Pause

Advent. We prepare the way for the One who made a way for us. He came in humility — we lay down our pride. He came to serve — we look for those in need. He came to give — we fan the flames of generosity.

Ready yourself in restful anticipation. Straighten the pathways as you humble your heart. Heaven has come near.

Ponder

“In those days John the Baptist came, preaching in the wilderness of Judea and saying, ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.’ This is he who was spoken of through the prophet Isaiah: ‘A voice of one calling in the wilderness, “Prepare the way for the Lord, make straight paths for him.”’”

My grandmother’s widowed sister came into our family life when I was a young child — and I had never met anyone like her. Aunty May was just so present. She asked questions, listened to every word I said, and made it seem as if nothing delighted her more than spending time with a precocious four-year-old.

Is there anyone like that in your life? Someone whose presence makes you feel seen and known? We yearn for this as human beings — our sense of self depends on it.

This is what makes John the Baptist’s story so intriguing.

John’s elderly parents, Zechariah and Elizabeth, surely celebrated the wonder of their miracle child: filled with the Holy Spirit from birth, great in God’s sight, chosen to announce the coming Messiah, destined to turn many hearts back to the Lord.

Yet early on, John left it all behind. He disappeared into the desert to wait for the fullness of time and prepare the way for the coming Christ. His lifestyle was strange, his existence lonely, his calling costly.

But when he finally emerged preaching repentance, he shook the status quo and angered the religious elite. Still, the crowds streamed from every direction to hear him and to be baptized in the Jordan.

And yet John resisted the lure of fame. Refusing to seek his identity in the attention of others, he continually pointed their gaze away from himself and toward the One to come — the Lamb of God who would take away the sin of the world.

When Jesus finally appeared, asking John to baptize Him, John could hardly comprehend it: “I’m the one who needs to be baptized by You — and yet You come to me?”

After this, Jesus’ ministry grew as John’s popularity faded. When John’s disciples complained about the shrinking crowds, his response was simple and stunning:

“He must increase, but I must decrease.”

This Christmas season, as we fill our calendars with gatherings, gifts, and good things, John’s life invites us to another way — a way of joyful hiddenness, where our greatest delight is to make much of Jesus, even if it means being less seen ourselves.

Pray

What does it look like for you to prepare your heart for Christ to show Himself anew there? He sees you. He gets you. He knows you. What might this mean for your life today?

How might hiddenness become a place you come to love rather than resist?

Ask God to show you the beauty of John’s simple confession:
“He must increase, but I must decrease.”

Invite the Spirit to highlight one area where you can step back so that Jesus might be more clearly seen.

Practice

Today, look for opportunities to choose quiet, hidden faithfulness. Listen more than you speak. Serve in ways that may never be noticed or named.

As you do, pay attention to how your heart responds — and how Christ becomes more visible in the small, unseen spaces.

Joy grows deep when Jesus becomes greater and we gladly become less.

Hidden pathways often lead to the clearest views of Christ.