A Quiet Beginning
My Christmas season usually kicks off with a family trip into the city—checking out the Myer windows (they’re LEGO this year!), a dumpling lunch, and choosing a new Christmas ornament for the tree. It’s simple, but special. A fun way to mark the start of Advent. For many of us, it’s not officially Christmas until the tree goes up and the lights are on.
But Advent doesn’t really begin with decorations or carols or even a calendar. It begins in the quiet. In the ache. In the longing for God to show up again.
The story doesn’t begin with a baby. It begins with waiting.
Before angels sing or shepherds run, there’s a long silence. A priest in the temple. A barren couple. A people unsure whether God still speaks.
This is where hope begins—in the stillness, in the pause, in the honest prayers that sound more like sighs. And maybe that’s why we need this week as Advent begins. Not to rush into celebration, but to make space for longing. To name what we’re actually holding as we begin the season.
He doesn’t just meet us at the beginning of a story. He meets us personally—attentively—in the quiet ache of our longing right in the middle of our ordinary routines, tired hearts, and distracted minds.
READ
-
In the time of Herod king of Judea there was a priest named Zechariah, who belonged to the priestly division of Abijah; his wife Elizabeth was also a descendant of Aaron. 6 Both of them were righteous in the sight of God, observing all the Lord’s commands and decrees blamelessly. 7 But they were childless because Elizabeth was not able to conceive, and they were both very old.
8 Once when Zechariah’s division was on duty and he was serving as priest before God, 9 he was chosen by lot, according to the custom of the priesthood, to go into the temple of the Lord and burn incense. 10 And when the time for the burning of incense came, all the assembled worshipers were praying outside.
11 Then an angel of the Lord appeared to him, standing at the right side of the altar of incense. 12 When Zechariah saw him, he was startled and was gripped with fear. 13 But the angel said to him: “Do not be afraid, Zechariah; your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you are to call him John. 14 He will be a joy and delight to you, and many will rejoice because of his birth, 15 for he will be great in the sight of the Lord. He is never to take wine or other fermented drink, and he will be filled with the Holy Spirit even before he is born. 16 He will bring back many of the people of Israel to the Lord their God. 17 And he will go on before the Lord, in the spirit and power of Elijah, to turn the hearts of the parents to their children and the disobedient to the wisdom of the righteous—to make ready a people prepared for the Lord.”
18 Zechariah asked the angel, “How can I be sure of this? I am an old man and my wife is well along in years.”
19 The angel said to him, “I am Gabriel. I stand in the presence of God, and I have been sent to speak to you and to tell you this good news. 20 And now you will be silent and not able to speak until the day this happens, because you did not believe my words, which will come true at their appointed time.”
21 Meanwhile, the people were waiting for Zechariah and wondering why he stayed so long in the temple. 22 When he came out, he could not speak to them. They realized he had seen a vision in the temple, for he kept making signs to them but remained unable to speak.
23 When his time of service was completed, he returned home. 24 After this his wife Elizabeth became pregnant and for five months remained in seclusion. 25 “The Lord has done this for me,” she said. “In these days he has shown his favor and taken away my disgrace among the people.”
-
We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time. 23 Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies. 24 For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have? 25 But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.
GO DEEPER
Isaiah’s prophecy wasn’t made for pretty Christmas cards. It came in the middle of crisis. King Ahaz was terrified. Enemy armies were closing in. The political pressure was boiling over. And into all that fear, God speaks through Isaiah: “The Lord himself will give you a sign. The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and will call him Immanuel.”
The people of God held onto that promise for centuries. It became a hope carried across generations, especially when things looked bleak. God would come. He would not abandon them.
And then one day, in a small town under Roman rule, a young woman finds herself wrapped up in that ancient promise. She’s pregnant, confused, and facing a future she didn’t choose—but God is with her. The angel quoting Isaiah to Joseph wasn’t pulling from thin air. He was tying the whole big story together: This child is that sign. This is God, here with you.
It’s easy to think these stories belong in stained-glass windows or in the soft glow of Christmas nostalgia—angels, prophecies, old words from another world. But this promise still speaks straight into the realness of our lives today. Into the tension we carry in this season. The weariness beneath the glitter. The joy that’s tangled up with grief. The unspoken feeling that you’re supposed to be more “together” than you actually are.
This is where Advent does its quiet work. Not by fixing everything, but by reframing it. Instead of escape, it offers encounter. And instead of striving, it calls us to honest presence—with God, with ourselves, and with others. That’s the invitation of incarnation. As N.T. Wright puts it, “God doesn’t send a postcard; He comes in person.”
Theologically, this matters because it shows us what God is like. He doesn’t bypass the messy bits. He doesn’t demand distance or perfection. He joins us in the waiting, in the not-yet, in the already and the ache. And when we let that shape us, we become more fully human too. Not in spite of our vulnerability, but because of it.
Emotionally, this matters because it reminds us that presence is transformative. Not just God’s presence, but ours too. Being present to our own life, our relationships, even our pain, is part of how we walk with Jesus. Advent calls us into that kind of grounded faith. The kind that can sit in tension without needing to solve it.
Hope isn’t passive. It’s a Spirit-empowered posture that refuses to give up, even when the night feels long. As we wait, we don’t wait alone—the Spirit groans with us (Romans 8) and strengthens us to trust again. This is not just reflective waiting. It’s empowered longing. God meets us in the ache and invites us to hold hope for others, too.
So before everything ramps up, maybe let this week be a slow beginning. A quiet chance to reorient—to turn your face, your schedule, your heart toward the One who is already near, and always coming closer.
ADVENT CANDLE: HOPE
As we light this candle, we name our longing.
God of hope, meet us in our waiting.
Remind us that we are not forgotten.
Come close. Be here with us.
Amen.