Advent arrives in a world trained to gratify itself instantly.
One click. One tap. One purchase. One scroll. We gratify hunger with speed, boredom with noise, loneliness with endless images of other people’s lives. We are taught that fulfillment should be immediate, customized, and effortless.
But Advent interrupts this instinct.
Advent does not gratify. Advent teaches us to wait.
To wait in the dark. To sit with ache. To let longing stretch us instead of stuffing it.
Scripture tells us plainly:
“Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires.” – Galatians 5:24
To gratify the flesh is to try to feed the ache of the soul with things that can’t satisfy: comfort, recognition, control, distraction, indulgence. But Advent invites us to a different hunger—a holy hunger that makes room for Christ.
In Advent, we learn that not every desire deserves gratification. Some desires are meant to lead us to God.
Mary waited. Israel waited. The world waited.
They were not numbing their longing. They were stewarding it.
And in that waiting, something holy grew.
So Advent gently asks us:
Where have you been rushing to gratify yourself instead of letting God fill you? Where have you silenced holy longing with quick fixes? What if the ache is not your enemy, but your invitation?
Because Christmas is not about instant gratification. It’s about divine incarnation—God entering our waiting, not eliminating it.
And when Christ finally comes, he doesn’t arrive as a product to consume… he comes as a person to receive.
This Advent, may we fast from shallow gratification and learn again the beauty of deep, patient gratitude.
In Advent, we often think of waiting: waiting for light, for hope, for peace to break into our darkness. The word reveling can feel out of place in that quiet, expectant season. It sounds loud. Excessive. Unrestrained. Something meant for parties, not prayers.
But Advent invites us to reclaim this word.
To revel is not merely to indulge. At its root, it means to delight fully, to be swept up in joy, to abandon ourselves to wonder. It is to lose restraint not in chaos, but in awe.
This season, we are not only called to be still. We are called to be awakened.
We revel in candlelight that pushes back the night, in songs that remember ancient promises, in the startling truth that God did not remain distant but chose to be born into the ordinary. We revel in the brave love of a young mother, the obedience of a quiet carpenter, and the vulnerable cry of a child who would change the story of the world.
Advent is not the absence of celebration; it is the slow unfolding of it.
We revel when we dare to believe that darkness is not final. We revel when we allow ourselves to feel joy before it is complete. We revel when we let anticipation become a form of praise.
This year, may our reveling be holy: not loud for its own sake, but deep with meaning. Not hurried, but rooted in hope. Not careless, but courageous.
In a world wired for speed, Advent arrives like a whisper.
We live in a season of alerts, headlines, and endless noise—both external and internal. Our minds are crowded with tasks, worries, and expectations. Silence feels awkward. Stillness feels unproductive. Yet Advent calls us toward a different way: quietness.
The prophet Isaiah wrote, “In quietness and trust shall be your strength” (Isaiah 30:15). This is a strange promise. Strength, we assume, comes from action, control, and noise. But God locates strength in what we often avoid: stillness, waiting, listening.
The story of Christmas begins in obscurity and calm. A young woman pondering impossible news. A long, silent journey to Bethlehem. A child born not amid fanfare but in the hush of a stable night. Shepherds keeping watch in quiet fields before the sky itself breaks open with glory.
God chose silence before the song.
Advent invites us to practice that holy quietness—not as escape, but as attention. Quietness is not emptiness; it is space. Space for God’s voice to surface beneath our racing thoughts. Space for longing to tell the truth. Space for hope to take root.
To be quiet in Advent is not to do nothing. It is to wait on purpose. To turn down the volume of the world so we can hear the Word made flesh drawing near.
This season, may we resist the tyranny of noise. May we rediscover the courage to be still. And in the quietness, may we find Emmanuel—God with us.
In the Bible, “tribes” were not just family groupings. They were identity, belonging, and responsibility. The twelve tribes of Israel carried history, promise, and purpose. Each tribe is distinct, yet called together under one covenant.
During Advent, the word tribes invites us to look at the ways we gather today.
In a fractured world, we still form tribes—political tribes, social tribes, church tribes, online tribes. We build walls around “us” and “them” without even noticing. We gravitate toward voices that sound like our own and stories that feel familiar. Comfort becomes our border.
But Advent interrupts that instinct.
Advent announces a Child who would be born outside the safety of any tribe’s comfort. The Christ child was born not into power, but into vulnerability, not into tribal dominance, but into costly love. He did not come to strengthen the walls of one tribe; He came to tear down the hostility between them.
The prophets said the Messiah would gather the scattered. Not just one tribe — but all the tribes of the earth.
Advent is a season of waiting — but it’s also a season of reimagining belonging.
What if our deepest allegiance was not to the tribe that feels safe, but to the kingdom that makes us brave?
What if we saw strangers not as outsiders, but as future kin?
What if the Church became less about protecting a tribe and more about welcoming the hurting, the ignored, the forgotten?
Jesus was born into a lineage of tribes — and yet he came to form a new family: not by bloodline, not by culture, not by agreement…
…but by love.
This Advent, may we loosen our grip on the tribes that divide us and open our hearts to the Christ who unites us.
Because in his kingdom, the borders fall, the tribes kneel, and every tongue finds its true home in him.
In the quiet of Advent, we listen closely to words. We wait. We watch. We lean in. And among all the words that shape the Christmas story, one humble word rises again and again: said.
The angel said to her… Mary said to the angel… The shepherds said to one another…
“ Said” is not dramatic. It is not loud. It does not demand attention. Yet it holds everything together. It is the bridge between heaven’s message and earth’s response.
God did not shout from a distant throne. He sent a messenger who said words of grace. Not as thunder, but as speech—personal, intimate, relational. The Holy One chose to be heard, not merely obeyed. Before Christ was born, God was spoken.
And Mary—young, uncertain, unprepared—said: “Let it be to me according to your word.”
Advent lives in that space between what God said and what we are brave enough to say back. It is the season of holy conversation: a listening heart, a trembling reply.
The shepherds, overcome with wonder, said to one another, “Let us go and see.” Their said became their step. Their words turned into worship.
How many moments in our own lives hinge on what is said? A word of hope. A confession of fear. A prayer half-whispered in the dark.
This year, as we wait for the Light, perhaps Advent invites us to slow down our speech—to let our words be as faithful as God’s. To let our said be rooted in trust, not noise. Not every word must be loud to be holy.
God still speaks. Scripture still says. The Spirit still whispers.
And we are still invited to answer.
This Advent, may our said become: Yes instead of no. Faith instead of fear. Wonder instead of worry.
Because in the beginning of Christmas, nothing happened until someone said something.
“Again” is a small word, but it carries a holy ache.
Every Advent, the story comes back to us again: a promise first whispered in a garden, a light flickering in the darkness, a Child laid in a borrowed manger.
Again, we wait. Again, we hope. Again, we light candles against long nights.
At first, “again” can feel repetitive — like we’ve heard this story before, like we should have grown past our struggles by now. Yet Advent teaches us that God is not tired of returning to us. God is not bored of beginning again.
We live in a world that often glorifies progress over patience, speed over stillness. But Advent is an act of quiet rebellion: we pause, we breathe, we wait again. Not because nothing has changed, but because our hearts need reminding. Our souls need rehearsal. Our lives need re-centering.
“Again” is not failure. It is mercy.
God comes again into tired hearts. Into messy families. Into troubled churches. Into anxious minds. Into a world still cracked open by grief and longing.
And we, too, are invited to begin again:
To forgive again. To trust again. To pray again. To believe again that light is stronger than dark.
Advent is not about pretending everything is new — it is about discovering that hope is renewable. That grace does not expire. That love is not exhausted by repetition.
Christ comes again, not because we forgot, but because we need to remember.
And so we light the candle — again. We sing the carols — again. We tell the story — again.
Not out of habit, but out of hope.
Again, the Light is coming. Again, the Word is near. Again, God chooses to dwell with us.
And somehow… this time, it is just as needed, just as holy, just as new.
On Christmas Day, we celebrate the birth of our Savior, Jesus Christ. This day marks the beginning of God’s plan of redemption through his Son, who was sent to bring salvation to all who believe. As we reflect on the birth of Christ, it is meaningful to consider the word “fruit” in a spiritual sense, especially in light of Scripture.
In John 15:5, Jesus declares, “I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.” In this passage, Jesus speaks of himself as the vine and believers as the branches. The fruit he refers to is the fruit of the Spirit—the tangible evidence of God’s presence in our lives. Just as a branch cannot bear fruit without being connected to the vine, we too cannot produce the fruits of love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control apart from Christ. The birth of Jesus is the first act of God’s redemptive work, and it sets in motion the possibility for all believers to bear fruit by staying connected to him.
As we reflect on Christ’s birth, we are reminded that his life exemplified the very fruit of the Spirit that he calls us to bear. Galatians 5:22-23 says, “But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, forbearance, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law.” The fruit of the Spirit is the natural result of a life transformed by Christ. These virtues reflect the nature of Christ himself. On Christmas, we are reminded that Jesus came into the world to display God’s love and grace. As we celebrate his birth, we are invited to reflect on how his presence in our lives shapes us to bear fruit that mirrors his character.
Through his birth, Jesus became the ultimate example of love and joy. His life showed us what it means to be patient and kind, to be gentle and self-controlled. The fruit of the Spirit reflects a life that is rooted in him, and it is through his birth and presence in our lives that we begin to bear fruit.
The fruit of Jesus’ birth is also expressed in the joy of those who encounter him. In Luke 1:42-45, Elizabeth, filled with the Holy Spirit, exclaims, “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the child you will bear! But why am I so favored, that the mother of my Lord should come to me? As soon as the sound of your greeting reached my ears, the baby in my womb leaped for joy. Blessed is she who has believed that the Lord would fulfill his promises to her.” Elizabeth recognizes the fruit of Mary’s womb—Jesus—the promised Messiah. The joy of his coming is so evident that even John the Baptist, still in Elizabeth’s womb, leaps with joy. The birth of Jesus is the ultimate fruit of God’s promise, the long-awaited Savior who brings joy and salvation to the world. As we celebrate his birth today, we too are invited to rejoice in the fulfillment of God’s promises.
As we reflect on these Scriptures and the significance of the word “fruit,” we can ask ourselves several questions:
What “fruit” has Christ produced in your life this year? As you reflect on your own spiritual growth, how have you seen the fruits of the Spirit developing within you? Do you see evidence of love, peace, patience, and kindness in your thoughts, words, and actions?
How can you stay connected to the “vine” this year? Just as the branch depends on the vine for nourishment, how can you deepen your relationship with Jesus Christ in the coming year? What practices (prayer, Scripture reading, fellowship) can help you remain close to him?
What does it mean for you to “bear fruit” as a believer in Jesus Christ? Bearing fruit involves being a witness to God’s love in the world. In what ways can you share the joy and peace of Christmas with others? How can you show kindness, offer hope, and serve others in the name of Christ?
Are there areas in your life where you feel “fruitless” or disconnected from Christ? In what areas do you feel a lack of spiritual fruit? Are there struggles or doubts that keep you from fully living out the fruit of the Spirit? Take time to bring those areas before God, asking him to restore and strengthen you.
How does the birth of Jesus encourage you to live a life of fruitfulness? The birth of Jesus is a reminder that God’s promises are always fulfilled. As you reflect on the joy and hope of Christmas, how does it inspire you to live with purpose and produce fruit that glorifies God?
May this Christmas Day be a reminder of the fruitfulness that comes from being in Christ, and may his love inspire you to bear good fruit in the year ahead.
Thank you for allowing me to journey with you this past Advent. I have truly enjoyed sharing this time with you in a reflective and meaningful way. May you and those you love have a joy-filled Christmas season and a healthy 2025.
On Christmas Eve, the word “Come” holds profound significance. It is an invitation, a call to embrace the gift of God’s presence through the birth of Jesus. The story of Christmas is a story of God’s call to humanity to come close, to experience his love, grace, and salvation.
In the Gospel narratives, we hear Jesus’ invitation to come—whether it’s to the shepherds in the field or to all who are weary and burdened. Matthew 11:28 reminds us of this invitation: “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest.” In a world that often seems distant and divided, Christmas is a reminder that God came to us, in the most humble and intimate way, as a child in a manger. It is an invitation for us to come not only to the cradle of Christ but also to respond to the call of his love in our daily lives.
As we reflect on the word “Come,” we also hear the call from Revelation 22:17: “The Spirit and the bride say, ‘Come!’ And let the one who hears say, ‘Come!’ Let the one who is thirsty come, and let the one who wishes take the free gift of the water of life.” This is not only an invitation to rest and renewal but a call to receive the free gift of salvation through Christ, the true source of living water. In this season, we are reminded that Christ’s birth brings the offer of peace and fulfillment to all who are willing to come.
“Come” also echoes the peace and joy that Christ brings, calling us to leave behind our worries and distractions and to enter into the warmth and peace of his presence. As we gather with family, friends, and loved ones on Christmas Eve, the word “Come” invites us to reflect on the mystery of God with us—Emmanuel—and to recognize that we are called to bring Christ into the world through our actions, our kindness, and our love.
In this season of Advent, “Come” is a call for a new beginning, a reminder that no matter where we are in life, Jesus invites us to come and find rest, hope, and renewal in him. The word “Come” speaks to both God’s invitation to us and the invitation we extend to others as we reflect his light and love in a world that desperately needs it. In this season of Advent, how is God inviting you to come closer to him? Are there areas in your life where you feel burdened or distant from his peace? How can you extend his invitation to “Come” to others in your life this Christmas season?
As we journey through Advent, a season of hopeful anticipation and spiritual preparation, one word stands out as particularly meaningful: shine. This simple yet powerful word evokes images of light breaking through darkness, warmth in the cold, and a guiding presence leading the way. Advent is a time of waiting for the arrival of Christ, who is the true light of the world, and “shine” encapsulates the essence of this season.
The Gospel of John reminds us of the significance of light in our world, stating: “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” (John 1:5) This verse is a profound reminder that Christ, the true light, entered a world filled with darkness and uncertainty. His light, shining in the most humble of circumstances—a manger—is a beacon of hope, love, and redemption for all of humanity. This divine light did not just shine in the past but continues to shine today, illuminating our hearts and lives and guiding us toward truth and healing. In what areas of your life do you need the light of Christ to shine? Reflect on the darkness in your own life — perhaps feelings of hopelessness, fear, or uncertainty. How can Christ’s light bring you comfort and healing during this Advent season?
Advent calls us not only to wait for the light of Christ but also to reflect that light. The prophet Isaiah beautifully speaks to this calling: “Arise, shine, for your light has come, and the glory of the Lord rises upon you.” (Isaiah 60:1). Isaiah calls the people of Israel — and by extension, all of us — to rise and reflect the light of God’s glory. It is not enough to simply wait for the light to come; we are also called to let that light shine through us, to spread hope, joy, and love to others. This is especially important in the season of Advent, as we prepare our hearts for Christ’s coming, not only in the manger but also in our lives. How can you reflect Christ’s light to others?
Just as the light of Christ shines in the darkness, we are called to share that light with the world. Are there people in your life who need a reminder of God’s love and peace? How can you be a source of light to those around you, especially in times of hardship?
In this season, we are encouraged to “arise and shine,” a call to action that invites us to actively live out our faith and let Christ’s light transform us. Isaiah 60:1 challenges us to not only receive the light of Christ but also to become agents of that light in the world. As we wait for Christ’s coming, we are called to rise, to shine, and to share the hope he brings. What does it mean for you to “arise and shine”?
Finally, Advent is a season of waiting, a time when we prepare for Christ’s coming. This period of waiting can sometimes feel heavy or uncertain. Yet, when we focus on the light of Christ, waiting becomes a time of hope. The light of Christ shines even in the darkest moments, reminding us that his presence is near. How can focusing on Christ as the light of the world change the way you approach this season of waiting?
As we reflect on these scriptures and questions, we are reminded that Christ’s light shines not only for us but also through us. His light is meant to guide us and transform the world around us. In this Advent season, may we rise, shine, and let Christ’s light illuminate our hearts, our relationships, and our world.
In this season of Advent, let us not only wait for the light but actively shine it into the world, offering hope to those in need. The light of Christ has come, and it is our privilege and calling to let it shine brightly for all to see.
Advent is a season of waiting, hoping, and preparing our hearts for the coming of Christ. In the midst of life’s challenges, the word “lifted” resonates deeply. It suggests being raised from a place of struggle, sorrow, or weariness into hope, strength, and joy. Advent reminds us that through Jesus, God enters our broken world to lift us from despair into his marvelous light.
The prophet Isaiah speaks directly to those feeling weary and burdened:
“He gives strength to the weary and increases the power of the weak. Even youths grow tired and weary, and young men stumble and fall; but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength. They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.” (Isaiah 40:29-31)
In these words, we find a powerful promise. Advent invites us to reflect on where we are in need of God’s renewing strength. Life can be exhausting—physically, emotionally, and spiritually—but Isaiah assures us that waiting on the Lord brings renewal. The image of soaring like eagles suggests effortless strength given by God, lifting us far above our struggles. Where do you feel weary or burdened this season? How might God be inviting you to trust him for renewed strength?
Mary’s response to God’s call in the Annunciation offers another perspective on being lifted. In her Magnificat, she proclaims: “He has brought down rulers from their thrones but has lifted up the humble.” (Luke 1:52)
God’s way of lifting is often unexpected. While the world values power and prestige, God exalts the lowly, the humble, and the forgotten. Mary, a young teenager of humble means, was chosen to bear the Savior of the world. Her story reminds us that being lifted by God often comes through surrender, trust, and faithfulness. When have you experienced being lifted by God’s grace, peace, or provision? How did that change your perspective?
Advent is ultimately a season of hope. The people of Israel waited for a Messiah who would lift them out of oppression and darkness. Today, we wait for Christ’s return while also celebrating his presence with us now. This hope is not passive; it is a hopeful expectancy that God is at work even when we cannot see the outcome.
“I waited patiently for the Lord; he turned to me and heard my cry. He lifted me out of the slimy pit, out of the mud and mire; he set my feet on a rock and gave me a firm place to stand.” (Psalm 40:1-2) Even when we feel stuck in life’s difficulties, Advent reassures us that God hears our cries. He lifts us out of the pits of despair and sets us on steady ground. What might it look like to “wait on the Lord” in your current circumstances?
God’s lifting is never just for us alone. As we are lifted by his love, we are called to lift others. This season is filled with opportunities to reflect Christ’s light through acts of kindness, compassion, and generosity. How can you be a source of encouragement, lifting others up during this Advent season?
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