In Isaiah 53, we see a hard-to-grasp depiction of the Servant of the Lord. This passage can feel staggering in contrast to the idyllic ambiance that often surrounds the Christmas season—it’s hard to sit with the truth that Jesus came to earth to bring us victory through His own surrender. He afforded us rescue at the cost of handing Himself over to torture and death. But I find the poem of Isaiah 53 comforting when considering the new year ahead.

This past year brought pain and chaos that my family could have never imagined. But isn’t that how most years go? They all seem to have a mix of unexpected pain and delight. You can plan and calendar and dream, but there will always be surprises, which is surely by design. Wouldn’t it be awful to know some of the events in our lives ahead of time? As I reflect over the last year, the truth I want to hold onto while walking into the new year is that for each sorrow and joy on the horizon, Jesus is there. He is “a man of suffering” (Isaiah 53:3). He is acquainted with pain. In fact, He chose it so that He could be with us through ours. John tells us that God sent Jesus, crowned with the glory of being God’s one and only Son to live as the Suffering Servant and to die in order to save us from sin, death, and eternal separation from Him (John 3:16–17). He knows our pain in a very personal way.

Maybe it’s a bit of a downer to end the year thinking about the pain ahead in the new one. But praise the Lord that every sorrow and pain we will experience we now see paired with hope of Jesus’s resurrection. Yes, He suffered and died, but then God raised Him to a new and restored life on the other side of death—and He promises us the same wholeness at His return. For every moment of anguish and tears, the Son of suffering is graciously with us, reminding us that through Him light has broken into the darkness (vv.19–21) and because of His death, He has brought us true life. The delight of resurrection beckons us to keep walking in faithfulness and hope as we look forward to His second advent when He will make all things new.

In the passage today, there’s a lot that also seems potentially unclear: drinking blood, a royal-ish prostitute, a beast that may be around or may not. And why are seven heads also seven mountains? Although apocalyptic literature may feel unclear, it’s helpful to start with what we know or what is clear.

Babylon was being called out: “Babylon the great, the mother of prostitutes and of the detestable things of the earth” (Revelation 17:5). Not how any of us want to be labeled by the Lord, and yet, it’s the description ascribed to the prostitute. In the Old Testament, Babylon became all the despicable things that culture could offer: the epitome of power and evil run amok. For those on the inside, Babylon’s allure was comfort, excess, luxury, sexual indulgence, and riches. For those without the power to seize and abuse, Babylon oppressed and instituted fear, lack, and strife. It rewarded those with power, benefitting themselves at the cost of those who were easily trampled. In contrast to the first people who were called to steward the creation and their relationship with the Lord, Babylon created a world that glorified evil and oppressed the weak.

The beast, similarly, was living a story like a counterfeit messiah, ending not in a glorious ascension but in a final destruction (v.8). But judgment was finally coming—for both the beast and Babylon, John saw that they were allowed to “make war against the Lamb” so that the Lamb could overcome them and fulfill His rightful place as “Lord of lords and King of kings” (v.14).

The reality of the world, whether we’re in it or of it, is that all pursuits have an end. God created us to be people of pursuit, to create and flourish in His wisdom. However, sin leads to destruction; it actually makes us beastly. And this passage is reminding us that there is no middle ground. It challenges us to consider the sin we accept as normal—what we consume in our minds and hearts, what we value and spend our time on, what we think is funny, what consequences our habits may have—and ask ourselves, “What is the end to this sin?”

Seventh-grade me would think this all feels scary. How do I make sure that my life and pursuits end with Jesus? Paul instructed Timothy to remember and hold on to the eternal life offered to us in Jesus—salvation that He alone could afford us (1Timothy 6:12)—and charged him to “pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance, and gentleness” while fleeing from all that leads away from God (v.11). Knowing that only God’s wisdom can see the end to what we pursue, we echo Moses’s prayer, “Teach us to number our days carefully that we may develop wisdom in our hearts” (Psalm 90:12).

Reading Hannah’s story has always felt like a strange mix of relief and pain to me. The journey of motherhood is hard, and like so many, I’ve waited to conceive, and I’ve loved babies I was never able to hold. But to be mocked and jeered at by the fertile woman she shared a husband with and then to have her character questioned by the priest, I can’t imagine the weight of her pain while longing to hold her own little one.   

Hannah’s story reflects those of other women in Scripture who longed to bear children and who, in their longing, stood on the precipice of God’s great work in the world. Moses’s mom had her son’s life threatened by Pharoah, and then she had to surrender him to be raised as an Egyptian once he was weaned. Isaac, Jacob, and Joseph all had moms who walked hard roads to have children of their own. John the Baptist’s mom, too, was considered well past child-bearing age when the Lord intervened. God used all of these mothers—Jochebed, Sarah, Rebekah, Rachel, and Elizabeth—each in His story. And Hannah, refusing to take matters into her own hands, took her hurt to the Lord, fully trusting Him, “I am a woman with a broken heart…I’ve been pouring out my heart before the LORD” (1Samuel 1:15). She pleaded her case, trusting the Lord and even promising her hoped-for son to His service in return.

Hannah offered her pain to the Lord, and God heard her. Verse 19 says, “the LORD remembered her.” Like other times this phrase shows up in the story, God was preparing to do a new work, fulfilling His promises to His people. Hannah’s son, Samuel, would become the prophet who guided Israel’s transition from the time of the judges to a monarchy, anointing Israel’s first two kings, Saul and David. God took her faithfulness, even in her own immense grief, and He brought her comfort. And when she took her toddler son to live and serve in the tabernacle, she rejoiced in the Lord. More than delighting in her son or even her elevated station after having him, she found her delight in God. Chapter 2 records her song, expressing her deep gratitude for God’s sure and steady character, His unparalleled power, and His sovereignty over all creation—showing us through her faith that He indeed has the world in His hands.

As a child, I remember being told while I was being disciplined, “this hurts me more than it hurts you.” As far as I could tell, that was rubbish. If my parents wanted to tell themselves that to make them feel better, so be it, but I wasn’t buying it. However, as a mom now, I find discipline to be one of the trickiest aspects of parenting. I see it differently because I so long for restoration in whatever is going on and to see my girls grow from their mistakes. I see that their behavior is shaping who they are becoming, for better and for worse. And most of all, I see how what they believe and tell themselves in those moments of failure deeply affects their souls and whether or not they are willing to receive love from my husband and me, as their parents.

In their recent past, Judah had watched Israel be conquered by the Assyrians. Then, the Babylonians ousted the Assyrians as the conquering power. Isaiah brought a message that Judah, too, would follow the path of exile. They knew their fate—Babylon was coming, and their generations of sin and disobedience were to blame. I can only imagine that exile felt like the end of almost everything. How could they recover or find hope in the midst of something so destructive, something they had watched happen to their neighbors? 

But that was not the end of Isaiah’s message. The passages for today come from the perspective of God’s servant, looking back at the exile and calling the people of God to rise up, trust Him, and fulfill their calling to be a blessing to the nations. Isaiah brought hope by reminding them of God’s past promises—“Look to Abraham your father” (Isaiah 51:2). Abraham’s name alone would evoke the stories of their family’s legacy, God’s provision and guidance set within a tender covenant passed down through generations. And even further back in their history, “he will make her wilderness like Eden, and her desert like the garden of the LORD” (v.4). Eden was where God shaped Adam and Eve as His own and lived with them unveiled, as those who are near and dear to one another.

It can be hard to feel near and dear to anyone in the midst of discipline. If you’re anything like me, self-loathing and condemnation feel much more accessible when I have failed. But just as God called Judah, He calls us to look to Him and to His Son, the Suffering Servant. Jesus brought us the hope of resurrection by suffering on the cross in our place. Salvation in Christ means that the exile that sin affords has no power over God’s love for us. He beckons us back to Him, to draw near to Him, and to believe that His love goes deeper than any failure ever could.

Written by Becca Owens

I wonder if those who lived in the days of Noah thought the same thing as the flood waters rose—blind to the effects of their own wickedness and staring down a massive natural disaster. To Noah, God gave an advanced warning, “Everything on earth will perish. But I will establish my covenant with you” (Genesis 6:17–18). God made Noah a promise of protection and enduring relationship, and Noah responded by obeying all that God commanded him (v.22).

However, after disembarking his boat and finally hitting dry land, Noah got drunk and his son Ham dishonored him (Genesis 9:20–22). After such a clear and disastrous consequence to the evil humanity wrought, humanity still could not live up to the righteousness of God. Even as Noah’s family could not hold the same level of righteousness, God made a covenant with Noah, choosing to rebuild the world through Noah and his family. I love that God gave Noah—and us—a visceral, experiential reminder of His promise. Don’t you just love catching a rainbow in the sky? The bigger, the better, and bonus points if it’s doubled. God said to Noah, “I have placed my bow in the clouds….Whenever I form the clouds…and the bow appears in the clouds, I will remember my covenant” (Genesis 9:13–15). 

This Old Testament promise made to Noah is a foretaste of the promised Savior we fully see materialized in the Gospels. In the time after God’s covenant with Noah, evil still seethed in humanity’s heart—and truthfully, still does today. But that time, God poured out on Jesus the judgment reserved for humanity and creation. Jesus is our defense, and no charge can be brought against those of us who are in Christ because God, the justifier, has already made us right with Him (Romans 8:32–33). 

These symbols—the rainbow, the cross, and the empty tomb—are God’s reminder to us that nothing “in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord” (Romans 8:39). Rainbows are easy to miss if you aren’t looking for them. God’s promises often slip our minds too. But just as God transformed the clouds in the skies to show a rainbow after a storm, He has renewed our hearts so that no matter where our sin leads us, His covenant faithfulness calls us back to Him. 

For this inescapable problem of sin, God provided a way for His people to be reconciled to Him without compromising His holiness. And although animal sacrifice seems outside the bounds of our norm, ancient Israelites understood that their sin brought death to everything, and in His mercy, God accepted the lifeblood of a flawless lamb in place of their own.

As we saw in our reading, the high priest was required to go through a series of sacrifices and offerings and wear special clothes to humbly approach God for the sake of the community. All this preparation was to be able to come to God with the sins of His people—seeking peace and forgiveness asking Him to remain in their midst. But it wasn’t permanent. One goat a year could never carry the sins of the community far enough away. The offering of different animal’s blood was never the right blood to truly make things whole.

One of the most sadistic tools of the enemy is to convince us that our sin isn’t that damaging. We easily become numb to its nasty nature, so even the act of sacrificing an innocent animal reminded the people that their sin brought devastation. As they watched it die, they were enacting the consequences of their sin before a holy God. This is what people would have had in mind as they heard John proclaim, “Look, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!” (John 1:29). He was announcing Jesus as the Messiah, foreshadowing what awaited Him as the once for all time sacrifice for sin.

Hebrews reminds us that the Old Testament provision of God’s grace always pointed toward the climax of the story—the sacrifice of His Son, who by submitting to death actually conquered it. The former sacrifices were a symbolic payment toward the chaos of our sin, but Jesus paid in full, bringing us peace with Him for all time. 

Advent is all about anticipation. But all of our best efforts for sweet memories, perfect meals, and joyful gift-giving are really only a shadow of the glory that awaits us at Jesus’s second advent. Whenever the peace we long for during this season seems just out of reach, may we be reminded that because of Christ’s sacrifice, true peace is already ours in Him.

Anticipation of this kind is fun. It’s exhilarating, and during that season, it kept me looking ahead with hope to what was to come. However, as much as it is true that married life is an adventure, our adventure has largely been a host of mundane Mondays followed by typical Tuesdays—normal days of us figuring out life together. We’ve certainly had some big ups and downs, but there’s a reason after the wedding people ask if you’re settling into married life.

In 1 Corinthians 7, Paul responded to questions the Corinthian believers had about honoring the Lord in their marriages. Many were likely new to following Jesus and still grappling with the reality that proclaiming Jesus as Lord means surrendering all of yourself to him. Paul emphasized that there is no holy path forward in any relationship if we are continuing to live for ourselves. Rather, faithfulness—both in following Jesus and in marriage—is based on a whole-hearted commitment rooted in trust and sacrifice with Jesus as the example. “Love one another. Just as I have loved you, you are also to love one another” (John 13:34).

For Paul, this path in sanctification isn’t exactly glamorous. While addressing their questions, he called them to hold their marriage commitment higher than their own pleasure or comfort (1Corinthians 7:10–13) and to choose self-sacrifice for the sake of mutuality (vv.2–5). He commanded them to trust in God’s sovereignty (v.17). And he reminded them that contentment is in whatever calling God has for them (v.24) because ultimately, all of our circumstances—including our marriages—are temporal training for our eternity as the bride of Christ (v.31).

Just as we stake our hope on the fact that our forever with Jesus will one day be our reality, let us each live with the same hope in our relationships with one another. They are all opportunities to reflect the perfect and selfless relationship of Christ and His Bride, and we can rejoice as we wait for our hope to be made reality. As we hope, let us surround each other as the body of Christ, pushing each other in all our relationships toward maturity and faithfulness in Jesus.