—Psalm 146, Revelation 1:1–8
The surprise of Advent is not that Messiah comes—but where He comes, and what He comes to do.
“I am the Alpha and the Omega,” says the Lord God, “who is, and who was, and who is to come, the Almighty.” (Revelation 1:8)
As a child, I imagined that Almighty One as enormous and untouchable—robed in fire, seated on a throne somewhere above the stars. Holy and distant. Fearsome and vast. But the psalmist paints a different portrait of the One for whom we wait.
When God Moves Into the Neighborhood
Instead of a cosmic monarch, we see Yahweh rolling up His sleeves in the neighborhood food bank—serving soup, restoring dignity, defending the stranger, watching over the widow, lifting the fallen orphan. While the princes dine in palaces, God sets a table in forgotten corners and alleyways. The Almighty does not descend upon gold or marble, but onto cracked sidewalks and weary streets.
Advent begins here: when God moves into the neighborhood.
I was born in a neighborhood on the far south side of Chicago—a mosaic of small bungalows on Sangamon Street where languages mingled and accents blurred: Swedish, Irish, Scottish, English, Polish, Italian. We were the children of first-generation Americans, stitched together by hard work and hope.
Our world had its landmarks: 79th Street for church, 59th for furniture, 95th and Halstead for groceries, and Mount Vernon for grammar school. We played baseball in the street until headlights forced us to scatter. We chased fly balls into the abandoned field behind the steel mill. Johnson, Petkus, Galoonagus, Maher, McCabe, and Anderson—names that told the story of a thousand migrations.
Neighborhood was everything. It’s still the story I carry in my bones.
And so, Advent—the story of God’s coming—feels strangely familiar. It’s the story of neighborhood. But this story carries a startling twist…
When God Becomes Inconveniently Near
Jesus in the crèche is not the problem. The angels and magi don’t trouble us. What unsettles us is what God actually does in the neighborhood.
The Almighty sets up shop among the poor. He opens prison doors, heals blind eyes, and feeds those who hunger for something more than bread. Advent disrupts our tidy expectations—it is the season where God becomes inconveniently near.
What if God’s presence isn’t found in our sanctuaries but in our streets? What if holiness smells like soup kitchens and hospital corridors? What if this year, the Christ who comes to us does so through the knock on our door, the stranger’s need, or the cry of the lonely at midnight?
Seeing the Sacred in the Ordinary
The surprise of Advent is that God still insists on moving into the neighborhood where we live. That’s the trouble, really. Because once you start to believe this, everything changes. Advent moves us from superficial seeing to sacramental seeing—where ordinary things shimmer with divine presence. It calls us to look again at the grocery line, the bus stop, the teacher’s desk, the hospital hallway, the family table—and see them all as possible sanctuaries. If we have eyes to see this great mystery, we see deep into everyday reality there is something more going on. At a complex and abstract level, it means we live in a physical reality with spiritual movement all around us, most often unseen. Or that we live in a spiritual reality in the midst of our physical neighborhoods.
If Jesus has moved into the neighborhood, then we must follow him there. If he lives in flesh, he lives in our flesh. If he inhabits time, he inhabits our time—this year, this moment, this very street.
Advent asks us dangerous, holy questions:
- Where is God walking in my neighborhood?
- What would change if I saw Christ present in my work, my family, my politics, my economics?
- How would I live differently if I believed that the Word truly became flesh and moved in next door?
Advent is not a sentimental story about a baby in straw. It is a startling declaration—an invitation to see God walking among us in every ordinary thing we touch.
Practice
A prayer for daily Advent reflection:
Lord, open my eyes this Advent.
Let me see You walking the streets of my own neighborhood—
in the laughter of children,
in the face of the hungry,
in the longing of the lonely,
in the waiting of those who still believe You are coming.
Let me recognize You not only in the light of candles,
but in the light that flickers through every corner of this weary world.
Amen.
____________________
This piece was first published in an early version of A Book of Days: Christmas Reflections from the Northwest, published by The Murdock Charitable Trust, Vancouver, WA, 2014.
Keith Anderson, D.Min., is a Faculty Associate for Spirituality and Vocation at VantagePoint3 and President Emeritus of Seattle School of Theology and Psychology. He is the author of several books, including his most recent: On Holy Ground: Your Story of Identity, Belonging and Sacred Purpose (Wipf & Stock, 2024). His other works include Reading Your Life’s Story (IVP, 2016), A Spirituality of Listening (IVP, 2016), and Spiritual Mentoring (IVP, 1999). In his writing, teaching, and mentoring, Keith seeks to set a table for people looking to enter the “amazing inner sanctuary of the soul” in the most ordinary and extraordinary moments of life.