Advent: Depths of God's Love
Cherish the Advent: Deep Love
When Love Came Looking: The Heart of Advent
There's a peculiar tension we all experience—knowing what's right yet struggling to do it. The apostle Paul captured this universal human condition perfectly when he wrote about the internal war we wage: "I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do, I do not do, but what I hate, I do."
It's a confession that resonates across millennia. We've all been there, haven't we? In that space between intention and action, between who we want to be and who we actually are.
But here's the stunning reality: while we were stuck in that struggle, God moved first.
The God Who Goes First
Before we ever thought to seek Him, God was already seeking us. This is the revolutionary truth at the heart of the Christmas story—God takes the initiative. He doesn't wait for us to clean ourselves up or figure things out. He enters our mess as a vulnerable baby, stepping into a world that had turned away from Him.
The prophet Isaiah painted the picture clearly: "We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to our own way." Every single one of us. Not just the obvious sinners, not just the people we judge as being "worse" than us—all of us have wandered.
And God came looking.
The Stories Jesus Told
When religious leaders criticized Jesus for spending time with the "wrong people"—tax collectors and sinners—He responded with stories that reveal the very heart of God.
Imagine you're a shepherd with a hundred sheep, and one wanders off. What do you do? Leave it to its fate because you still have ninety-nine? Of course not. You go searching until you find it. And when you do, you don't scold it or make it walk back on its own. You joyfully place it on your shoulders and carry it home. Then you throw a party because what was lost has been found.
Or picture a woman who loses one of her ten silver coins—ten percent of her wealth. Does she shrug it off? No, she lights a lamp, sweeps every corner of her house, and searches diligently until she finds it. And when she does, she calls her friends and neighbors to celebrate with her.
These aren't just nice stories. They're windows into the character of God. They reveal how He feels about us—each one of us—when we're lost. The degree of joy expressed at finding something reflects its value to the one who lost it. And to God, we are worth everything.
The Depth of Love
What does love actually mean? We use the word so casually, applying it to everything from pizza to people. But divine love is something altogether different.
Love, in its truest form, is an intentional choice to seek and act for the well-being of others, no matter the cost to the one making the choice. It's patient and kind. It doesn't keep score of wrongs. It protects, trusts, hopes, and perseveres. It never fails.
This is the love that came down at Christmas. This is the love that hung on a cross. As Scripture reminds us: "This is love: not that we loved God, but that He loved us and sent His Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins."
Jesus Himself said, "Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends." But here's the stunning twist—when Jesus laid down His life, we weren't His friends. We were lost sheep. We were rebels. We were the ones who had turned away.
Yet He loved us anyway. He loved His enemies. He pursued those who didn't deserve it. Because that's what love does—it goes first, it seeks, it sacrifices.
The Son Who Came Home
Perhaps the most powerful picture of God's love is found in the story of the prodigal son. A young man demands his inheritance early (essentially wishing his father dead), leaves home, and squanders everything on reckless living. He ends up so desperate that he takes a job feeding pigs and wishes he could eat their food.
Finally, broken and ashamed, he decides to return home—not as a son, but hoping to be hired as a servant. He practices his speech: "Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son."
But here's what undoes us: "While he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him."
The father was watching. Waiting. And when he saw his son on the horizon, he didn't wait for him to arrive. He didn't wait for the apology. He ran. In that culture, dignified men didn't run—but love doesn't care about dignity. Love runs toward the lost.
The father orders the best robe, a ring, sandals, and a feast. "For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found."
This is our God. This is how He feels about us.
The Response of Gratitude
When we truly grasp how much we've been loved—when we understand that we were the lost sheep, the lost coin, the lost son—gratitude becomes our natural response. Not guilt. Not obligation. Gratitude.
We were eating with the pigs, and God brought us to His table. We were wandering in darkness, and He carried us home on His shoulders. We were dead in our sins, and He made us alive in Christ.
The cross stands as the ultimate measure of God's love. Look at it and hear Him say: "I love you this much."
Living in the Light of Love
This Advent season, as we light candles and sing carols, we're celebrating more than a historical event. We're celebrating the moment when Love entered the world to seek and save the lost. We're celebrating the God who goes first, who takes the initiative, who pays the ultimate price to bring us home.
And if we've been found—if we've run into the Father's arms—the question becomes: how will we respond? Will gratitude overflow into how we treat others? Will we reflect the seeking love of God to a world full of people who are still lost?
Because here's the beautiful truth: the same love that found us is still seeking others. And we get to be part of that story.
We were lost. Now we're found. And all of heaven is rejoicing.
There's a peculiar tension we all experience—knowing what's right yet struggling to do it. The apostle Paul captured this universal human condition perfectly when he wrote about the internal war we wage: "I do not understand what I do. For what I want to do, I do not do, but what I hate, I do."
It's a confession that resonates across millennia. We've all been there, haven't we? In that space between intention and action, between who we want to be and who we actually are.
But here's the stunning reality: while we were stuck in that struggle, God moved first.
The God Who Goes First
Before we ever thought to seek Him, God was already seeking us. This is the revolutionary truth at the heart of the Christmas story—God takes the initiative. He doesn't wait for us to clean ourselves up or figure things out. He enters our mess as a vulnerable baby, stepping into a world that had turned away from Him.
The prophet Isaiah painted the picture clearly: "We all, like sheep, have gone astray, each of us has turned to our own way." Every single one of us. Not just the obvious sinners, not just the people we judge as being "worse" than us—all of us have wandered.
And God came looking.
The Stories Jesus Told
When religious leaders criticized Jesus for spending time with the "wrong people"—tax collectors and sinners—He responded with stories that reveal the very heart of God.
Imagine you're a shepherd with a hundred sheep, and one wanders off. What do you do? Leave it to its fate because you still have ninety-nine? Of course not. You go searching until you find it. And when you do, you don't scold it or make it walk back on its own. You joyfully place it on your shoulders and carry it home. Then you throw a party because what was lost has been found.
Or picture a woman who loses one of her ten silver coins—ten percent of her wealth. Does she shrug it off? No, she lights a lamp, sweeps every corner of her house, and searches diligently until she finds it. And when she does, she calls her friends and neighbors to celebrate with her.
These aren't just nice stories. They're windows into the character of God. They reveal how He feels about us—each one of us—when we're lost. The degree of joy expressed at finding something reflects its value to the one who lost it. And to God, we are worth everything.
The Depth of Love
What does love actually mean? We use the word so casually, applying it to everything from pizza to people. But divine love is something altogether different.
Love, in its truest form, is an intentional choice to seek and act for the well-being of others, no matter the cost to the one making the choice. It's patient and kind. It doesn't keep score of wrongs. It protects, trusts, hopes, and perseveres. It never fails.
This is the love that came down at Christmas. This is the love that hung on a cross. As Scripture reminds us: "This is love: not that we loved God, but that He loved us and sent His Son as an atoning sacrifice for our sins."
Jesus Himself said, "Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one's life for one's friends." But here's the stunning twist—when Jesus laid down His life, we weren't His friends. We were lost sheep. We were rebels. We were the ones who had turned away.
Yet He loved us anyway. He loved His enemies. He pursued those who didn't deserve it. Because that's what love does—it goes first, it seeks, it sacrifices.
The Son Who Came Home
Perhaps the most powerful picture of God's love is found in the story of the prodigal son. A young man demands his inheritance early (essentially wishing his father dead), leaves home, and squanders everything on reckless living. He ends up so desperate that he takes a job feeding pigs and wishes he could eat their food.
Finally, broken and ashamed, he decides to return home—not as a son, but hoping to be hired as a servant. He practices his speech: "Father, I have sinned against heaven and against you. I am no longer worthy to be called your son."
But here's what undoes us: "While he was still a long way off, his father saw him and was filled with compassion for him; he ran to his son, threw his arms around him and kissed him."
The father was watching. Waiting. And when he saw his son on the horizon, he didn't wait for him to arrive. He didn't wait for the apology. He ran. In that culture, dignified men didn't run—but love doesn't care about dignity. Love runs toward the lost.
The father orders the best robe, a ring, sandals, and a feast. "For this son of mine was dead and is alive again; he was lost and is found."
This is our God. This is how He feels about us.
The Response of Gratitude
When we truly grasp how much we've been loved—when we understand that we were the lost sheep, the lost coin, the lost son—gratitude becomes our natural response. Not guilt. Not obligation. Gratitude.
We were eating with the pigs, and God brought us to His table. We were wandering in darkness, and He carried us home on His shoulders. We were dead in our sins, and He made us alive in Christ.
The cross stands as the ultimate measure of God's love. Look at it and hear Him say: "I love you this much."
Living in the Light of Love
This Advent season, as we light candles and sing carols, we're celebrating more than a historical event. We're celebrating the moment when Love entered the world to seek and save the lost. We're celebrating the God who goes first, who takes the initiative, who pays the ultimate price to bring us home.
And if we've been found—if we've run into the Father's arms—the question becomes: how will we respond? Will gratitude overflow into how we treat others? Will we reflect the seeking love of God to a world full of people who are still lost?
Because here's the beautiful truth: the same love that found us is still seeking others. And we get to be part of that story.
We were lost. Now we're found. And all of heaven is rejoicing.
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