Interrupting Ordinary
The story of Jesus doesn’t begin on a mountaintop. It begins in Nazareth—a nowhere town, through the life of a teenager no one had ever heard of. And later, to a bunch of night-shift shepherds who definitely didn’t see it coming. No hype. No curated vibe. Just the sacred breaking into the overlooked and ordinary.
That’s the scandal and beauty of Advent: God doesn’t wait for ideal conditions. He arrives right where we live. Not when we’ve earned it. Not when we’ve finally figured it all out. But in the middle of daily routines, quiet disappointments, and small joys.
That’s how peace works. Not as absence of conflict, but as presence that stills the noise. Not as escape, but as a deeper grounding. The peace of God doesn’t remove us from reality—it meets us right in the middle of it.
This isn’t about romanticising the ordinary. It’s about recognising that God’s presence reframes it. Your inbox, your groceries, your quiet drive home—they become places where peace can land. Not because those things change, but because His nearness changes you.
Advent reminds us we don’t have to chase peace. We receive it. And when we do, it settles us—not into apathy, but into trust.
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In the sixth month of Elizabeth’s pregnancy, God sent the angel Gabriel to Nazareth, a town in Galilee, 27 to a virgin pledged to be married to a man named Joseph, a descendant of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. 28 The angel went to her and said, “Greetings, you who are highly favored! The Lord is with you.”
29 Mary was greatly troubled at his words and wondered what kind of greeting this might be. 30 But the angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary; you have found favor with God. 31 You will conceive and give birth to a son, and you are to call him Jesus. 32 He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, 33 and he will reign over Jacob’s descendants forever; his kingdom will never end.”
34 “How will this be,” Mary asked the angel, “since I am a virgin?”
35 The angel answered, “The Holy Spirit will come on you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you. So the holy one to be born will be called the Son of God. 36 Even Elizabeth your relative is going to have a child in her old age, and she who was said to be unable to conceive is in her sixth month. 37 For no word from God will ever fail.”
38 “I am the Lord’s servant,” Mary answered. “May your word to me be fulfilled.” Then the angel left her.
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Do not be anxious about anything, but in every situation, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God. 7 And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.
Luke’s telling of Jesus’ arrival doesn’t begin in a temple or palace. It begins in a village kitchen. The angel’s greeting to Mary wasn’t just startling—it was confusing. Luke tells us she was “greatly troubled” and tried to make sense of it. And who wouldn’t be? Her life wasn’t significant by anyone’s standards. She was young, female, poor, and invisible in a world that prized power and prominence. But it’s precisely here that God chooses to speak.
Mary doesn’t respond with certainty. She asks questions. She wonders aloud. And yet, peace begins to settle—not because her circumstances are safe, but because the presence of God draws near. “Do not be afraid,” the angel says. Not as a rebuke, but as an invitation. Peace isn’t the absence of fear. It’s what happens when God comes close enough to hold the tension with us.
The shepherds have a similar encounter. They’re out in the dark, going about their ordinary shift, when suddenly the sky lights up. Fear hits first. But again, the message is the same: “Do not be afraid. I bring good news... peace on earth.” Not a lullaby, but a bold declaration: heaven is breaking in. Peace isn’t passive. It’s the arrival of the Kingdom. It’s not soft or sentimental. It’s disruptive. It meets fear head-on and refuses to let it lead. It doesn’t pretend everything’s fine—it just insists that God is with us in all of it.
We live scattered. Pulled in different directions. But Advent peace gathers us back. It doesn’t always change our circumstances. It changes us. N.T. Wright puts it this way: “God doesn’t send a postcard. He comes in person.” And His coming doesn’t just comfort—it confronts. It reorders. It says, “You’re not alone anymore.”
Jesus doesn’t wait for sacred spaces. He makes ordinary ones sacred. And His peace isn’t a quick fix—it’s a slow, steady presence that transforms how we move through the world.
Then, as we’re grounded in His peaceful presence, we become people who carry peace into anxious spaces. Through the Spirit, even your ordinary words and choices can become peace-making acts. Advent peace interrupts our disconnection and calls us to reconnection—with ourselves, with others, and with God.
So maybe this week, peace isn’t something we chase. Maybe it’s something we notice. Something already arriving. In the uncertainty. In the routine. Even in the fear. God is here. And He brings His peace with Him.