"Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call His name Immanuel" (which means, "God with us").
Matthew 1:23

Advent begins with a truth so staggering that it should stop us in our tracks:
the God who spoke galaxies into existence chose to enter His own creation as an infant.

Not a symbol, not an idea, not a spiritual presence—His holiness in flesh.

We forget how overwhelming this is because we’ve grown so familiar with it. But Scripture never treats the incarnation as ordinary.

Think about it:

The God whose voice summoned the stars into place (Psalm 33:6).
The God whose holiness made Isaiah collapse in fear (Isaiah 6:1–5).
The God whose glory no one can see and live (Exodus 33:20).

This is the same God who wrapped Himself in flesh and lay swaddled in a manger.

Nothing in the universe was more scandalous to Israel than this.
And if we grasped even a fraction of His holiness, it would scandalize us too.

This is not a God made in our image.
This is a God whose majesty makes His humility almost unfathomable to contemplate.

The Creator enters creation.
The Infinite becomes infant.
The Sustainer of all things receives a mother’s sustenance.

From eternity past, the Son shared glory with the Father—the exact imprint of His nature. And yet the plan of redemption required a descent so profound that human language barely captures it. Philippians 2 describes it as Christ “emptying” Himself—not of deity, but of the visible glory and privilege that rightly belonged to Him. He stepped into our world quietly, taking on not just flesh, but weakness, poverty, obscurity.

The wonder of Advent is that the One who came is the Almighty Himself. Does that not move you? Does it not make you want to fall face down in worship and full surrender to such a God?

Advent confronts us with the holiness of the One who entered the world:

The One angels worship without ceasing.

The One whose presence makes mountains tremble.

The One before whom we are dust.

If this does not draw us into reverence, we have forgotten who God is.

Advent is an invitation to recover awe—to see the incarnation not as a seasonal story, but as the greatest act of divine humility and redemption the world has ever known. The God who is infinitely above us became one of us. The distance between Creator and creation is immeasurable, yet He crossed it freely, willingly, and joyfully.

Not because the world was worthy.
Not because humanity was seeking Him.
But because this holy God is also the God of overflowing mercy.

To contemplate the incarnation rightly is to worship. The manger is not sentimental—it is holy ground. And Advent begins by calling us to stand in awe before the God who came down.

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Reflection Question:
Meditate on the magnitude of who God is and the reality of the incarnation. How does this confront any complacency or familiarity you may feel toward the Christmas story?

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Further Reflection:

📖 John1:1-5

📖 Isaiah 9:6–7

📖 Matthew 1:18–2:23

📖 Luke 2:11–14

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Prayer:
Lord, You are beyond all comprehension—holy, exalted, enthroned in glory. And yet You humbled Yourself and entered this world You created. Restore to me the awe I’ve lost. Let the wonder of Your majesty and the depth of Your humility lead me into worship that is worthy of Your name. Thank You for coming near. Thank You for Your mercy. Thank You for revealing Yourself in Christ. Amen.