“But you, O Bethlehem Ephrathah, who are too little to be among the clans of Judah, from you shall come forth for me
one who is to be ruler in Israel, whose coming forth is from of old, from ancient days.” – Micah 5:2

This past Lord’s Day, we looked at the oldest and perhaps most foundational promises in all of Scripture—God’s determined pledge that despite human rebellion, He would send a Rescuer. In Genesis 3:15, we saw a glimmer of hope in the darkest hour: God declaring that the offspring of the woman would one day crush the serpent’s head. Even as Adam and Eve tasted the bitter consequences of sin, divine mercy was shining through in that very moment.

After that we considered Isaiah 9, and beheld a vision of hope and majesty: a promised child who would be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace. Right in Israel’s history of turmoil and gloom, the prophet’s words were heard, heralding a King who would establish an eternal kingdom of righteousness and joy. The promise of rescue isn’t just another thread of the story; it is the central plotline, the heartbeat of God’s interaction with humanity, and this thread stretches from Eden all the way to a future of eternal peace.

Our message from God’s Word this past Sunday clear: our God is one who intervenes. He is not content to leave humanity in darkness. Instead, He weaves His redemptive plan through history, guiding and shaping events so that this promised Rescuer would come at just the right time. That is the magnificent scale of God’s promise: cosmic in scope, eternal in significance, guaranteed by His own unshakable faithfulness.

However, here is something worth pondering as we move through this Advent season: how does such an immense promise— one involving the final defeat of evil, the restoration of creation, and the enthronement of a divine King—actually take place in human history? If we were to write this script ourselves, we might expect that such a grand promise would happen in a rather dramatic way. Perhaps with flashes of lightning, the arrival of a mighty conqueror in a grand city, applauded by the world’s greatest leaders. We might imagine global headlines, trumpets in every town square, and no possibility of missing it.

Yet as we will see, it’s actually jarringly the opposite: God often sets the stage for His greatest works in humble, overlooked places. The grand cosmic plan for rescue doesn’t hinge on an emperor’s throne or a mighty metropolis. It unfolds quietly in a small town like Bethlehem (Micah 5:2)—so tiny and unimpressive it hardly registered on anyone’s map of importance. And it involves a young woman named Mary, who had no earthly status to commend her. Who would have guessed that the staggering promises of Isaiah and the ancient echo from Eden would converge in such an unremarkable setting?

It would be worthwhile reflecting today on the character of our God. He made the world and holds galaxies in place. He orchestrates the eras of time and moves empires to bring forth His purposes. Yet this same God delights in the humble and lowly. Instead of arriving in royal pomp, He sends His Son into a family of ordinary means. Instead of choosing the influential, He chooses a young woman with simple faith. Instead of broadcasting the news to kings first, He allows shepherds to be among the earliest witnesses of the unfolding miracle.

We can glean at least two truths here. First, God’s ways are not our ways. We tend to equate significance with size, importance with influence, and success with spectacle. God, on the other hand, values faithfulness, humility, and a heart turned toward Him. The grand promise of rescue takes shape not in the corridors of the powerful, but in the quiet trust of those who fear Him.

Second, this means there’s room in God’s story for all of us—even those who feel small or forgotten. If the Messiah emerges from a modest town and is carried in the womb of a humble girl from Nazareth, no one can claim they’re too insignificant to matter. If God’s greatest gift to humanity enters through such humble means, then every corner of our lives, no matter how ordinary, can become a stage for His grace to appear.

As we head toward the upcoming Sunday, let our heart linger on this: God promised rescue on a cosmic scale, and He delivers on that promise through the overlooked and the “least of these.” As we move from the towering prophecies of Isaiah to the smallness of Bethlehem and the quiet faith of Mary, ask yourself: where have I overlooked God’s working because it seemed too ordinary or too subtle?

This is our chance to prepare our hearts. Before we open Scripture next Sunday and consider “The Faith of the Forgotten,” let’s embrace this truth: God’s grand plans often sprout in humble soil. The same God who set the stars in the heavens chose a tiny town and a trusting young woman to carry out His redemptive plan. Knowing this, we can face our own humble circumstances with fresh hope. The promise of rescue is not just for the mighty and the influential; it’s for every humble heart that looks to Him in faith.