To enter the story of the first Christmas, you need to feel the hard ground of that world. Most people were poor, taxed around sixty percent to fund an empire that crucified dissenters along the roadside. Families clung to ancestral land yet could barely keep it, sometimes selling children into slavery just to survive. Power was loud, merciless, and always watching. Into that kind of ache, God chose to arrive not with spectacle but with presence. Joy makes sense here because light means most when the night is thick [12:34].
Luke 1:5
When Herod ruled Judea, a priest named Zechariah served before God; in those very days, heaven began its quiet work among ordinary people.
Reflection: Where does life feel like Rome’s tax on your soul right now, and what would it look like to invite God into that specific burden this week?
Herod built to be remembered—palaces, aqueducts, even a man-made mountain crowned with a palace, the Herodian. From miles away, people could see his might and his name. Jesus later stood on the Mount of Olives and spoke of moving mountains with mustard-seed faith. It was as if he pointed at that artificial peak and said, Empire can stack dirt, but trust in God can reorder the world. You may not have a backhoe, but you do have a prayer and a promise. Start where you are; speak to the mountain that tells you it will always be there [07:15].
Matthew 17:20
If your trust in God is as small as a mustard seed, you can tell a mountain to move from here to there, and it will go; nothing God asks of you will be beyond reach.
Reflection: What “man-made mountain” looms in your life—status, fear, resentment—and what is one mustard-seed prayer you will speak over it each day this week?
Mary’s song rings with Scripture and fire. She sees the long-promised mercy arriving in real time. In her words, the proud are scattered, the powerful are toppled, the lowly are lifted, and the hungry are fed. This is not wishful thinking; it is God’s character on display again. When the world celebrates the ones on thrones, she celebrates the One who notices those in the dust. Let your soul magnify God alongside her, even before you see the full reversal [22:09].
Luke 1:46–55
“My whole being enlarges the Lord,” Mary declares. “He noticed my low estate and did great things. His holy mercy keeps reaching to every generation that honors him. He overturns proud thoughts, brings rulers down, lifts the humble, fills the hungry with good, and sends the self-satisfied away empty. He remembers his promise to Abraham and his children forever.”
Reflection: Where have you seen even a small beginning of God’s reversal—in your spirit, relationships, or resources—and how could you actively cooperate with it this week?
Advent joy is not denial; it is defiance. It looks Herod-shaped power in the eye and remembers that God keeps promises. The baby from Bethlehem signals that empires do not get the last word. God overturns what seems unmovable and shepherds his people through the darkness. Hold fast: the Herods of the world don’t win; God does [33:33].
Micah 5:2–4
You, Bethlehem, though small among Judah’s towns, will bring forth a ruler for God, one whose beginnings reach back beyond memory. He will stand and shepherd his flock in the Lord’s strength; they will live secure. His greatness will stretch to the ends of the earth, and he himself will be their peace.
Reflection: Which promise of God do you need to hold before a particular “Herod” in your life this week, and how will you rehearse it each day?
Some of us love this season; some of us can barely breathe through it. Either way, God has not given up on you. The One who was with you once is with you now and will be with you tomorrow. Your Savior does not wait outside your suffering; he steps into it and carries you. Walk into this week knowing you are not alone, not for one minute [45:02].
Matthew 1:21–23
“You will name him Jesus, because he will rescue his people from their sins.” All this happened to fulfill what God said: “The virgin will conceive and bear a son, and he will be called Immanuel”—God with us.
Reflection: What is one simple practice you will adopt this week—a slow walk, a candle at dinner, a whispered bedtime prayer—to notice God-with-you exactly where you feel most alone?
I wanted to drop us into the world of the first Christmas because joy doesn’t make sense unless you feel the ground it rose from. Everyday people were crushed under Rome—most were poor, taxed around sixty percent, and kept in line by crosses set along the main roads as warnings. Into that brutal world stepped Herod, a puppet king who grasped for immortality and fear-driven control. He married into a Jewish line, rebranded himself as “king of the Jews,” and built the Herodium—an actual man-made mountain crowned with a palace and fed by massive aqueducts—so his name would tower over the land. Power cemented itself in stone, soldiers, and terror.
Luke opens with “in the days of King Herod” not just to date the story but to aim our imagination. In those days of fear, a young woman’s song erupts. Mary knows the Scriptures, and her Magnificat isn’t polite sentiment; it’s a clear-eyed proclamation that God remembers, reverses, and restores. She sings that the proud are scattered, the powerful brought down, the lowly lifted, the hungry filled. Not a dream, a declaration—God is already moving. Even Jesus’s later image about moving mountains lands differently when you can actually point to a mountain Herod moved by force and say: faith does more than empire.
So the joy of this season isn’t varnish over pain. It’s the stubborn confidence that the Herods of the world do not get the last word. Some of us are thriving right now; many are not. The promise God made to Abraham’s family—“I will be your God”—holds steady in both places. That’s why Mary sings. That’s why we can celebrate even when the ground beneath us feels thin. God has not forgotten. God is present in our suffering, faithful in the waiting, and victorious in the end. The birth of Jesus is God’s quiet, decisive “No” to terror and “Yes” to a kingdom that lifts the lowly and feeds the hungry. If you’re in the ache, you are not abandoned. If you’re in the joy, let it sing in a way that remembers the ones still waiting. Either way, God is here.
The joy of the Christmas season is that the Herods of the world don't win. Joy of the Christmas season is that even if our own circumstances are pretty bad sometimes, and they are, that God keeps his word. God is victorious in the end. Herods of the world don't win. And this baby showed Mary that, ultimately showed us all that. [00:57:36] (47 seconds) #ChristmasHopePrevails
You might be here, and you might be like, man, like the, you know, the green and the red and everything, like it's all, it's all pretty and it's all fun, but I am suffering here. Yeah, I get you. I get you. Suffering doesn't win in the end. Herod doesn't win in the end. God overcomes in the end. The joy of the Christmas season is that our authority, our Savior, our salvation is a God who overcomes all the pain that we experience here on this earth. [00:58:23] (53 seconds) #GodOvercomesSuffering
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