Jesus calls the community to stay awake—not out of fear, but out of attentiveness; to be open and present so the arrival of God can be noticed in ordinary and surprising moments. This is an invitation to trade spiritual autopilot and anxious trying-to-control for curiosity and alertness to the sacred already breaking into daily life. Practice staying open so that when God shows up in ways you didn't plan, you will recognize and receive that presence. [16:56]
But concerning that day and hour no one knows, not even the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but the Father only. For as were the days of Noah, so will be the coming of the Son of Man. For as in those days before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day when Noah entered the ark, and they were unaware until the flood came and swept them all away, so will be the coming of the Son of Man. Then two men will be in the field; one will be taken and one left. Two women will be grinding at the mill; one will be taken and one left. Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an hour you do not expect.
Reflection: This week, name one ordinary place or routine (work, commute, kitchen, bedtime) where you tend to "sleepwalk." What single, small change could you make in that context to practice being more open and attentive to God’s presence?
Communion is given as a tangible way to remember Emmanuel—God with us—in the real, messy, vulnerable life we live together; the bread and cup say plainly that God chose to be present with ordinary people. Taking the bread and dipping it in the cup is not a ritual that keeps God at a distance but a weekly reminder that God meets us in friendship, brokenness, and community. Let this meal reorient you from trying to perform for God to resting in the promise of God's nearness. [55:11]
And he took bread, and when he had given thanks, he broke it and gave it to them, saying, "This is my body, which is given for you. Do this in remembrance of me." And likewise the cup after they had eaten, saying, "This cup that is poured out for you is the new covenant in my blood."
Reflection: Who is one person in your life with whom you can share a simple meal this week, not to fix anything but to practice presence? How might that ordinary act remind you of God's companionship?
The gospel truth is blunt and tender: God so loved the world that God acted—giving Jesus—so that people might encounter fullness of grace and life here and now, not only later. This is not a promise that everything will be prettily resolved, but that in the exact circumstances you are living—choices made, losses suffered, uncertainty—you are already known and loved. Hear the plain good news: you are so loved right now; there is no waiting room to enter God's presence. [26:27]
For God so loved the world, that he gave his only Son, that whoever believes in him should not perish but have eternal life.
Reflection: When you say to yourself, "If only I were X, then God would..." what is the specific "X" you keep waiting for? What would it look like to speak aloud the truth "I am loved now" in one specific daily moment this week?
Being awake in Advent often looks less like recognizing miracles and more like noticing small mercies: a timely text, the gift of breath, a quiet moment, a friend’s presence, or a light that lifts the dark. These small mercies are not trivial; they are the ways God keeps saying "I'm here" in the midst of the ordinary and the exhausting. Practice naming three small mercies each day this week so your eyes are retrained to see God’s faithful work in the everyday. [23:40]
The steadfast love of the LORD never ceases; his mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is your faithfulness.
Reflection: Each evening this week, write down one "small mercy" you noticed that day. At the end of the week, which single mercy surprised you most, and why might God have chosen to show up through that ordinary thing?
Hope in this season is not a skill of controlling outcomes but a posture of companionship—trusting that God is with you even when life is messy, unplanned, or hard to fix. Letting go of the illusion that you must manage everything frees you to receive help, to notice God in unexpected people, and to live in the confidence that you are not alone. Practice offering one worry or plan this week to God in prayer and then intentionally receive one small gift of rest or help from another person. [27:26]
For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.
Reflection: What is one responsibility or worry you are clutching as if it depends only on you? Who could you realistically invite to share that burden, and what concrete step will you take this week to let God—and another person—carry part of it?
Advent begins with honesty. I love the lights, the traditions, the tree farm that feels like a Hallmark set—and I also feel the fatigue, the overfull calendars, the sense that there won’t be a “normal week” until January. Rather than pretending the season is only cozy and bright, I named that biblical hope is not escapism or sentimentality. Hope is God’s promise inside reality—joyful and hard, beautiful and exhausting—because Advent is about a God who comes to us as we are, not as we wish we were.
We listened to Jesus in Matthew 24, a text that mentions floods, thieves, and surprise. It’s not meant to scare us; it’s deeply pastoral. Jesus is not inviting hypervigilance but attentiveness. The word “stay awake” (gregoreo) means to be open, present, aware—not anxious. Hope is not positive thinking about an ideal future; it’s trusting God’s faithful presence regardless of how the future unfolds. We don’t “schedule God.” God arrives in the ordinary, the vulnerable, the unscripted—just as God did in Bethlehem with unready parents in an unready world.
So the call this Advent is to stay awake, to move off spiritual autopilot. How? Attend to small mercies: a kind word, a quiet moment, breath itself—holy respiration—lights on a dark night, a timely text, simple provision. Stop waiting for perfect conditions to experience God; Mary and Joseph didn’t have them, and neither do we. Let go of the illusion of control; hope is not mastery but companionship—God with us, Emmanuel. And expect to see God first among those we often overlook, because Scripture insists the margins are often where recognition comes first.
You are loved right now. Not the perfected version of you, not the “after January” version of you—this you. Advent is God’s insistence on sharing our real life, not our curated one. So we practice staying awake: watching for small mercies, releasing control, choosing presence over prediction, and recognizing Emmanuel in unexpected places and people. That’s honest Advent, and it’s very good news.
The unifying truth is we're all sinners. The unifying truth is we're all screw up, saved by God's grace. Faith, if we're waiting for things to be perfect or cleaned up before we expect God to be with us, we misunderstand the gospel. It's not about us. It's not about our power. It's about the power of the God of the universe who chooses to be Emmanuel with us. [00:20:17] (22 seconds) #SavedByGrace
You are so loved right now. Hear me. Hear me. Hear God through me. You are so loved right now. Full stop. The exact circumstances of your life. The choices you've made, the fair and unfair things that have happened to you. All of it fully known by the God who formed you. And in the midst of exactly right now, God is speaking into your life, saying to you, you are completely loved. [00:26:00] (40 seconds) #LovedRightNow
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