One of my favorite things about Advent is that it’s a story of when God came to walk among us. Not in a palace, but in the middle of real life – among the tired, the hurting, and the waiting.
The Advent story is not a tale of polished perfection. It’s not a story of people who had everything together. It’s a story of people who were faithful, and still found themselves grieving, or confused, or afraid.
That makes it our story too.
Advent reminds us that even when we try hard, even when we do everything “right,” we can still find ourselves facing disappointment, loss, unanswered questions.
You and I, we know what it’s like to live in the tension – to see a family divided,
a community at odds, people we love turning away. And some of us have been the ones who stayed behind – carrying the weight, holding everything together, still showing up, still believing – sometimes with joy, and sometimes with just enough strength for one more step.
Wherever you find yourself right now, this is an invitation to renewal.
A reminder that you are not alone – not in your grief, not in your rebuilding, not in your questions.
God is still with you – right here, right now.
This Is Where Advent Begins
And this is where Advent begins—and where it makes room for each of us. It begins in grief, with questions, with a deep longing. It begins with someone who has waited too long and heard nothing in return.
Zechariah represents not only the people of Israel – who had long awaited a Messiah (Luke 1) – but also all of us who have waited for something and been met with silence. Those who have hoped… and eventually stopped hoping.
Zechariah was a priest. Righteous. Faithful. Devoted.
He had prayed for a child… and waited. And waited. And at some point, quietly, painfully… he stopped expecting an answer.
But even in that silence, God was not absent.
In the very heart of Zechariah’s sacred duties, God showed up – with a message he could barely believe:
“Your prayer has been heard.” (Luke 1:13)
Not just any prayer – but the one he may have stopped praying, buried under years of disappointment. And suddenly, the silence breaks.
Maybe you’ve carried prayers too heavy to speak anymore. Prayers for healing… reconciliation… strength to just keep going.
And maybe, like Zechariah, you’ve stopped getting your hopes up.
Advent is a story that reminds us: God even hears the prayers we’ve stopped saying out loud. Silence is not the same as absence. Delay is not denial.
And sometimes, God answers not just with a gift – but with a calling.
Zechariah didn’t just receive a child – he received a prophet (Luke 1:16–17). He didn’t just get what he prayed for – he became part of what God was doing in the world.
And with this gift, his skepticism was transformed into a song (Luke 1:67–79).
Joseph: Quiet Courage
Zechariah is not the only devoted character in our Advent story. The story also gives us Joseph – a man known for his righteousness (Matthew 1:19).
In other words, Joseph was steady and honorable – he could be trusted to do the right thing.
And yet, despite doing everything right, Joseph found himself caught in a scandal he didn’t create.
Mary, the one he is pledged to marry, is found to be pregnant. Not by him (Matthew 1:18).
Everything he had planned – his life, his marriage, his future – suddenly falls apart.
He has every legal and moral right to walk away.
But Joseph does something extraordinary: He chooses mercy.
He decides to release Mary quietly, protect her dignity, spare her shame (Matthew 1:19).
And that’s when the angel comes – in a dream:
“Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child within her is from the Holy Spirit.” (Matthew 1:20)
And Joseph obeys. Not because it’s easy. Not because he has all the answers.
But because he’s willing to risk that this might be from God.
Joseph’s story reminds us: Obedience isn’t always about certainty – it’s about courage. It’s about saying yes to God even when the road is unclear.
Maybe you’ve stayed when others didn’t. Maybe you chose compassion when it would’ve been easier to turn away.
Maybe you have said yes, knowing full well how hard it would be to stay.
Like Joseph, your faith may not always come with clarity – but it comes with quiet courage. And that matters.
Quiet faithfulness may go unnoticed, but it is never small or unimportant.
Joseph never speaks a word in Scripture, and he never stands in the spotlight – yet his quiet actions help carry the story of salvation forward (Matthew 1:24–25).
He shows us that faith can be both tender and strong, that mercy takes strength, and that doing the next right thing – quietly and faithfully – is holy work.
Mary: Willingness Over Readiness
And then… we come to Mary.
We’ve heard from Zechariah – a devoted priest, shaped by years of service and sacred routine.
We’ve walked with Joseph – a man of righteousness and quiet strength.
But Mary?
Mary is young. Unmarried. Unimportant by the world’s standards.
She was quietly living the life expected of her—when God showed up.
And that’s where God meets her.
The angel greets her,
“Greetings, favored one. The Lord is with you,” (Luke 1:28)
and Mary is troubled – not by doubt, but by the cost of defying the life expected of her.
She doesn’t question if it’s true – only how it could be (Luke 1:34).
Her response isn’t rejection, but wonder and trembling trust.
The message is impossible: a young girl from an overlooked town will carry the Messiah, God’s promise to the world (Luke 1:31–33).
And this child will change everything.
Mary had every reason to resist – no clarity, no safety, no promise of how it would end.
But still she said:
“Here I am, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” (Luke 1:38)
It wasn’t passive surrender – it was courage.
Mary reminds us that faithfulness doesn’t always look like confidence.
Sometimes it just looks like trust – trust that says yes, even when the path ahead is unknown.
It looks like openness, even when it costs something.
Here’s the truth: Faithfulness doesn’t wait for ideal conditions – it begins in obscurity, in uncertainty, in real life.
Mary didn’t say, “I have a plan.” She said, “I’m willing.”
And maybe you’ve been there too.
Maybe you’ve felt called into something that didn’t come with clarity.
Maybe you’ve sensed God asking you to carry something – not a child, but a calling… not a title, but a burden, a quiet responsibility.
And maybe, like Mary, you didn’t feel ready. But you were open.
Zechariah needed a sign (Luke 1:18).
Joseph needed a dream (Matthew 1:20).
Mary needed a word (Luke 1:38).
And all three – eventually – said yes.
Each one responded in the only way they could, with the faith they had.
And so can we.
The Shepherds: Good News on the Margins
And then, finally, it’s time for Jesus to be born, and the news of Christ’s birth goes out (Luke 2:1–7).
Shepherds – ordinary, overlooked people – were the first to hear the news (Luke 2:8).
They are out in the fields. Watching over sheep. Doing what they always do. Working the night shift. Staying awake while the rest of the world sleeps.
In their time, shepherds weren’t just overlooked – they were dismissed as unclean, unable to fully participate in worship, and pushed to the margins both socially and spiritually.
And maybe this is your part in the story.
Maybe you’ve felt like a shepherd – not because you’ve herded sheep, but because you know what it is to stand just outside the circle.
Present, but unseen. Necessary, but unrecognized.
Doing what needs to be done – without much applause.
Maybe you’ve wondered if the good news is really meant for someone like you.
If that’s where you find yourself, hear what the angel said:
“To you is born this day a Savior…” (Luke 2:11)
To you.
Not just to the righteous or the spiritually confident – but to the tired, the unsure, the overlooked.
To those whose names may be forgotten by others, but whose quiet faithfulness is never unnoticed by God.
Maybe you’ve been showing up quietly – doing unseen work, caring for others, holding things together.
Maybe you’re carrying the weight of quiet prayers, late nights, or a return to faith after a long time, wondering if there’s still room for you.
Maybe you’ve been wounded – pushed out or made to feel like you didn’t belong.
Or maybe your story has convinced you that the message is for someone else.
Maybe you’ve learned to stay in the background, believing your place is at the edge of the story.
But the Gospel says otherwise.
Because the God who chose Zechariah in the temple (Luke 1:8–12), and Joseph in the middle of a scandal (Matthew 1:18–21), and Mary in her obscurity (Luke 1:26–27)…
also chose shepherds in the night (Luke 2:8–14).
People on the margins. People outside the walls of the sanctuary.
People who didn’t ask for a sign – but received one anyway.
Because this is what the Gospel does:
It finds the forgotten.
It lifts the overlooked.
It brings those on the edge right into the center of the story.
There Is Room for You
These four Advent witnesses – Zechariah, Joseph, Mary, and the Shepherds – could not have been more different.
A priest. A craftsman. A young girl. And a group of field workers.
They came from different walks of life.
They stood in different places in society.
They responded to God in different ways.
And yet, each of them became part of the same story.
Each of them was drawn into the unfolding of God’s promise.
And so are we.
Because this story – the story of Emmanuel, God with us (Matthew 1:23) – isn’t just something we hear.
It’s something we are invited to enter.
And maybe this is what we need to hear as we step into this season again:
- Zechariah shows us that silence is not the end. That God hears even the prayers we’ve stopped saying out loud (Luke 1:13–17).
- Joseph shows us that obedience doesn’t need the spotlight. That doing the next right thing – quietly, faithfully – is a holy act (Matthew 1:24–25).
- Mary shows us that courage can be quiet and open-handed. That God doesn’t always call the ready – God calls the willing (Luke 1:38).
- The shepherds show us that grace reaches even the forgotten. That the good news really is for you, even when you’ve been made to feel otherwise (Luke 2:8–11).
Each of them said yes in their own way.
And each reminds us that God comes – not to perfect people, but to open ones.
Not to those who have it all together, but to those who are tired, uncertain… still showing up.
So say yes – not perfectly, just honestly.
Even if you’re hurting.
Even if you’re still waiting.
Even if your faith feels small.
Because when we say yes – like Zechariah, like Joseph, like Mary, like the shepherds – we don’t just remember the Gospel.
We become part of it.
The Advent story is still unfolding – in the middle of real life, among the grieving, the questioning, the still-believing.
…And there is room in it for you.









