That is what Pontius Pilate said when he brought Jesus before the crowd. The Roman governor gestures toward a battered man standing beside him—face swollen, back torn open by whips, a crown of thorns driven into His head—and he says with a hint of scorn, “Behold your King.”

Pilate means it as mockery. But the words are truer than he knows.

Because standing there, silent before the crowd, is the King of heaven and earth. The One through whom all things were made now stands condemned by the very people He made. The hands that shaped the dust of humanity are bound. The voice that calmed storms does not answer His accusers. Soldiers strike Him. Crowds laugh. Religious leaders sharpen their hatred and call it righteousness. And still the words echo.

Behold your King.

Good Friday asks us to stop and look at that moment. Really look. Because what we see there is more than injustice. More than cruelty. The cross exposes something far deeper. It exposes the weight of sin. Sin is not a minor flaw in otherwise decent people. It is the deep rebellion of the human heart that insists on ruling its own life. It is the quiet refusal to trust the God who made us. It is pride that runs so deep we will reject the very King sent to rescue us.

And that rebellion is exactly what we see at the cross. Humanity looking at its rightful King and choosing to kill Him. But something else is happening there too. Something strange. Something unexpected. Because the King we are told to behold does not look like a king. He looks like a sacrifice.

Which makes the words spoken years earlier by John the Baptist sound even more startling. Standing beside the Jordan River, John saw Jesus walking toward him and cried out: “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world.” It must have sounded odd. Israel knew lambs. Every Passover they watched one die so that judgment would pass over their homes. Blood on doorposts meant mercy instead of destruction. Lamb after lamb was offered on altars as a reminder that sin demanded atonement.

But lambs were not kings. Kings conquer. Lambs are slain. Kings sit on thrones. Lambs are placed on altars. And yet when we come to Good Friday, those two images collide in a way no one could have imagined.

Pilate says, “Behold your King.”

John had said, “Behold the Lamb of God.”

And at the cross we realize they are speaking about the same person. The King of heaven did not come first to conquer with a sword. He came to conquer sin by becoming the sacrifice. The Lamb of God stands where sinners should stand. The judgment that belongs to us falls on Him. This is why the cross is so heavy. Because what happens there is not just suffering—it is substitution.

Every lie. Every moment of pride. Every act of cruelty, jealousy, or unbelief. All of it laid upon Him. The King carries the weight of the world’s sin.

And when Jesus finally cries, “It is finished,” it is not the sigh of a defeated man. It is the declaration of a Savior who has completed the work. The debt has been paid. The sacrifice has been offered. Grace now flows because justice has been satisfied.

And suddenly John’s strange words beside the Jordan River begin to burn with meaning.

Behold the Lamb of God. The Lamb who takes away the sin of the world is the King standing before Pilate. The King who bleeds. The King who suffers. The King who refuses to save Himself so that sinners can be saved. This is the strange glory of Good Friday. The King becomes the Lamb. The ruler of the world becomes the sacrifice for the world.

So we stand at the cross and look again.

Behold the King. And behold the Lamb of God. The Lamb who takes away the sin of the world.

Written by Josh Rollins, as part four of a four-part Easter series titled, “Behold Your King.” Josh serves as Associate Pastor at Pataskala Grace Church and Lead Pastor of Newark Grace Church, both in Central Ohio. 

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God’s Word is the tool in which our confidence in Him is built — because it consistently shows Him keeping His promises. How amazing it is to behold the matchless, trustworthy, Word of God! It’s full of wonders to behold, truths to rest in, hopes to set our hearts on, and a Person to fix our affections on.

But our human hearts who have experienced disappointments in earthly relationships sometimes have a hard time remembering this. We see this in Matthew 28:1–10, at the pinnacle of all promises. The one promise that was repeatedly proclaimed, prophesied, and predicted still seems unbelievable. Here we find two fearful and confused mourners looking for the body of Jesus, having already forgotten His promise amidst their grief.

Jesus’ promise before His death is the promise kept that builds trust for all time. He kept His word…“just as He said.” Of course He did! It’s in this kept word that we can behold all the words found in the Word.

We behold the beauty of the Word, not because it’s a beautiful picture on a wall that we appreciate but because it’s the window through which we behold Christ. We drink deeply of the goodness of the Word, not because it’s the best water but because it’s the only water that satisfies. We rest in truth of the Word not because it’s rest of a good night’s sleep quickly worn off by a hectic morning, but because it’s the rest that sustains us through the hectic morning and deep into the evening.

John begins his Gospel fixing our attention on the Word made flesh who would one day take away the sin of the world. The Gospel of Luke recounts a glorious reminder to those who mourn amid a painful, confusing time, “Why do you look for the living among the dead? He is not here; He has risen! Remember how He told you, while He was with you in Galilee: ‘The Son of Man must be delivered into the hands of sinful men, be crucified and on the third day be raised again.’ Then they remembered His words.” (Luke 24:5–8) Behold, a promise kept.

The resurrection of Jesus is not only marvelous and wonderful in every way — it also builds our confidence in the very Word of God, leading us, inviting us, and wooing us to behold its beauty. The angel at the empty tomb comforts our broken hearts with this reminder of reminders, that the Word has been kept…“just as He said.”

Written by Dave Nicodemus. Dave serves at the Grace Students Pastor at Grace Polaris Church in Westerville, Ohio.

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Beholding Him, fixing my eyes solely on His wonderful face, was the only way I got through 2025. On February 12, 2025, I found myself walking into a hospital in Kona, Hawaii, approaching the ICU room. My father, who just had a massive stroke at only age 64, was on life support until all of his kids could get there to say goodbye. Unable to physically take each step into that room, my mind went to Psalm 23 — dad’s favorite psalm —which I had just extensively studied. “Come on goodness, come on mercy,” I exclaimed shakily as I gripped the Lord’s goodness with my left hand and His mercy with my right, and I knew He was there with me. Behold, my King. 

A few days later I found myself meditating on the story of Jesus at Lazarus’ tomb that I had just studied the week prior. Death was never God’s plan, and it caused Him to weep like I weep. I thought of Him on the cross, separated from His Father, and because He did that I have the promise of seeing my Daddy again. Death is not the end, but the beginning. Behold, my King.

April 1, 2025, we discovered my mother’s leukemia had returned. Just four short months later, on the morning of August 9, I held her hand as I read her Psalm 73:23–26, the same Scripture I read to my dad before his last breath. Previously unresponsive for many hours, she squeezed my hand and then entered glory. She heard the Word and then saw the Author of it. The power of the cross and the resurrection once again before my eyes. Behold, my King.

In this season of immense grief, I open up the book of Job and I weep as I read Job’s response of processing grief with the Lord: “My ears had heard of You but now my eyes have seen You” (Job 42:5). For the last 38 years of my life, I had heard of the Lord and known Him, but now my eyes had truly beheld my King, and there’s nothing that comes close that could ever compare.

Written by Casey Klein. Casey serves at the Women’s Ministry Director at Auburn Grace Community Church in Auburn, California, where she has attended for 21 years.

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Behold is a command. It requires our attention. Scripture uses the word behold in several instances in reference to Jesus. In the Old Testament, the prophet Zechariah says, “Behold, your king is coming to you” (9:9). He is not only announcing a future reigning king, but a coming messiah. He gives them a reason to behold, to “rejoice greatly” and “shout aloud.”

But Zechariah’s prophecy goes further than just declaring Jesus will be born. Zechariah is telling the people, “Look! This is good news — be excited about it!” and he tells them what this coming king will be: “righteous and having salvation.” This is not any ordinary king coming — it is a king who will be righteous and bring salvation.

In the gospels we see this prophecy fulfilled in Jesus. Before His crucifixion, when Jesus is entering Jerusalem, he is directly fulfilling Zechariah’s words. The prophecy was that Jesus would arrive “humble and mounted on a donkey.”  Matthew 21, Mark 11, Luke 19, and John 12 all recount how Jesus entered the city riding on a donkey. While we call this the triumphal entry, and we celebrate it on Palm Sunday, Jesus knew He was entering the city not to rule over the people but to lay down His life for them.

But we know the real triumph in this entry was that Jesus was bringing salvation.

When He was on trial, and Pilate presented Him to the Jews, we again hear the command to behold. Pilate gives the people their king, but they refuse to behold Him. Instead, they reviled Him and demand His death.

This indictment was not the end of His reign. His atoning death, which paid the penalty for our sins and satisfied God’s wrath against us, was the means by which our King’s reign was proven to us. When He defeated death by rising from the grave three days later, He showed His reigning power over both life and death. Seeing this, knowing this, and believing this is how we can truly behold our King.

Written by Randi Walle. Randi serves at the Editor & Communications Manager of the Charis Fellowship and the Communications Director at Grace Polaris Church in Westerville, Ohio. 

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Okay, Okay…hear me out! The first verse is not what Jesus said to Simon and Andrew. His seaside words were, “Follow me, and I will make you fishers of men” (Markk 1:17). Yet, we grew up singing, “I will make you fishers of men if you follow me.” It’s a subtle — perhaps eye-rolling — difference, and yet significant.

Now, I do not believe the authors of this song intentionally undermined Jesus’ words. It’s a good little song that gets really good in verse two! Even so, verse one misses the mark by using the conditional “if” and making “fishers of men” the focus instead of following Jesus. The altered words may fit the melody, but they upend Jesus’ command about followership by placing the focus on leadership.

This realization came after a great week at Momentum Youth Conference. Our youth group was transitioning into the school schedule, and I was beginning to refine our first Wednesday night series. Leadership was the topic, and given the number of students fired up from the #bestweekofsummer, I was excited about the possibilities ahead. However, what began to gnaw at me was how our leadership focus — my focus — did not include followership. Or, to say it another way, we looked at what to do with our hands (actions) or increasing the knowledge of our heads (comprehension), but we didn’t stop to consider the posture of our hearts (attitudes). Truth be told, this is often still a struggle.

Maybe it’s because we can quantify actions and knowledge more readily than attitudes. Perhaps we don’t like what we see when we evaluate our attitudes and default to the safer spaces of planning events, reading books, writing papers, sending emails, singing songs, playing games, etc. Sometimes, we may ignore following Jesus because there’s too much work to do for Jesus, and we have misunderstood what Jesus has called us to. Whatever the reason(s) — likely more than just the few offered here — the deeper places of the heart must never be overlooked for the actions of the hands and the knowledge of the head. Our actions and knowledge matter greatly, but they do not matter solely.

The worst examples of this elevate, and even exalt, actions and comprehension in such a way that persistently sinful attitudes and behaviors are rationalized away. “Yeah, we know they can be _____________, but look at all the good they’ve done.” “Yeah, I may have _____________, but I’m a good preacher!” Or even, “Yeah, we know the Bible says _____________ about ministry, but here are all the reasons our ways are better.”

Think about some of the most poignant moments of correction Jesus provided His first followers. Peter pulls Jesus aside for a one-on-one because death and resurrection didn’t fit into his [Peter’s] Messianic schema (Matt. 16:22). Jesus replies, “…you are not setting your mind on the things of God.” Paraphrase? “Pete, you’re not following well” (cf., vv. 24–28).

James and John ask Jesus if they should pray for fire to destroy a village of Samaritans who had not shown them hospitality. Jesus rebukes them (Luke 9:51–56). They were not following well.

Not long after this, James and John decided to stomp on and step over their fellow disciples, requesting prominent positions of power (Mark 10:35–41).[1] To them and all the indignant disciples, Jesus replied that they were thinking like Gentiles [unbelievers] (v. 42) and must not do so. They were not following well.

All too often, we can think we have a better plan or philosophy of ministry than the Bible reveals. We can be tempted by a desire to get rid of the people Jesus has called us to shepherd because we’ve decided they are standing in the way. Or we can even employ the power-grabbing, sole-crushing, image-bearer-stomping tactics of the world because we have a vision from the Lord to pursue.

Here’s the not-so-secret secret I need to remember: The ends never justify the means, and the means matter just as much as the ends.

As we abide in Jesus — follow Jesus — we bear fruit because that is what happens when vines remain connected to the branch (John 15:4). And lest we’re confused about the metaphor here, Jesus makes it abundantly clear one verse later, “Apart from me you can do nothing” (John 15:5).

To be sure, we rarely set out to not follow, not abide, or not prioritize time to abide. Yet, the persistent drum of ministry life — the good, the bad, and the ugly — lures us into functional rhythms where following well often takes a backseat to leading well.

So, what does it look like to abide — to follow first? It’s spending time in the Word of God (John 17:17), walking worthy of the Gospel as empowered by the Spirit of God (Galatians 5:16), and being built up by the people of God (Romans 1:11,12).

Following Christ is not a means to an end, however good, noble, or biblical that end may be. Following Christ is the end.

There is another song from my childhood that needs no tweaking or refinement: “Turn your eyes upon Jesus, look full in His wonderful face and the things of earth will grow strangely dim, in the light of His glory and grace.”

Jesus first commands us to follow, and it is from this posture as followers that we find our lives repurposed for the glory of God and the good of His people, just as He repurposed Simon and Andrew’s.

Written by Timothy Clothier for the Year in Review 2024–2025. Timothy has served as senior pastor of Waynesboro Grace Church for almost ten years. He is a published author (To Each is Given) and a Charis Symposium contributor, and he recently completed a DMin. degree in pastoral leadership from Grace Theological Seminary. He and his wife, Carrie, have been married over eighteen years and have four children.

[1] Though we might be tempted to think “in your glory” (v. 37) refers to heavenly glory, it is likely the Sons of Thunder had an earthly restoration of Israel in mind (cf., Acts 1:6), and they wanted seats of positional power.

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January 28, 1920. There are certain men who stand out above the rest in the mind of the church as deserving of honor. They are the men who blazed the way for the Brethren church [Charis Fellowship] as a separate and distinct denomination. They are the pioneer ministers of the church, the men who wended their way alone over the mountains, through the woods and across the prairies to preach the simple Gospel of Jesus Christ without addition or subtraction and to build up little groups of worshipping saints in every community they might enter. They are the men who fathered the denomination, which stands not for the promotion of a new “ism” or creed, but for the restoration and propagation of the primitive Gospel and the practices of the primitive church. They were noble men, God-fearing men, who opposed the requirements and prohibitions of men as much as they loved the laws of God. They were such men as God gives to be the pioneers of a great movement; men in whom certain challenging virtues stand out in bold relief.

These men were men of conviction. They believed strongly in the Word of God and its sufficiency for man’s salvation and growth in grace. They would allow nothing to be either added or subtracted from the Book of Life. It was their rule of faith and practice, and Christ the Head of the church was their great exemplar. What He taught by precept or example it was theirs to obey. They believed so strongly in this course that they would die rather than give it up.

They were men of courage. They would neither shrink before ridicule nor falter before bitter denunciations or condemnations. When a course was clearly right to them they would undertake it though excommunication would be their reward. Their courage consisted not of reckless daring or a hazarding without fear, but of a firm resoluteness in a just cause. Their sense of duty held them steady in the course they had chosen and would not permit them to turn back.

Here conviction and courage went hand in hand. Conviction gave the reason and courage supplied the determination. When once they had taken their stand according to their conviction, they would “stand fast” and would not be moved. They might be persecuted for it, nevertheless they would “stand like a beaten anvil.” They were men in whose lives sacrifice was a large and essential part. Their very calling required it. No one ever pioneered a great cause, especially such as the purification and restoration of primitive Christianity, without experiencing sacrifice in a large way.

And these pioneer preachers knew what sacrifice meant. They considered not the goods of this world, as things to be prized, which many might have had in generous portions, in order that they might preach the Gospel and turn men from ignorance and sin unto light and salvation. They gave their time freely, not even claiming the hire concerning which the Scriptures says they were worthy, that the kingdom might be preached and the church might be established in needy places… These pioneer Brethren did not seek to avoid sacrifice; they made it cheerfully; it was to them the measure of their devotion.

They were lovers of freedom. They loved so much “the freedom wherewith Christ hath made us free” that they refused to be “entangled again in any yoke of bondage.” To avoid it they would make any sacrifice. When the undivided Israel began to add mandatory decrees to mandatory decrees so that their liberty of conscience

was taken away, they parted company with their comrades in Christ. Many friendships were broken, many lives were disappointed, and many futures were clouded because of the rent in the brotherhood brought about by the Gospel to deprive men of their religious freedom.

The Gospel is the fundamental principle of the Brethren church. Recent conversation with some who went through that most unfortunate experience in the history of the Brethren fraternity have elicited this unanimous statement, namely, “The liberty for each individual to read and interpret the New Testament scriptures under the guidance of the Holy Spirit was the issue at stake.” They loved the freedom which Christ gave. To have it they were willing to sacrifice all that an otherwise desirable fellowship would mean to them, for they knew that if Christ should make them free, they should be free indeed.

Though they were men of great conviction and courage and though they were strong enough to make any sacrifice and loved freedom passionately, yet they were men of charity and consideration. They had their differences as we today have ours, but they exercised charity one with another. They had not failed to receive instruction from the Apostle Paul who wrote to the Corinthians that however great their devotion and sacrifice might be, it was all for naught if they had not love. That great apostle himself was as strong and unflinching for the right as the rock ribbed hills about him when he wrote, but the granite of his nature was covered with flowers. He was stern in morality, Cromwellian in courage, but Christlike in tenderness and sympathy. The strongest are always the tenderest.

And we see in the strongest of these pioneer men of the church a charity maturing with the growing strength of their trying years. Out of their trials they learned forbearance… These men were not gods, but human beings, with our common weaknesses and possibilities, temptations and aspirations, but in the trials of their faith they found their strength in Him whom all the powers of darkness were impotent to overcome. The testings of those pioneer days of the church made them strong and noble and the message of their peerless lives will not pass with the number of their years. Such are the men whom the church delights to honor.

Cover photo: Ministers present at the 1883 Dayton Convention; Photograph at the Brethren Church Archives, Ashland, Ohio.

This editorial article was written by George S. Baer and was originally published in the January 28, 1920, edition of The Brethren Evangelist, Volume XLII, Number 4, Page 2. The Brethren Evangelist was the newspaper magazine of the Charis Fellowship from 1883 until 1940 when the Brethren Missionary Herald magazine was established. Researched and edited by Tim Hodge for the Year in Review 2024–2025. Tim serves as the Charis Fellowship Coordinator.

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Relational ministry is a long game. There is no timeline, no guaranteed outcome. As the Executive Director of a Youth for Christ chapter, our team sets goals and prays to see more teenagers know Christ. But the darkness our teens are facing is thick. Students we’ve served have watched their friends die in the street due to gun violence. They are adrift, with no safety and security. Some just want someone to listen to them, to care about them, to love them. You never know how that conversation or car ride or dinner invitation will turn out. You never know what the Lord will use to draw someone to Himself.

It sometimes seems intimidating. The media tells us that kids these days don’t want relationships with us. But I have found that to be categorically untrue. The things students have told me by me just focusing my complete attention on them and asking questions is astonishing. Most of my students jump at the chance to grab a coffee, get a ride to church, just hang out at my house doing nothing seemingly important. In those moments, seeds are planted.

A girl in our youth group texted me recently asking if she could be picked up for youth that night. When Audrey got in my car, I asked her if she wanted to get some Chick-fil-A with me first, knowing that she might not have had dinner since she was often alone at her house. As we waited in the drive-thru, I asked about her thoughts of the youth group. “I like that the students are nice. They don’t judge me for dressing differently like my old church.” I looked at her Slipknot t-shirt under her usual black jacket. I next asked her about what it meant to follow Jesus with her life. “It means to not choose a temptation, but to choose what Jesus would do.” This question was a good segue to ask her the question I’d been waiting awhile to ask her. “Have you ever made the decision to follow Jesus?” I grabbed the food from the window and handed it to her. “I don’t think I’m ready yet,” she replied. “That’s okay,” I said. “It’s an incredibly big decision, so you need to make sure before you do it.”

When I was the same age as Callie and Audrey, I was privileged to have caring adults invest in my life. One of those adults, Megan Johnson, recently reminded me how we need to focus on our call and let the Holy Spirit do His job. She sent me “A Liturgy Before Serving Others” by Douglas McKelvey. The last portion really stood out to me.

“I cannot know the end of another person’s story. Our lives so often only briefly intersect. So let me be content to minister regardless of visible outcomes, trusting that the small mercies I extend will be woven in to the larger theme of redemption at work in the lives of others as you woo them to yourself, drawing their hearts by graces offered, and shaping my own heart too in this process of learning to serve well, and by learning to serve well, learning to love well.”

I’m not sure how Audrey’s story will end or what my part will be in it. But I do know that I am being faithful to what God is calling me to do in her life. And that is all I can do. The rest is up to God.

Written by Meredith Russell for the Year in Review 2024–2025. Meredith Russell is the Executive Director of Youth for Christ Highlands County, the wife of Pastor Ben Russell, and mom to two boys. She graduated from Valley Forge Christian College with a degree in Early Childhood Education. For almost nine years she was a teacher in Highlands County, Florida, before accepting her current role. She and her family are part of Neighborhood Church in Sebring, Florida, where she volunteers with the youth group. Meredith enjoys hanging out with her friends and youth students, playing board games, reading, and gardening. 

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Did you know that Christmas Day holds a special place in the story of the Charis Fellowship for an additional reason? If not for the events that took place just over 300 years ago on December 25, 1723, the story of our Fellowship may never have come to be!

It had only been 15 years since Alexander Mack helped to found our family of churches in Germany. Around half of them had recently migrated to Pennsylvania to escape persecution, and for a few years the movement was scattered and broken. Below is a brief description (derived from our historical archives) of a remarkable scene that took place on another Christmas Day long ago…

It was a typical winter’s day, the air crisp and cold, the sky clear, the ground hard and frozen, with a thin covering of snow. The small procession on their way to the creek was reinforced by some others attracted by curiosity, so that by the time the party arrived at the banks of the frozen stream the company was quite a goodly one—witnesses who were to assist by their presence at what was to be the founding of a new denomination in America.

When the party reached the banks of the Wissahickon the afternoon was already well advanced so little time was lost. Clear above the sound of the rushing waters and the rustle of leafless branches rose the solemn German invocation and the singing of the baptismal hymn “Count the Cost” composed by Alexander Mack.

After the reading of a passage from Luke chapter 15, Peter Becker, chosen to be the first elder of the church in America, entered the water through the thin ice, leading by hand the first candidate. There stood the administrator deep in the cold water. Before him knelt Martin Urner, the first candidate, and thrice was he immersed under the ice flood. His wife, Catherine, was the next candidate, followed by the other four people, the same scene being repeated in each case.

Long before the solemn rite was ended the winter sun was well down over the hills and the sky covered with leaden clouds. The party then proceeded to the house of one of the members where dry clothing was provided. In the evening the love-feast was held, the rite of foot-washing was observed, followed by the breaking of bread and the administration of the Holy Communion, partaken of by twenty-three in all. That day the first congregation in America (of what would become the Charis Fellowship) began.

I wonder how many of us today would willingly be baptized in a frozen stream! As they gathered on that day, this small band of believers had no idea that their small steps of devotion and obedience would grow and spread and flourish into a movement of Jesus followers, planting new churches and ultimately impacting the lives of countless thousands of people worldwide with the life-changing power of the Gospel!

As we conclude the year and begin another, my heart is once again filled with thanksgiving to God for the gift of Jesus, for all that God has accomplished over this past year through the ministry of the Charis Fellowship, and also for the remarkable story of how our Fellowship of churches came to be. May the Lord continue to use us mightily as we work together to share the most important message of all, and may this next year be filled with new stories of more lives surrendered to Jesus!

Written by Tim Hodge, Charis Fellowship Coordinator

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1. We await Christmas Day. We look forward to a day when we celebrate Christ’s birth. It’s a day to remember His goodness and share blessings with others.
    
2. We await Christ’s return. We look forward to a day when all things will be made new and every tear wiped away (Revelation 21:4).

Both forms of waiting are good. But both can also expose something about us: Humans have a complicated relationship with expectations. For example, everyday life is filled with reasonable expectations:

• I expect to wake up in the morning.
• I expect to have food to eat.
• I expect my kids to clean their rooms and do their homework without complaining… (Okay, maybe that last one is a bit far-fetched. We’re still working on memorizing Philippians 2:14.)

But expectations don’t stay simple for long. When they aren’t met, our hearts can slide into bitterness, anger, resentment, or disappointment. We might feel uncared for or even entitled to better. Why do unmet expectations sting so deeply? Often it’s because we’ve placed our hope on shaky foundations like people, circumstances, or our own ability to make things turn out right.

So here’s the big question for you this Christmas:

What if we reframed our expectations, not around our personal desired outcomes… but around God’s character? 

• Instead of worrying about finances… I expect the Lord to provide.
• Instead of shaming myself for my shortcomings… I expect the Lord to be gracious.
• Instead of feeling helpless… I expect the Lord to defend.
• Instead of lashing out in frustration at culture… I expect the Lord to be just.
• Instead of panicking about the future… I expect the Lord’s Word to be fulfilled.

When our expectations flow from who God is, rather than what we want, our hearts find steadiness. The truth is this: Jesus has already come! He was born in a manger, lived a sinless life, crucified, buried, risen, and ascended. And Scripture promises He will come again.

“Men of Galilee,” they said, “why do you stand here looking into the sky? This same Jesus, who has been taken from you into heaven, will come back in the same way you have seen him go into heaven.” Acts 1:11

This promise anchors our Advent expectations. We do not wait in uncertainty; we wait in confidence. The One who came is the One who will return. As we wait expectantly for Jesus to return, we can choose a different posture in this season. One shaped not by pressure or perfectionism, but by trust. Advent becomes a time to realign our expectations with God’s character, God’s promises, and God’s timing.

Maybe this year, instead of striving for the “perfect” Christmas morning, we embrace the perfect Savior who has already come…and who will come again.

And in that expectation, our hearts find peace.

Written by Sarah McMahon, Director of Women’s Ministry at Western Reserve Grace Church in Macedonia, Ohio, as part of an advent series titled, “Come, Thou Long Expected Jesus.”

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