Part 3: How the Gift of Emmanuel Unwraps Mission

We inch ever nearer the gift of Christmas this week, count down Advent days on a calendar. Anticipation rises with the welcome of each new day. One more day—one day closer! Oh, that the joy of children would be reflected too in our hearts as we unwrap the greatest gift ever given: the hope of God here with us!

The gift of God with us

Emmanuel, we sing. O come, o come, Emmanuel. It’s a beckoning of expectant hearts for God to come near us. Because Emmanuel, I read, means “with-us God, or God with us.”

He is the “with-us God.” Here in even the smallest moments.

The ones that feel swallowed and unseen.

The ones in which we feel unseen.

He’s here in the ordinary and nondescript days—all the days leading to and beyond Christmas this year, last year, and the next.

The gift of God with us is that it’s an always-offered gift. God is not Emmanuel just one time of the year.

But at Christmas we seek the wonder, pause to feel the awe, if even in just passing moments amidst the busy swirl of lights and shopping and sneaky elves and frosted cookies.

But perhaps, our pursuit of this one gift—the gift of God’s presence—doesn’t need to be buried in the wrapping paper this year. Perhaps we could have eyes to see that He is the greatest gift ever given—that we have full access to Him—now and always.

As we read in Hebrews 4:16 TPT, “So now we come freely and boldly to where love is enthroned, to receive mercy’s kiss and discover the grace we urgently need to strengthenus in our time of weakness.”

We can come “freely and boldly” before Him here, in this very moment. Not only is God with us, we have permission to approach Him. Anytime. Always. What a hope-saturated promise!

Another way that hope is a gift is because hope gives me eyes to see what I know is already true: that God is good, present, faithful, dearest friend—that He is full of love, mercy, compassion—that He is powerful, glorious, Champion—that He is loyal, unchanging, without blemish, and purer than pure.

I underlined lines of Psalm 103 this morning, sage green:

Higher than the highest heavens—
that’s how high your tender mercy extends!
Greater than the grandeur of heaven above
is the greatness of your loyal love, towering over all
who fear you and bow down before you!
Farther than from a sunrise to a sunset—
that’s how far you’ve removed our guilt from us.
The same way a loving father feels toward his children—
that’s but a sample of your tender feelings towards us.,
your beloved children, who live in awe of you.
Psalm 103:11-13 TPT

We are beloved, and He is God infinitely glorious and good. What hope we have in Him! And hope—it’s a gift that keeps on giving, because the more we find Him, the more our hearts want to pursue Him.

The gift of slow

2020 has been a year of less running—far more staying—and perhaps there is gift too in this. In the quiet. The still. The slow.

I forget to savor unless I slow; in the rush, I focus on the immediate over the important. Perhaps the same is true for you.

When we take ourselves too seriously, we lose a little anticipation, a little wonder. But this year—this year that’s ripped the band-aids off of all busyness covered—this has been a year we’ve had to be more honest with ourselves than ever before.

We’ve had to name disappointments and expectations, the ways we’ve worn our own blinders—and as life as we knew it shattered, we’ve picked up the pieces and come through, a mosaic reflecting that nevertheless, we are still beloved, still held, and God—He has a plan bigger than we can see and we are living but one sliver of it.

The slow can show us the depths of our humanity, and it can show us the depths of God.

The slow—it’s a gift—and it shows us what we lack so we can know what we need.

“Because nothing is greater and we have no greater need, God gives God,” wrote Ann Voskamp. Then, she further explains, “God gives God, and we only need to slow long enough to unwrap the greatest Gift with our time: time in His Word, time in His presence, time at His feet.”

The difference between missing the gift given and unwrapping it is to choose with my time to accept it. The gift of the “with-us God”—this I don’t want to miss.

Abiding unwraps the gift of God-Himself

Abiding, as we are urged to do in John 15:4, is a long savor, a carried-out intention to present God with our time so He can give us the gift of Himself:

Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit by itself, unless it abides in the vine, neither can you, unless you abide in me.
John 15:4 ESV

Abiding is making space to listen. And it’s the posture of my heart as I listen.

It’s choosing proximity—inviting the “with-us God” to meet us in the unsightly and everyday moments.

It’s surrender. And expectation.

It’s our deepest need meeting His deepest yearning—for us.

“Move your heart closer and closer to God, and He will come even closer to you,” I read in James 4:8 TPT. A promise for the still, the slow, the weary moments: Come close. I will respond. I will give measure upon measure of Myself if only you ask.

The gift unwraps the mission

And something happens, as if by osmosis, when we abide. We begin to imitate what we are proximate to, and abiding—it’s choosing to be proximate to Him.

I think of the often-quoted words of Apostle Paul: “Imitate me as I imitate Christ” (1 Corinthians 11:1 GW). Is there yet more to Advent to unwrap?

Perhaps in the waiting, the abiding of Advent, we find our purpose, because proximity to Him imparts mission—to join Him, to love Him, to share Him.

I run towards God, as we talked about last week, then I sit at His feet, drink of the gift of His presence—and here I learn how to imitate Him. I learn here how to live on mission.

Is Advent truly about joining God’s mission? About letting the wonder of the “with-us God” explode out beyond me?

Paul doesn’t encourage a mere imitating of Christ, but the release of a ripple effect. I abide so I might look more like Christ, and so that those near me might find their way closer too to this gift of hope.

The “with-us God” is the God for all of us.

And Advent prepares my heart to gift to others the gift of hope I’ve discovered.

An Advent blessing

This Christmas may we slow long enough to savor the gift of the “with-us God.”

May we find Him present in all the smallest moments.

May we bow down our weary heads so He may lift our burdens.

May we unwrap the gift of God-come-down, then let our own praise resound.

May we draw closer to Him, beckon others in.

May we abide with Emmanuel so the lives we live are worth imitating.

Would You come, Emmanuel, the “with-us God”? Fill our hearts with wonder as we look to You, wait for You, respond to You. You are the gift. Your name is Hope. And even in the waiting of Advent, You are already here. Thank you for the gift of Yourself—the gift for us, the gift we share. Thank you for being Emmanuel to all. We love you, Jesus. In Your precious and holy name, Lord, we pray. Amen.