As another year draws to a close, there's a natural tendency to reflect, to evaluate, to measure what we've accomplished. We think about the weight we didn't lose, the goals we didn't meet, the resolutions that faded by February. But what if the most important question we could ask ourselves has nothing to do with our achievements and everything to do with our relationship? The Measure That Matters The Apostle Paul wrote something remarkable in Philippians 3:8: "Yea doubtless, and I count all things but loss for the excellency of the knowledge of Christ Jesus my Lord." This wasn't a man talking about checking boxes or maintaining religious appearances. This was a man consumed by something—or rather, Someone—far greater. As we close out another year, the critical question isn't what visible things we've accomplished for Christ. It's whether our walk with Him today is different than it was twelve months ago. Are we closer to Him now? Do we know Him more intimately? Or have we simply accumulated more information about Him while our hearts have grown no nearer? There's a profound difference between knowing about someone and truly knowing them. You can know facts—height, appearance, background—without knowing the person's heart, their character, their essence. The same is true in our relationship with Christ. The God Who Never Changes Here's the liberating truth: God has not changed this year. His excellency hasn't diminished. His glory hasn't lost its luster. The only variable in our pursuit of Christlikeness rests entirely in our yieldedness. Malachi 3:6 declares, "For I am the Lord, I change not." The same God who was worthy of praise in January remains just as worthy today. His strength hasn't weakened. His victory hasn't been diminished. His majesty stands undiminished. Psalm 113:3 commands us: "From the rising of the sun unto the going down of the same, the Lord's name is to be praised." From dawn to dusk, every single day, His name deserves our worship. This isn't a recommendation—it's a reality based on who He is. If our praise has diminished, it's not because He's less worthy. It's because we've grown less intentional. Praising Christ isn't seasonal—it's continual. The Dangerous Drift In Revelation 2, we encounter the church at Ephesus—a congregation any pastor would be thrilled to lead. They were workers. They were patient. They couldn't tolerate evil. They tested false teachers and found them to be liars. They labored without fainting. By all outward measures, they were an exemplary church. Yet God had something against them: "thou hast left thy first love." This is the dangerous drift. It's possible to be incredibly busy in religious activity while our hearts grow cold toward Christ Himself. We can know all the right answers, be involved in every ministry, maintain an impeccable religious reputation, and yet lose the very thing that matters most—that intimate, passionate pursuit of knowing Jesus. What Does Hunger Look Like? So how do we know if we're still passionately pursuing Christ? What are the evidences that we truly know Him? First, there's humility. Psalm 8:4 asks, "What is man that thou art mindful of him? And the son of man that thou visitest him?" The more we truly know God, the smaller we become in our own eyes. The less confidence we have in our flesh. The more dependent we are on His grace. We begin to reflect David's heart: "Who am I that you even know my name?" The answer to that question is humbling: we're nobody. We're sinners saved by grace. And paradoxically, the more we decrease in our own estimation, the stronger we become in Him. God chose the foolish things to confound the wise. He chose the weak things to confound the strong. Second, there's praise. Psalm 96:8 calls us to "Give unto the Lord the glory due His name." When knowledge grows cold, worship becomes routine. Praise becomes selective. Gratitude becomes conditional. We love the Lord as long as He's nice to us, but let circumstances turn difficult and watch how quickly our faithfulness wavers. But genuine knowledge of Christ produces genuine, consistent praise—not based on circumstances, but based on who He is. The Power Question In 2 Corinthians 4:7, Paul reminds us: "But we have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us." We are weak vessels. The treasure—God Himself—is where the true power resides. Here's where another subtle shift can occur. We begin to trust methods more than the Spirit. We trust programs more than prayer. We trust structure more than surrender. When's the last time we prayed earnestly for the ministries we're involved in, rather than just showing up and going through the motions? The question isn't whether God still works. The question is: are we still depending on God? Has our dependence shifted from His power to our own efforts? The Renewal Call Lasting spiritual change never comes from human strength. No self-help book, no matter how many times you read it, can produce lasting transformation. The only lasting change comes from surrendering to the power of the gospel of Jesus Christ. The gospel hasn't lost its power. The cross hasn't lost its authority. The Spirit hasn't withdrawn Himself. He is still available, still active, still powerful. As this year ends and a new one begins, the call isn't to retreat in shame over where we've failed. It's to renewal. It's to return to that first love. It's to pursue with fresh hunger the excellency of knowing Christ—not just knowing about Him, but truly knowing Him in intimate relationship. His nature remains our aim. His character, our pursuit. His image, our goal. Not through striving in our own strength, but through humble dependence on His transforming grace. The year may be ending, but the invitation remains: Come closer. Know Me more. Let Me change you from the inside out.

In the quiet darkness of a Judean hillside, while the world slept unaware, heaven broke through with an announcement that would change everything. But before we rush to the manger scene that has become so familiar—the gentle glow of candlelight, the peaceful animals, the holy family in reverent silence—we must pause and consider something remarkable: who God chose to hear the news first. The Unlikely Messengers Shepherds. Of all people, shepherds. Not the scholars poring over ancient prophecies in Jerusalem's halls. Not the priests conducting sacred rituals in the temple. Not the kings wielding power from their thrones. God sent His angels to announce the birth of the Savior to shepherds—men doing the ordinary work of watching sheep in the middle of the night. This wasn't an accident or an afterthought. It was intentional, purposeful, and deeply revealing of God's heart. In the ancient world, shepherds occupied one of the lowest rungs on the social ladder. Genesis 46:34 tells us plainly that "every shepherd is an abomination unto the Egyptians." These were not men of influence or reputation. They were rough, often unkind, overlooked and dismissed by polite society. When Samuel came to anoint a new king from Jesse's sons, even Jesse himself didn't bother calling David in from the fields where he was shepherding. That's how insignificant shepherds were considered. Yet these were the men God trusted with the greatest announcement in human history. The Message That Changes Everything When the angel appeared to those shepherds, the glory of the Lord shone around them, and understandably, they were terrified. But the angel's first words were "Fear not"—because what followed was not a message of judgment, but of joy. "For behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy, which shall be to all people. For unto you is born this day in the city of David a Saviour, which is Christ the Lord" (Luke 2:10-11). Three words in that announcement deserve our full attention: Saviour, Christ, and Lord. A Saviour Has Come The promise of a Savior wasn't new. Isaiah 43:11 declares, "I, even I, am the LORD; and beside me there is no saviour." Throughout Scripture, God consistently identifies Himself as the only true Savior. No prophet, no priest, no human king could carry that title. Salvation belongs to God alone. So when the angels announced that a Savior had been born, they were declaring something profound: God Himself had come to earth. This wasn't another religious teacher or moral guide. This was the Creator stepping into His creation, taking on flesh, becoming one of us to save us. The joy of Christmas isn't found in wrapped packages or twinkling lights or magical feelings. The joy is in this stunning reality: God our Savior has been born. The Christ—The Messiah The title "Christ" means "the Anointed One"—the Messiah promised throughout the Old Testament. When Andrew found his brother Simon Peter, he exclaimed, "We have found the Messias, which is, being interpreted, the Christ" (John 1:41). The prophecy in Daniel 9:24-26 spoke of the Messiah who would come to "finish the transgression, and to make an end of sins, and to make reconciliation for iniquity, and to bring in everlasting righteousness." This wasn't just about personal salvation—it was about the ultimate restoration of all things. Think about what that means: an end to sin. Complete reconciliation. Everlasting righteousness. Every broken thing made whole. Every tear wiped away. Every injustice made right. When Jesus met the Samaritan woman at the well and she mentioned that the Messiah was coming, Jesus told her plainly, "I that speak unto thee am he" (John 4:26). The promised One had arrived. Peace Through Conflict The angels' song included another phrase that we often misunderstand: "Glory to God in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men" (Luke 2:14). We tend to think of peace as comfort, ease, the absence of trouble. But biblical peace comes through conflict resolved—specifically, through death. Colossians 1:20 tells us that God made "peace through the blood of his cross." The peace the angels announced wasn't about political stability or personal comfort. It was about reconciliation between holy God and sinful humanity—a reconciliation that could only come through the blood of Jesus shed on the cross. The cradle points to the cross. The birth announcement anticipates the death that would bring life. Why the Shepherds Matter to Us God's choice to announce Jesus' birth to shepherds reveals something essential about the gospel: it comes to the lowly, the overlooked, the ones who know they have nothing to offer. Throughout Scripture, the people God calls often feel unqualified. Moses protested that he couldn't speak well. The disciples were fishermen and tax collectors, not religious scholars. God resists the proud but gives grace to the humble. If you've ever felt unworthy, unqualified, or insignificant, you're in good company. You're exactly the kind of person God delights to use. The shepherds didn't earn the right to hear the angels' song—they simply received it as a gift. The Good News for Today Two thousand years later, the good news hasn't changed. The same Savior born in Bethlehem still offers peace to troubled hearts. The same Christ who reconciled heaven and earth through His blood still welcomes sinners home. But here's the challenge: if we celebrate Christmas without sharing why it matters, we've missed the point entirely. The warm feelings, the family gatherings, the traditions—all of these are meaningless if we fail to point people to Jesus Christ the Savior. Your neighbors need this good news. Your family needs it. The world desperately needs to know that God Himself came to earth, lived among us, died for our sins, and rose again to offer us eternal life. The shepherds didn't keep the news to themselves. After seeing the baby in the manger, they "made known abroad the saying which was told them concerning this child" (Luke 2:17). They became messengers of the very message they had received. Glory to God in the Highest When God is glorified—when He receives the honor and recognition He deserves—peace floods human hearts. The two go together: glory to God, peace on earth. As we celebrate this season, may we not settle for sentimental feelings or temporary happiness. May we fix our eyes on the One who left heaven's glory to be born in a stable, who grew up to die on a cross, who rose from the grave to offer us peace with God. The Savior is born. Christ the Lord has come. And that remains the greatest news the world will ever hear.

When we think about the Christmas story, our minds often drift immediately to the manger scene—the baby wrapped in swaddling clothes, shepherds gathered around, wise men bearing gifts. But the story of Christ's arrival on earth begins long before that silent night in Bethlehem. It begins with announcements that would shake the foundations of two ordinary lives and invite them into the most extraordinary mission in human history. The Ones Who Were Chosen Mary and Joseph weren't celebrities. They weren't religious elite or people of notable standing in their community. Mary was a young woman from Nazareth—not exactly the most prestigious address in first-century Israel. Joseph was a carpenter, a working man with calloused hands and an honest reputation. Yet these two were chosen to be the earthly parents of God in flesh. What made them suitable for such an impossible calling? Scripture gives us remarkable insight into their character. Mary is described as "highly favored" and "blessed among women." But this blessing wasn't about material wealth or social status. The favor Mary found with God was rooted in something far deeper—a beautiful disposition of heart, a kindness of spirit, and most importantly, her identification with the Most High God. When we examine what it means to be blessed in Scripture, we discover it's intimately connected to fruitfulness and sanctification. From the very beginning, when God blessed Adam and Eve and commanded them to be fruitful and multiply, blessing has been tied to purpose and holiness. Mary was blessed not because of who she was in the eyes of the world, but because of whose she was—she belonged to God. The same truth echoes through Scripture. When Melchizedek blessed Abraham, he declared, "Blessed be Abram of the Most High God." Abraham's blessing wasn't rooted in his accomplishments or possessions, but in his relationship with and obedience to the God who called him. This is a truth we desperately need to embrace today: our eternal blessing is tied to our identity in Christ. We may be blessed with family, health, provision, and comfort, but the only blessing that truly matters for eternity is that we belong to the Heavenly Father through faith in His Son. A Just and Godly Man Joseph's character shines through in the brief glimpses we get of him in Scripture. When he discovered Mary was pregnant before they had come together, he had every legal and cultural right to make a public example of her. The shame and scandal would have been devastating in their community. Yet Scripture tells us that "Joseph, her husband, being a just man and not willing to make her a public example, was minded to put her away privily." Here we see a man who was thoughtful before acting. He didn't make rash decisions based on emotion or circumstances. He considered carefully what he should do. This quality of being "slow to anger" and thoughtful in response is praised throughout Scripture. Proverbs tells us that "he that is slow to wrath is of great understanding" and that "he that is slow to anger is better than the mighty." In our culture of instant reactions and emotional outbursts, Joseph's example stands as a powerful rebuke. A man quick to anger reveals weakness in faith. A person who makes snap judgments based on feelings rather than prayerful consideration shows a lack of godly wisdom. Joseph's character demonstrates what it looks like to pause, to think, to seek God's direction before acting. And when God did speak to Joseph in a dream, revealing the miraculous nature of Mary's pregnancy, Joseph's response was immediate obedience. He took Mary as his wife. He protected her reputation. He named the child Jesus, just as the angel commanded. His obedience was complete and unwavering. The Names That Define Everything The angel's announcements to both Mary and Joseph centered on the identity of the child they would raise. He would be called Jesus—a name that means "Savior"—because He would save His people from their sins. He would be called Emmanuel, which means "God with us." He would be known as the Son of the Highest. These names carry profound theological weight. Emmanuel—God with us—speaks to the incomprehensible reality that the Creator of the universe desired to dwell with His creation. When we consider human history, this truth becomes even more astounding. Humanity has consistently proven itself unworthy of God's attention. We corrupt what He creates, rebel against His commands, and choose our own way over His perfect will. Yet in His infinite mercy and goodness, God still desires relationship with us. The name Jesus points us to the cross. Without the shedding of blood, there is no remission of sins. The Old Testament sacrificial system could cover sins temporarily, but it couldn't wash them away. The blood of bulls and goats purified most things, but not everything. That's why the righteous who died before Christ went to Abraham's bosom—their sins were covered but not cleansed. But when Jesus came and shed His blood, He didn't just cover our sins. He washed them away completely, making us white as snow, with our transgressions never to be remembered against us again. That's the power of the blood of Jesus Christ. That's why His name is holy. That's why His name should never be used carelessly or mockingly. A Submissive Faith Perhaps the most challenging aspect of Mary and Joseph's story is their response to God's call. When the angel finished speaking to Mary, her reply was simple but profound: "Behold, the handmaid of the Lord; be it unto me according to thy word." This is humble submission at its finest. Mary didn't argue about the impossibility of what she was being told. She didn't demand to understand every detail of how God would accomplish this miracle. She didn't worry first about what people would think or how this would affect her reputation. She simply said yes to God. Her song of praise that follows reveals the depth of her humility. She magnified the Lord, recognizing that He had regarded "the low estate of his handmaiden." Mary understood that God uses those who will not rob Him of glory. He works through people who will not steal the praise that belongs to His name alone. Joseph's obedience was equally remarkable. He took Mary as his wife despite the scandal it would bring. He abstained from physical intimacy with her until after Jesus was born. He named the child Jesus, just as he was commanded. His actions displayed a heart fully surrendered to God's will, regardless of personal cost. The Question That Confronts Us All Mary and Joseph were not chosen because they were exalted in the eyes of the world. They were chosen because they were submitted to God. Heaven entrusted the greatest announcement ever made to hearts that were humble, obedient, and willing. This truth confronts us with an uncomfortable question: Would God be able to use us in the same way? If God were looking today for someone to entrust with a difficult, costly mission—one that would bring mockery, misunderstanding, and sacrifice—would we be candidates? Do we have the kind of humble, submitted hearts that say "yes" to God before we know all the details? Are we willing to obey even when obedience comes at great personal cost? The Christmas story is not just a beautiful account of something that happened two thousand years ago. It's a continuing invitation to participate in God's redemptive work in the world. Jesus came as the Son of the Highest, as Emmanuel—God with us—as the Savior who would deliver His people from their sins. The announcement has been made. The Savior has come. Now the question is not whether we know the Christmas story, but whether we have fully submitted to the Savior. Have we, like Mary, humbled ourselves as servants of the Lord? Have we, like Joseph, demonstrated obedient faith that follows through regardless of cost? God desires to work today. He desires to do a mighty work on earth, and He has chosen to work through His people. The question is whether we have willing hearts, obedient spirits, and submissive faith to rise up and obey so that we can exalt Him. The name has been given. The Savior has come. Will we submit?

In a world consumed by seasonal celebrations and twinkling lights, it's easy to lose sight of the true illumination that changed history forever. The story of Christmas doesn't begin in a manger in Bethlehem, as we so often imagine. It begins with preparation—with the announcement of a voice that would cry out in the wilderness, preparing hearts for the arrival of the Light of the World. Righteous Living in the Midst of Struggle The account of Zacharias and Elizabeth presents us with a profound truth: living righteously before God does not guarantee an easy life. These two faithful servants of God walked blamelessly in His commandments and ordinances, yet they bore a painful burden, the inability to have children. In their culture, barrenness was often viewed as divine punishment, a mark of hidden sin or God's displeasure. But Scripture makes it abundantly clear: they were righteous people facing real struggles. This challenges our modern prosperity-focused Christianity. We've been conditioned to believe that if we're doing everything right, life should be comfortable, our prayers should be answered immediately, and difficulties should be minimal. Yet the Bible teaches us something radically different. In 1 Thessalonians, we read of believers "having received the word in much affliction, with joy of the Holy Ghost." There can be joy in affliction. There can be comfort in distress. There can be communion in hard times. The question isn't whether we'll face difficulties, it's whether we'll continue to serve faithfully in the midst of them. Persistent Service Despite Disappointment Zacharias continued his priestly duties despite years of unanswered prayers. He didn't abandon his post. He didn't become bitter toward God. He faithfully executed his office, burning incense at the appointed times, serving in the temple according to the order of his course. This is the kind of faithfulness God honors, not the fair-weather faith that serves only when circumstances are favorable, but the persistent devotion that continues even when heaven seems silent. How many of us have given up on serving God because our prayers went unanswered? How many have allowed disappointment to derail our devotion? Zacharias and Elizabeth teach us that the burden of barrenness, whatever form our personal "barrenness" takes, should never stop us from bearing about the service of God. When God Answers Beyond Our Faith The irony of Zacharias's story is striking. He's in the temple praying for a child when an angel appears with the answer to his prayer—and he doesn't believe it. "How shall I know this?" he asks. "I am an old man, and my wife is well advanced in years." He was asking God for something, yet when God said He would do it, Zacharias lacked the faith to believe it could actually happen. How often do we do the same? We pray, we ask, we plead, but when God begins to move, we question whether He really can or will accomplish what we've asked. Yet here's the beautiful truth: even in the midst of Zacharias's unbelief, God answered his prayer anyway. God's faithfulness is not contingent upon the perfection of our faith. He is able to do exceedingly abundantly above all that we ask or think, even when our thinking is clouded with doubt. The Purpose of the Promised Child The child promised to Zacharias and Elizabeth wasn't just for their personal joy, though there would be much rejoicing at his birth. This child, John, had a divine purpose: to be the forerunner of the Messiah, to prepare the way of the Lord, to turn many of the children of Israel back to God. John would be "filled with the Holy Ghost, even from his mother's womb." He would be great in the sight of the Lord. He would be a voice crying in the wilderness, bearing witness to the Light. This speaks to a profound truth about parenthood and legacy. While it's wonderful for children to have successful careers and comfortable lives, there's something infinitely greater: raising children who will do something for Christ, who will be used in God's plan, who will point others to the Light. Bearing Witness to the Light John's Gospel describes his role clearly: "There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. The same came for a witness, to bear witness of the Light, that all men through him might believe. He was not that Light, but was sent to bear witness of that Light." This is our calling as well. We are not the Light, Jesus Christ is the Light. But we are witnesses of that Light. We've experienced its transforming power. We've been rescued from darkness. We've been made new creatures. The Light that John proclaimed is described in Scripture as: A Shining Light - "That was the true light, which lighteth every man that cometh into the world." The light of Christ is available to everyone living in darkness. Whosoever will may come. A Powerful Light - "As many as received him, to them gave he power to become the sons of God, even to them that believe on his name." Those who receive this Light are given the power to become children of God, not by blood, not by human will, but by God Himself. A Transforming Light - "If any man be in Christ, he is a new creature: old things are passed away; behold, all things are become new." This Light doesn't just illuminate our darkness; it fundamentally transforms who we are. We are no longer tied to our old nature, no longer slaves to sin. A Guiding Light - "Thy word is a lamp unto my feet, and a light unto my path." This Light continues to guide us, directing our steps, showing us the way forward. Our Role as Forerunners Just as John was called to prepare the way for Christ's first coming, we are called to prepare the way for His second coming. Our responsibility is to proclaim life, to be lights in the darkness, to point people to the only true Light. The season we celebrate isn't ultimately about gifts or decorations or family gatherings, though those can be wonderful. It's about the gift God gave when He "humbled Himself and put on flesh and dwelt among His creation." It's about the Light coming into the world, offering hope to all who sit in darkness. And here's the remarkable thing: some people in our communities still don't have this hope. They've never trusted in God's only begotten Son. They're living in darkness, in need of someone to prepare the way, in need of someone to bear witness of the Light. The Call to Rejoice and Proclaim When Elizabeth's neighbors heard how the Lord had shown her mercy, they rejoiced with her. Mercy should always produce rejoicing. When we see God rescue someone from trouble they deserved, when we witness transformation, when we experience grace, our response should be celebration. Too often, we're too fleshly, too focused on vengeance or justice as we define it, to truly rejoice when mercy is shown. But when we remember what our sin did to Jesus, and how He still shows us mercy, it changes our perspective. The story of John's announcement reminds us that God is still looking for righteous people to use today. He's looking for those who will faithfully serve despite struggles, who will persist in prayer even when answers seem delayed, who will bear witness to the Light that has transformed their lives. The Light has come. The question is: will we prepare the way? Will we be faithful witnesses? Will we point others to the hope that changes everything? In this season and every season, may we be people who exalt Christ, who proclaim His light, and who live as those who have been transformed by the only true Light that has ever entered this dark world.

When God finally speaks after centuries of quiet, what does He say? And when a man who has been struck mute for nine months finally finds his voice again, what are his first words? The answer reveals everything about the nature of true worship and the heart of God's redemptive plan. When Silence Breaks Into Song Picture this: A priest who questioned an angel's message stands before his newborn son. For nine months, he has lived in enforced silence—a consequence of his unbelief when told his elderly wife would bear a child. Now comes the moment of naming. Tradition demands the boy be called Zacharias, after his father. But obedience requires something different. With trembling hand, the old priest writes on a tablet: "His name is John." Immediately—Scripture emphasizes that word—his mouth opens. His tongue loosens. And the first words that tumble out after months of silence are not explanations, not complaints, not even apologies. They are praises to God. This moment teaches us something profound: When God restores, when He answers prayer, when He keeps His promise, our first duty is worship. Not analysis. Not storytelling. Not even thanksgiving in the casual sense. Pure, unadulterated praise. The Fear That Leads to Wonder The neighbors and relatives who witnessed this miracle responded with fear. Not terror, but awe—the kind of reverent wonder that overtakes people when they realize God is moving again after a long silence. God had been prophetically silent for 400 years. No angels. No visions. No prophetic voices. Just waiting. Just hoping. Just the echo of ancient promises. But now? Miracles were breaking out. Prophecies were being fulfilled. The machinery of redemption was grinding back into motion. And people could sense it—something momentous was happening, something that would change the world forever. This is the pattern throughout Scripture: whenever God breaks dramatically into human history, people respond with holy fear. It happened at the Red Sea. It happened when Jesus calmed the storm. It happened at Pentecost. And it happened in that small home when an old priest found his voice and began to prophesy. The Blessing of Redemption Zacharias's first prophetic words cut straight to the heart of God's plan: "Blessed be the Lord God of Israel; for He has visited and redeemed His people." That word "visited" carries weight. The first time it appears in Scripture, it's connected to another miraculous birth—when God visited Sarah and gave her Isaac, the promised heir. Now God was visiting again, this time through two miraculous births: a child born to elderly parents, and soon, a child born to a virgin. God doesn't redeem from a distance. He steps into our world. He gets His hands dirty with our humanity. The Word becomes flesh and dwells among us. And that word "redeemed"? It means to buy back, to purchase freedom. It anticipates the cross that would come thirty-three years later. We were not redeemed with silver or gold, with corruptible things, but with the precious blood of Christ. The entire Old Testament had been building toward this moment—every Passover lamb, every kinsman redeemer, every prophecy of a suffering Messiah. All of it was pointing to this baby who would be born in Bethlehem. Redemption isn't just deliverance from something. It's deliverance unto Someone. God bought us so we could belong to Him. The Beginning of Mercies Zacharias speaks of God raising up "a horn of salvation" in the house of David. In ancient imagery, a horn represented strength, authority, power. God was sending a Savior with the strength to actually save—not just inspire or encourage, but genuinely deliver. And this wasn't a new plan. God had spoken of it "since the world began." From the first promise in Eden of a seed who would crush the serpent's head, through the covenant with David promising an eternal throne, through Isaiah's vision of a child called Wonderful Counselor and Mighty God—all of it was converging now. When Scripture says God "remembered" His covenant, it doesn't mean He had forgotten. God doesn't forget. It means He was acting on His promise. The fullness of time had come, and God was sending forth His Son. Every mercy begins with Christ. Every promise finds its "yes" and "amen" in Him. He is the living proof that God keeps His Word. The Bringing of Deliverance But deliverance for what purpose? Zacharias makes it clear: God delivers us from our enemies so that we might serve Him without fear, in holiness and righteousness all our days. This is crucial. Deliverance is never just from something. It's always unto something. We are delivered from fear so we can serve Him in confidence. We are delivered into holiness because redemption produces transformation. We are delivered into righteousness because those who are made righteous live righteously. And this isn't temporary. This isn't a seasonal commitment. Serving God is meant to be the pattern of our entire lives—"all the days of our life," Zacharias says. Deliverance leads to lifelong devotion. The Burden of the Forerunner Then Zacharias turns to his newborn son. Imagine holding your eight-day-old baby and prophesying over him like this—declaring his life's mission before he can even focus his eyes. "You, child, will be called the prophet of the Highest. You will go before the face of the Lord to prepare His ways." John's burden would be to give people knowledge of salvation through the remission of sins. Not political salvation. Not national liberation. Spiritual salvation rooted in forgiveness. And then Zacharias uses a beautiful image: "the dayspring from on high has visited us." The Dayspring—the sunrise, the dawning of a new day. Christ is the Sun of Righteousness rising with healing in His wings. He is the Light shining in darkness that the darkness cannot overcome. John's job was to point people to that Light. To prepare hearts. To make straight paths. To cry out in the wilderness that the Kingdom of God was at hand. That calling hasn't ended. The church still bears the burden of pointing people to the Light, of preparing hearts for Christ, of declaring that salvation comes through the remission of sins. The Song Continues This prophecy isn't just ancient history. It's the heartbeat of the Gospel that still pulses today. God has visited and redeemed His people. He keeps every promise He ever made. He sets us free so we may serve Him. He sends messengers to prepare hearts for Christ. When God opens our mouths, when He restores, when He moves in our lives, may our first response always be like Zacharias's—pure, joyful, unstoppable praise. The silence has been broken. The Light has come. And the song of redemption echoes still.

The ancient festivals of Israel weren't merely cultural traditions or religious obligations—they were divine appointments that pointed forward to something far greater than the people could have imagined. While the Jewish people celebrated their agricultural harvests and remembered their deliverance from Egypt, God was weaving a tapestry of redemption that would ultimately reveal the Messiah and His work in the world. From Death Comes Life There's something profoundly beautiful about the timing of the Feast of Weeks, also known as Pentecost. Occurring fifty days after Passover, this celebration marked the wheat harvest—a time when the first fruits of the wheat were presented to the Lord. But the timing reveals something deeper than agricultural cycles. Jesus Himself used this imagery when He declared, "Except a corn of wheat fall into the ground and die, it abideth alone: but if it die, it bringeth forth much fruit" (John 12:24). He was speaking just after His triumphal entry into Jerusalem, at a moment when His death was imminent. The grain of wheat must die to produce a harvest. The Passover lamb must be slain so that death will pass over. And from that death comes resurrection—the first fruits of a great harvest. The Apostle Paul understood this connection perfectly when he wrote about resurrection: "That which thou sowest is not quickened, except it die" (1 Corinthians 15:36). The body that dies is not the body that will be resurrected. When you plant an apple seed, you don't get one giant seed growing from the ground—you get an entirely new creation, a tree that bears fruit. Similarly, our mortal bodies are sown in corruption, but they will be raised in incorruption. They are sown in dishonor but raised in glory. The Harvest Is Ready One of the most striking aspects of the Feast of Weeks is its emphasis on timing. The celebration began when the sickle was put to the grain—when the harvest was ready. This wasn't a theoretical or future event; it was happening in real time. The fields were white unto harvest, and the laborers were called to gather it in. Jesus used this same language when He looked at the crowds and declared, "The harvest truly is plenteous, but the labourers are few" (Matthew 9:37). He wasn't speaking primarily about wheat and barley—He was talking about souls. The spiritual harvest was ready, but there weren't enough workers willing to go into the fields and bring people into the kingdom. This reality hasn't changed. Even in the cold December evenings, when the days grow short and depression seems to creep into homes and hearts, the harvest remains ready. There are still souls who need to hear about the resurrection. There are still people for whom Christ died who haven't yet experienced the freedom that comes from being part of the first fruits of His resurrection. Coming With Open Hands The Feast of Weeks required something specific from the people: they were not to come empty-handed. Three times a year, all the males of Israel were to appear before the Lord—at Passover, at the Feast of Weeks, and at the Feast of Tabernacles—and they were commanded to bring offerings according to how the Lord had blessed them. But here's where the heart of God shines through: these were freewill offerings. The people were to give "as he is able, according to the blessing of the Lord thy God which he hath given thee" (Deuteronomy 16:17). This wasn't about meeting a quota or fulfilling a legal requirement. It was about responding to God's generosity with gratitude. The New Testament echoes this principle beautifully: "Every man according as he purposeth in his heart, so let him give; not grudgingly, or of necessity: for God loveth a cheerful giver" (2 Corinthians 9:7). God doesn't need our finances. He owns the cattle on a thousand hills. What He desires is a heart that recognizes His blessings and responds with joy, not obligation. Some can give more than ten percent without affecting their household budget. Others struggle to give anything while trying to meet basic needs. God isn't looking for a percentage—He's looking for a heart that says, "I'm grateful You've given me this, and I want to give something back to You." Rejoicing Together One of the most beautiful aspects of the Feast of Weeks was its communal nature. The celebration wasn't just for the wealthy landowners or the religious elite. The command was clear: "Thou shalt rejoice before the Lord thy God, thou, and thy son, and thy daughter, and thy manservant, and thy maidservant, and the Levite that is within thy gates, and the stranger, and the fatherless, and the widow" (Deuteronomy 16:11). Everyone was invited to the feast. The harvest blessings were to be shared with those who had no land of their own—the Levites who served in the temple, the foreigners who lived among them, the orphans who had no inheritance, and the widows who had no provider. This was worship and community combined, a picture of what the family of God should look like. When we read Acts 2, we see this same spirit alive in the early church after their Pentecost experience. They continued daily with one accord, breaking bread from house to house, eating their meals with gladness and singleness of heart, praising God and having favor with all the people. And the Lord added to the church daily those who were being saved. The focus wasn't on miraculous signs for their own sake—it was on the harvest of souls and the unity of believers who recognized that everything they had came from God's hand. Remembering Our Bondage Perhaps the most sobering aspect of the Feast of Weeks was its call to remember: "And thou shalt remember that thou wast a bondman in Egypt" (Deuteronomy 16:12). While Passover reminded them of when God redeemed them, Pentecost reminded them of who they would be without God—slaves in a foreign land with no hope and no future. This is where humility enters our rejoicing. When Paul listed the sins that characterize those who will not inherit the kingdom of God—fornicators, idolaters, adulterers, thieves, drunkards, extortioners—he added these powerful words: "And such were some of you: but ye are washed, but ye are sanctified, but ye are justified in the name of the Lord Jesus, and by the Spirit of our God" (1 Corinthians 6:11). Such were some of you. That's the reminder we need. Without the Spirit of God, we would still be in bondage to sin. We would still be slaves to our flesh, with no harvest and no hope. But because of the resurrection—because Christ became the first fruits of those who sleep—we have been washed, sanctified, and justified.  The Ultimate Freewill Offering So what is the freewill offering that God truly desires? Jesus made it clear: "If any man serve me, let him follow me: and where I am, there shall also my servant be: if any man serve me, him will my Father honour" (John 12:26). He wants us. Not our money, not our talents, not our time—though all of those flow from a surrendered heart. He wants us to freely give ourselves to Him, to live our lives for His glory rather than our own comfort. The harvest is ready. The Spirit has been given. The first fruits of resurrection life are available to all who believe. The question is: Will we respond with offerings of gratitude? Will we rejoice in His blessings with humility? Will we remember where we came from and live with purpose for where we're going? The feast continues, and we're all invited to participate—not as slaves fulfilling obligations, but as children celebrating the abundant grace of a Father who has given us everything we need for life and godliness.