the fulfilment of every Advent longing. The waiting, the watching, the yearning find their answer in a child wrapped in cloths and lying in a manger. Here, in the most ordinary of places, heaven bends low and touches earth. The Word, through whom all things were made, takes on our frailty, our flesh, our story. Advent Christ is born.

The angels can’t keep silent. They break open the night sky with their song: “Glory to God in the highest heaven, and on earth peace to those on whom his favour rests.” Shepherds hurry from their fields, astonished that the good news is for them – poor, unprepared, overlooked – and yet chosen to be first witnesses of glory. Mary treasures all these things in her heart, as love made flesh rests in her arms.

This birth is no sentimental tale but a revolution of grace. God comes not in splendour or might, but in humility, to show that his kingdom is for the lowly and the broken, for those who hunger for mercy and long for hope. “The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us.” Not far off, not distant, but here – pitching his tent in the middle of our lives.

The candlelight of Advent now gives way to the blaze of Christmas morning. All the themes we’ve carried – hope, peace, joy, love – find their centre in Christ himself. He is the light that darkness cannot overcome, the peace that passes understanding, the joy that sings even in sorrow, and the love that will never let us go.

So we kneel with the shepherds, we rejoice with the angels, we wonder with Mary and Joseph, and we open our hearts to receive him. Advent Christ is born: God with us, now and always.

Advent Love Takes Flesh

The Fourth Sunday of Advent draws us close to the mystery at the heart of it all, love. Not a vague sentiment, nor a fleeting warmth, but the fierce and tender love of God made flesh. The angel’s words to Mary ring out: The Holy Spirit will come on you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. In that overshadowing, love takes on a heartbeat, and the Word begins to dwell among us. Advent love is daring, it breaks into the ordinary with extraordinary promise.

Mary’s response, her quiet yet courageous “I am the Lord’s servant,” shows us what love looks like when it’s received in faith. Love is never simply a feeling; it’s a surrender, a willingness to be caught up in God’s purposes even when they turn our world upside down. As Elizabeth exclaimed, “Blessed is she who has believed that the Lord would fulfil his promises to her!” Advent love asks us, too, whether we dare to trust that God is at work in us, however unlikely or unready we may feel.

John’s Gospel tells us, The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, full of grace and truth. This is love, not that we loved God, but that he loved us first and chose to enter our world, fragile and flawed, to redeem it from within.

So the fourth candle is lit, the candle of love, shining beside the flames of hope, peace, and joy. Together they burn as a testimony that the night is nearly over, the dawn is near. Love holds them all together, for it’s love that sent Christ, love that sustains us in waiting, and love that will one day bring all things to completion.

As Christmas draws close, may our hearts be opened wide to receive this love that comes down, not in power and splendour, but in vulnerability and grace. And may we, like Mary, bear that love into the world, so that others might glimpse in us the light of Christ who is coming.

Bible 40 Themes 02 Covenant

Covenant is one of those biblical words that can sound distant, even legalistic, yet at its heart it speaks of relationship, commitment, and promise held steady across time. In Genesis 17, God says to Abram, later named Abraham, I will establish my covenant between me and you and your descendants after you throughout their generations as an everlasting covenant, to be your God and the God of your descendants after you. These words are spoken not into certainty, but into vulnerability. Abram is old, childless by human reckoning, living between promise and fulfilment. Covenant begins there, not with achievement, but with trust.

What’s striking is that the covenant isn’t presented as a contract between equals. Abram doesn’t negotiate terms or offer guarantees. The promise flows one way, grounded in God’s faithfulness rather than human reliability. This is an everlasting covenant, stretching beyond one lifetime, beyond one moment of obedience or failure, binding generations yet unborn into a story of belonging. It reminds us that faith has a long memory and a wide horizon. We inherit promises we didn’t earn, and we live in ways that will shape people we’ll never meet.

Covenant also names identity. To be your God is relational language, intimate and personal, not abstract theology. It speaks of presence, guidance, and care. In a world shaped by transactions, productivity, and conditional acceptance, covenant insists that relationship comes first. We aren’t held by God because we perform well, but because we’re known and named. Abraham’s new name marks that shift, from who he was to who he’s becoming, shaped by promise rather than past limitation.

Yet covenant isn’t passive. Abraham is invited to walk before God faithfully, to live as someone whose future is already spoken for. Covenant creates a way of life rooted in trust, generosity, and hope. It asks us to live now as if the promise is true, even when the evidence feels thin.

In our own lives, covenant can feel fragile. We’re aware of broken promises, fractured relationships, and our own inconsistency. Genesis 17 gently reminds us that the deepest promise does not rest on our steadiness, but on God’s. The covenant holds when we waver, stretches across time, and quietly insists that grace will have the final word.

Bible Reference: Genesis 17