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, and with Him comes peace. Not the tidy kind we wish for, but the kind that slips quietly into our real lives: 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 deeper grounding. And something I’ve been reading from Cyd and Geoff Holsclaw has helped give language to this. They describe spiritual maturity as growing in both intimacy with God and Spirit-led independence — the ability to keep moving, take risks, and act while staying anchored in His presence.
It’s a picture of peace that isn’t fragile. It’s like walking hand-in-hand with God: not paralysed by fear, not clinging in desperation, but moving with confidence because you’re not alone. Peace doesn’t just quiet our fears, it strengthens our steps. It gives us the security of intimacy and the courage of companionship. We’re not frozen. We’re not abandoned. We are held and we are free.
This isn’t about romanticising the ordinary. It’s about recognising that God’s presence reframes it. Not because those things change, but because His nearness changes you.
Advent reminds us that we do not have to chase peace. We receive it. And when we do, it settles us, not into apathy, but into trust.
READ
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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.
GO DEEPER
Luke’s telling of Jesus’ arrival does not begin in a temple or palace. It begins in a village kitchen. The angel’s greeting to Mary was not only startling, it was confusing. Luke tells us she was “greatly troubled” and tried to make sense of it. And who would not be? Her life was not significant by anyone’s standards. She was young, female, poor, and largely invisible in a world that prized power and prominence. Yet it is precisely here that God chooses to speak.
Mary does not respond with certainty. She asks questions. She wonders aloud. Even so, peace begins to settle, not because her circumstances are safe, but because God draws near. “Do not be afraid,” the angel says. Not as a rebuke, but as an invitation. Peace is not the absence of fear. It is the presence that holds the tension with us.
The shepherds have a similar encounter. They are out in the dark, doing their ordinary work, 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 that heaven is breaking in. Peace is not passive. It is the arrival of the Kingdom. It meets fear head on and refuses to let it lead. It does not deny reality. It simply insists that God is with us within it.
We live scattered, pulled in different directions. But Advent peace gathers us back. It does not always change our circumstances. It changes us. It confronts. It reorders. It says, “You are not alone anymore.” It is like a child holding a parent’s hand, not to avoid the world, but to walk through it. Not frozen in fear, but grounded in love. Peace does not promise ease. It promises presence. And that presence is strong.
Jesus does not wait for sacred spaces. He makes ordinary ones sacred. His peace is not a quick fix. It is a slow and steady companionship that transforms how we move through the world.
Then, as we are 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 back to reconnection, with ourselves, with others, and with God.
So maybe this week, peace is not something we chase. Maybe it is 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.
ADVENT CANDLE
As we light this candle, we breathe deeply.
God of peace,
draw near to us as we wait for your coming.
Walk with us in our fear and steady our steps with your presence.
You are here with us, and you are coming still.
Amen.