Series: Advent and the Gospel
Scripture Focus: John 1:14
The fire crackles like an old storyteller clearing his throat.
Its sparks rise into the night like tiny lanterns, drifting upward to join the stars.
Around the circle sit the young ones.
Blankets wrapped tight.
Eyes bright.
Hands cupped around warm clay mugs.
And then the old man speaks.
His voice is thick with memory, as though he carries centuries in his chest.
“You want to know why the Child came,” he says, leaning forward so the firelight dances across his face.
“Then we must start long before Bethlehem.
We must go back to when time was young…
back to when the world breathed its first breath.”
Before Bethlehem, There Was Eternity
He lifts a single ember with a stick.
“See this coal? It glows, but it had a beginning.
The One we speak of had none.”
The children lean closer.
“In the beginning, before the rivers ran, before the mountains woke, before angels learned their first hymn…
He was.”
The wind shifts. The fire flares.
“The Word,” he whispers, tasting each syllable with reverence.
“Not a sound, but a Person.
The Son who stood beside the Father in perfect glory.
The One through whom galaxies were born and light itself learned to shine.”
The old man closes his eyes as if seeing it.
“And yet, though He held the stars in the palm of His hand, He chose to come here…
to wrap Himself in the dust of His own making.
Not for His sake, children, but for ours.”
Before the Manger, There Was a Promise
He settles back, the fire painting golden light across the lines on his face.
“You have heard the stories of Eden.
But have you heard what happened after the fall of night?”
The circle grows still.
“I was not there,” he says softly, “but Adam told his sons, and they told theirs, and their children whispered it to mine.”
He draws a line in the dirt with a stick.
“Adam said the air itself groaned when he hid among the trees.
When the Holy One called, ‘Where are you?’ it broke him.
Yet even as judgment fell like winter, God planted a promise.”
He taps the line.
“From the woman would come a Seed.
One who would crush the serpent’s head, though the serpent would strike His heel.”
The children look at each other.
“A hero?” one asks.
“A Redeemer,” the old man corrects.
“Not born of kings or warriors at first, but born in weakness so His strength could be ours.”
His gaze sweeps across the young faces.
“And from Adam, this promise was passed down.
From Noah to Shem.
From Abraham to Isaac.
From Jacob to Judah.
Like a torch kept alive in the dark.”
He lifts the stick again.
“And every prophet, every covenant, every star over Bethlehem…
they were all following this ancient trail.”
The Night God Pitched His Tent Among Us
The wind murmurs through the trees as if remembering.
“When the fullness of time finally arrived,” the old man says, “God did what no mind could fathom.”
He taps the pages of an open scroll.
“The Word became flesh,” he recites, his voice trembling with awe.
“And dwelt among us.”
He pauses.
“That word ‘dwelt’ means He pitched His tent with ours.
Imagine the Holy One walking into our village, setting His tent beside your father’s.
Eating our bread.
Learning our songs.
Sharing our tears.”
He spreads his hands toward the fire.
“That is what happened in Bethlehem.
The God who cannot be contained by the heavens allowed Himself to be held by a young girl.
The One who carved out oceans slept in a feeding trough.
The Light of the World opened His eyes for the first time in the dark of a Judean night.”
The fire hisses, as if even it cannot contain its wonder.
The Glory We Saw by Firelight
The old man’s eyes shine.
“John said, ‘We saw His glory.’
Not the trembling-fire-on-Sinai kind of glory,
but the gentle glory of compassion.
The fierce glory of truth.
The tender glory of a God who walks with His people.”
He leans forward.
“Children, listen well.
If God became flesh, then truth is not an idea we chase.
It is a Person who came looking for us.”
Silence settles in.
“He walked roads we walk.
He felt the weight of our burdens.
He spoke words that cut through the lies of the age.
He carried a cross meant for us.
And He rose so we could rise with Him.”
The old man’s voice softens.
“This is why the Incarnation matters.
Without Bethlehem, we are lost.
With Bethlehem, the world has hope again.”
Walk it Out: Live as One Who Has Heard the Ancient Story
The fire is low now—just embers whispering their last warmth.
The children do not move.
They know the story is over, but they feel something new settling into their hearts.
A weight.
A wonder.
A holy warmth.
The old man rises slowly.
“When you return to your homes tonight,” he says, “carry this with you.
The God who shaped the universe stepped into your story.
Walk as those who have seen His light.
Live as those who have been visited by grace.
And never forget…”
He points to the stars blazing overhead.
“The One who made these once lay beneath them as an infant.
For you.”
He smiles, weathered and gentle.
“Live it out.
Share the truth.
Walk with courage.”
The fire sighs.
The night holds its breath.
And the story lingers like the echo of an ancient promise fulfilled.
