Advent Devotional

Day 11 – Let It Be with Me

Luke 1:26–38

Devotional Thought:
When the angel Gabriel appeared to Mary, he greeted her with astounding words: “You have found favour with God.” But that favour wasn’t what most of us would expect. It didn’t come with comfort, ease, or recognition. It came with uncertainty, risk, and a call to surrender.

Mary asked, “How can this be?”—and yet, she responded with one of the most faithful declarations in all of Scripture:
“Let it be with me according to your word.”

Her surrender made space for the Prince of Peace to enter the world. She didn’t have all the answers. She didn’t control the outcome. But she offered herself—fully, humbly, courageously.

Advent is a season of waiting and preparing. But more than that, it's a season of surrender. Like Mary, we are invited to make room in our lives for God to do the unexpected. Peace is not found in knowing every step ahead, but in trusting the One who goes before us.

A well-known artist once held a workshop. Dozens of eager students came, ready to learn how to paint like a master. At the beginning of class, he handed each person a canvas—but there was a twist: each canvas had a few bold strokes already painted by him.

Some students looked frustrated. “How can I make this my painting with someone else’s marks already there?”
Others got creative, trying to hide the original strokes or paint around them.

But one student did something different. She looked at the marks, then said, “These are not mistakes. They’re invitations.” And she built her whole painting around what had already been placed—letting the brushstrokes of the master guide her own.

At the end of the workshop, the artist chose hers as the one that reflected true partnership with the original design.

Mary’s response to God wasn’t resistance—it was surrender. She didn’t demand a blank page. She didn’t say, “Only if I understand.” She simply said, “Let it be with me according to your word.”

True peace comes when we stop fighting God’s brushstrokes in our lives and begin trusting His hand—even when the picture isn’t finished. Mary’s surrender made room for peace to be born. So can ours.

Prayer:
I open my heart to your will, O God. Help me to surrender my fears, my plans, and my expectations. May I, like Mary, be a willing vessel of your peace. Let it be with me according to your word. Amen.

Advent Devotional

Day 10 – The Shepherd of Peace

Micah 5:2–5

In the quiet town of Bethlehem, small and overlooked, God’s eternal plan was unfolding. Micah’s prophecy speaks of a ruler whose origins are “from of old, from ancient days.” This Shepherd-King does not arrive with fanfare or force, but in stillness and humility. His power lies not in weapons or armies, but in His ability to shepherd His people with strength, majesty, and the peace of God.

When everything around us seems chaotic or uncertain, this prophecy reminds us: peace is not the absence of conflict, but the presence of Christ. He is our peace — not just for a moment, but for all time. His reign is steady, His care is constant, and His peace is eternal.

This Advent, we wait with hopeful hearts for the Shepherd of Peace to lead us once again — quietly, faithfully, eternally.

A mother once shared a story about a cold winter night. Her infant had been restless, crying again and again, and she was exhausted. Around 2 a.m., the baby cried out again. She sat up, groggy, ready to go—but before she moved, she heard something different.

Her husband had already gotten up. Quietly, he had slipped into the nursery. She peeked around the corner. He wasn’t doing anything flashy—just holding the child, whispering gently, rocking slowly in the dark. No grand speech. No magic fix. Just presence. Peace.

She said, “That’s when I realised—peace isn’t about solving every problem. Sometimes, peace is just knowing someone is already there. Someone who hears the cry and comes without being asked.”

This is how Jesus came. As Micah said, He would “shepherd His flock in the strength of the Lord” and “He will be our peace.”

Not with blaring trumpets, but with quiet strength. Not by removing all hardship, but by entering into it with us—bringing comfort, presence, and peace in the dark.

Prayer:
Lead me in your peace, Good Shepherd. Calm the noise within and around me, and help me rest in the security of Your care. Teach me to walk in Your ways, and to share Your peace with those who are waiting, longing, hoping. Amen.

Advent Devotional

Day 9 – Peace in the Storm

Scripture: Mark 4:35–41

“Even the wind and the waves obey Him.” (v. 41)

Advent is a season of waiting—of longing for light in the darkness, for peace in the noise. But sometimes the storms rage on even as we wait: a diagnosis, a broken relationship, a heavy grief, or just the anxious swirl of too much to do.

In the middle of a storm on the Sea of Galilee, Jesus slept. His disciples panicked. But when they woke Him, He spoke just three words: “Peace! Be still!” And everything changed.

Jesus doesn’t promise us storm-free lives. But He promises to be in the boat with us. And more than that—He has the authority to speak peace into our chaos. Advent reminds us that He is not absent. He has come—and He will come again.

A journalist once interviewed an old lighthouse keeper who had served on a rocky stretch of coast known for violent storms.

“When the waves crash and the winds howl,” the reporter asked, “aren’t you ever afraid?”

The keeper smiled and said,
“I don’t mind the storm. My job isn’t to stop the sea — just to keep the light burning.”

In the same way, Advent invites us to keep the light of hope and peace burning in our hearts, even when life feels like a storm. Jesus doesn’t always calm the chaos immediately, but He gives us peace in the middle of it, and calls us to shine that peace for others.

Jesus, speak peace into my chaos. When the waves rise and my heart trembles, remind me that You are near, in the boat with me. Help me to trust not in the calm, but in Your presence. Amen.

Advent Devotional

“He will be called… Prince of Peace.” – Isaiah 9:6

Day 8 –  Prepare the Way
Scripture: Mark 1:1–8
Theme: Peace begins with repentance and clearing the way

“A voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.’” — Mark 1:3

Advent begins not in the soft glow of candlelight but in the stark wilderness, with a prophet calling people to repent. John the Baptist doesn’t offer sentiment or seasonal cheer—he offers a challenge: clear the clutter, make space, turn around, be ready.

This call to prepare the way isn’t just about world events or religious observance—it’s deeply personal. Peace, the kind only Christ can bring, doesn’t take root in crowded hearts. It begins when we pause, reflect, and let God clear away what no longer belongs: old resentments, hidden pride, åunchecked busyness.

To repent is to turn around, to realign our lives with God’s coming kingdom. It may not feel peaceful at first—admitting our need never does—but it is the first movement toward true peace. Not peace as the world gives, but peace that settles into us once the way has been made clear.

Imagine you’ve invited a guest over for dinner—someone very important. But as the hour approaches, your house is a mess. Dirty laundry on the stairs. Dishes in the sink. Toys underfoot. You're not at peace—you’re rushing to get things sorted.

John the Baptist’s call is like that urgent reminder: “Get ready. The Lord is near.”
Repentance is spiritual decluttering. It's not about perfection—it’s about clearing space for peace to enter.

Prayer:
Lord, smooth the rough places in me.
Clear the clutter I cling to.
Prepare my heart to receive your peace,
and give me the courage to walk in your way.
Amen.

Advent Devotional

O Come, O Come Emmanuel

Scripture: Matthew 1:18–25
Theme: Emmanuel means “God with us.” The ultimate hope.

Joseph planned to quietly end his engagement with Mary, unsure of what to do with a situation that looked like scandal. But then an angel appeared with a promise that changed everything: “The virgin will conceive and give birth to a son, and they will call him Emmanuel” (which means ‘God with us’) (v. 23).

This is the heart of Advent: God is not distant. God has come close.
Not just to the righteous or the ready, but to the confused, the afraid, the flawed. Emmanuel—God with us—enters our world, not with thunder or force, but through the vulnerability of a baby born into a troubled situation.

In a world still full of uncertainty and brokenness, we do not place our hope in perfect circumstances. We place it in the perfect promise of God's presence. He is with us—in our joys and sorrows, in our waiting and hoping. Emmanuel is not just a name—it is the assurance that we are never alone.

During World War II, some families would place a lit candle in the window each night. It was a silent message to a son, a husband, or a loved one far from home: You are not forgotten. We are waiting. This is your home. We hope for your return.

The candle didn’t stop the war. It didn’t change the weather or shorten the night. But it offered a beacon of hope—steady, warm, and visible. It said, “You are loved. We are with you. Come home.”

In the birth of Jesus, God placed His own light in our window. Emmanuel—God with us—is the candle that will never burn out. He did not wait for the world to be peaceful or perfect. He came into its pain, into its mess, and said: “You are not forgotten. I am with you. I am your hope.”

This is the miracle of Advent: the God of heaven moves into the neighbourhood. And He still does—lighting our darkness with His faithful presence.

Prayer:

God with us, be born in me anew. Let your presence shape my hope, my choices, and my heart. In every moment, may I remember that you are near. Amen.

Advent Devotions

Hope is rooted in promise, not circumstances.

In this passage, Jesus speaks of cosmic signs—sun, moon, and stars trembling, nations in anguish, and the sea roaring. These are images that stir fear and uncertainty. Yet amid the turmoil, Jesus calls His followers to lift up their heads, because redemption is drawing near.

This is the paradox of Advent hope. It does not deny the darkness, but it refuses to be defined by it. The world may shake, but God's promises stand firm. Our hope is not based on how things look or feel, but on the sure word of the Lord who is coming again.

Jesus urges us to stay awake, to be watchful, to live expectantly. Advent invites us to realign our hearts—not with the headlines, but with heaven. Even when the night is longest, the morning of Christ’s return draws nearer.

A pregnant mother feels the aches and discomforts of waiting. There are days when she’s tired, days when she can’t sleep, and days when nothing feels normal. Her world has changed—but she keeps preparing, keeps hoping. Why? Because she knows new life is on the way.

She doesn’t base her hope on how she feels today, but on the promise of what’s to come. Even in the discomfort, she gets the nursery ready. She counts down the weeks. She waits—not passively, but with purpose.

Advent is like that. Jesus told His followers not to be weighed down by fear or worry, but to watch and pray (Luke 21:36), to live in readiness. The signs of the times may feel like contractions—unsettling and painful—but they point to something greater: the coming of new life, the arrival of the kingdom, the return of Christ.

Just like the expectant mother, we live with hope not because everything feels okay, but because we trust the promise.

Prayer:

Lord, make me faithful as I watch for your coming. Teach me to anchor my hope in your promises, not in passing circumstances. Help me live each day awake, alert, and confident in your redeeming love. Amen.

Advent Devotions

The Hope of the LowlyI 

“The Lord lifts up those who are bowed down… The Lord watches over the foreigner and sustains the fatherless and the widow.” (Psalm 146:8–9)

Reflection:
In this season of Advent, when the world often exalts the loudest voices and the brightest displays, the psalmist calls our attention elsewhere: to the poor, the hungry, the prisoner, the blind, the stranger, and the oppressed. These are the ones God sees first. These are the ones to whom hope is promised.

Hope, in God’s kingdom, does not trickle down from the powerful—it rises up among the lowly. God's justice is not abstract; it is personal and restorative. God lifts the humble, defends the marginalised, and brings healing to those the world overlooks.

Jesus, born in a stable and laid in a manger, is the living embodiment of this hope. He is the fulfilment of the psalmist’s promise—a King who comes not to dominate, but to serve. As we wait for His coming, we are reminded that Advent is not just about counting down to Christmas; it is about aligning our hearts with the values of God's kingdom.

There’s a story about a small church in a rural village that held a Christmas dinner every year. It was open to everyone—no ticket, no price, just a welcome table and a warm meal.

One year, a local farmer noticed something odd. At every table, there was an empty chair—not because people hadn’t come, but because the organisers insisted on leaving one seat open at each table. When he asked why, an elderly woman from the church explained:

“That chair is for the one who thinks they don’t belong. The stranger. The loner. The one too ashamed to walk in. We keep that chair open so they know—someone’s expecting them. Someone’s hoping they’ll come.”

That year, the farmer returned with a neighbour he knew was struggling—recently widowed, out of work, nearly invisible to the community. That man sat in the empty chair, and when he did, he said, “I didn’t think I’d be welcome anywhere this Christmas.”

That chair wasn’t just a symbol. It was a sermon. It said: God sees the lowly. God welcomes the forgotten. Hope has a place for you.

That’s what Psalm 146 is all about. God doesn’t forget the one bowed down in sorrow or hardship. In God’s kingdom, no one is invisible, and no one is left without hope. Advent invites us not only to believe this—but to live it.

Prayer:
Strengthen me with your justice and mercy, O Lord. Teach me to hope not in status or strength, but in your steadfast love. Help me to see as you see—to lift the lowly, welcome the stranger, and walk humbly with you. Amen.