The Story of Rescue:
2nd Sunday of Advent

[Note: This is Part 2 of “The Story of Rescue,” an Advent series exploring the biblical narrative of God’s rescue plan through Jesus Christ. ReadPart 1: Longing and Anticipation.]

If you were tasked with announcing the arrival of the world’s Savior, how would you do it? Perhaps you’d orchestrate a grand public ceremony with dignitaries present. Maybe you’d make sure the most influential people heard first—kings, religious leaders, the wealthy and powerful. You’d certainly want the announcement to be unmistakable, impossible to miss, leaving no doubt about its significance.

God chose a different path entirely. When the moment finally came to announce the rescue humanity had been waiting for since Genesis 3, God sent angels not to palaces but to ordinary people living ordinary lives. A priest burning incense in the temple. A young virgin in an obscure village. A carpenter troubled by his betrothed’s pregnancy. Shepherds watching their flocks at night. The pattern is unmistakable: God’s rescue comes in ways we’d never imagine, confounding every human expectation.

This is the story of the unexpected announcement.

The priest who couldn’t believe

Luke’s Gospel begins not with Mary or Jesus, but with an elderly priest named Zechariah and his equally aged wife, Elizabeth. They were righteous, blameless in their observance of God’s commandments—yet they carried the burden of childlessness, which in their culture was seen as divine disfavor. They had long since stopped hoping for children. That chapter of their life was closed.

Then came the day Zechariah was chosen to burn incense in the temple’s holy place, a once-in-a-lifetime honor for a priest. As he performed this sacred duty, an angel appeared:

But the angel said to him, “Do not be afraid, Zechariah, for your prayer has been heard, and your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you shall call his name John. And you will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth, for he will be great before the Lord . . . And he will turn many of the children of Israel to the Lord their God, and he will go before him in the spirit and power of Elijah.” (Luke 1:13-17)

Notice what the angel announced: not just a child for a childless couple, but a prophet who would prepare the way for the Lord himself. John would be the forerunner, the voice crying in the wilderness that Isaiah had prophesied. The rescue was beginning, but it was starting in a way no one expected—with an impossible birth announcement to an elderly couple.

When God’s answer exceeds our imagination

Zechariah’s response reveals something important about us: “How shall I know this? For I am an old man, and my wife is advanced in years” (Luke 1:18). It’s a reasonable question by human standards. But it betrays a fundamental problem—Zechariah was thinking within the bounds of human possibility. He had stopped believing God could do the impossible.

The angel’s response was both judgment and mercy. Zechariah would be unable to speak until the promise was fulfilled. His silence would become a sign, a constant reminder that God’s ways transcend human understanding, that his timing is perfect, and that his promises—no matter how impossible they seem—will be fulfilled.

How often do we do the same thing? We pray for years about something, and when God finally acts, we can hardly believe it. We’ve become so accustomed to human limitations that we’ve forgotten we serve a God for whom nothing is impossible. We’ve adjusted our expectations downward, settling for what seems reasonable rather than hoping for what only God can do.

The virgin who said yes

Six months into Elizabeth’s unexpected pregnancy, the angel Gabriel appeared again—this time to a young woman named Mary in Nazareth. If Zechariah’s announcement was unexpected, Mary’s was staggering:

And the angel said to her, “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And behold, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High. And the Lord God will give to him the throne of his father David, and he will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.” (Luke 1:30-33)

Read those words slowly. This child would be “the Son of the Most High.” He would reign forever. His kingdom would have no end. The angel was announcing not just a special child, but the long-awaited Messiah—indeed, more than the Messiah. This would be God himself taking on human flesh.

And the method? A virgin would conceive. Not through natural means, but through the direct work of the Holy Spirit. “For nothing will be impossible with God” (Luke 1:37).

The scandal of God’s method

We’re so familiar with this story that we’ve lost sight of how scandalous it was. In first-century Jewish culture, pregnancy outside of marriage brought profound shame and potentially deadly consequences. Mary knew this. When she asked, “How will this be, since I am a virgin?” (Luke 1:34), she wasn’t expressing doubt like Zechariah—she was asking for clarification about something that seemed impossible.

The angel’s answer revealed the method: “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you; therefore the child to be born will be called holy—the Son of God” (Luke 1:35).

Mary’s response is breathtaking in its simplicity and faith: “Behold, I am the servant of the Lord; let it be to me according to your word” (Luke 1:38). She said yes to God’s plan even though it would cost her reputation, security, and possibly her life. She trusted that God’s rescue plan, however unexpected and scandalous it might seem, was good.

Here’s what this reveals about God’s ways: He doesn’t accommodate our preferences for how he should work. He doesn’t avoid methods that might make us uncomfortable or seem scandalous to the watching world. The incarnation—God becoming human through the womb of a virgin—was the ultimate unexpected method. It was humble, vulnerable, and easily dismissed by those looking for displays of power.

The carpenter’s confirmation

But what about Joseph? Matthew’s Gospel gives us his perspective. When he discovered Mary was pregnant, he faced an agonizing decision. He knew he wasn’t the father. The obvious conclusion was that Mary had been unfaithful. Being a righteous man, he decided to divorce her quietly rather than expose her to public disgrace (Matt. 1:19).

Then an angel appeared to him in a dream:

“Joseph, son of David, do not fear to take Mary as your wife, for that which is conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you shall call his name Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” (Matt. 1:20-21)

Matthew immediately adds the theological significance: “All this took place to fulfill what the Lord had spoken by the prophet: ‘Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall call his name Immanuel’ (which means, God with us)” (Matt. 1:22-23).

God with us

That phrase—”God with us”—captures the stunning reality of what was being announced. The rescue wouldn’t come through a distant deliverer sending instructions from afar. It would come through God himself entering into our human condition, taking on our flesh, experiencing our struggles, facing our temptations, and ultimately bearing our sins.

Joseph, like Mary, had to make a choice that would cost him dearly. Taking Mary as his wife meant accepting the scandal, the whispers, the assumptions people would make. It meant trusting that God’s plan, however unexpected and uncomfortable, was worth following.

When Joseph woke from the dream, he “did as the angel of the Lord commanded him” (Matt. 1:24). No recorded words of protest or hesitation. Just obedience. Like Mary, he said yes to God’s unexpected method of rescue.

The pattern of divine surprise

These three announcements—to Zechariah, Mary, and Joseph—establish a pattern that runs throughout the gospel story. God’s ways confound human expectations. He works through the barren, the young, the unmarried, the socially insignificant. He announces the arrival of the King not with fanfare in Jerusalem but with angelic visits to ordinary people in obscure places.

Why does God work this way? Paul would later explain: “God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, even things that are not, to bring to nothing things that are, so that no human being might boast in the presence of God” (1 Cor. 1:27-29).

The method matters because it reveals what kind of God we’re dealing with. He’s not impressed by human power, status, or achievement. He doesn’t need our credentials or qualifications. In fact, he seems to delight in choosing unlikely people and using unexpected methods specifically so that no one can claim credit for what he accomplishes.

What this means for us

This has profound implications for how we understand our own lives and God’s work in us. We often think God can only use us if we’re strong, capable, and have it all together. We assume he works primarily through the talented, the influential, the impressive. But the announcement narratives tell a different story.

God uses the barren—those who’ve given up hope that anything new can come from their lives. He uses the young and inexperienced—those who by worldly standards shouldn’t be trusted with anything important. He uses those whose obedience will cost them socially and personally. He uses ordinary people living ordinary lives who are simply willing to say yes when he calls.

The problem isn’t that we lack what God needs to work through us. The problem is that we keep looking for him to work in expected ways, and we miss his unexpected invitations. We want the announcement to come with clarity and certainty, with all our questions answered and all the risks removed. But God’s announcements often come with scandal, uncertainty, and cost.

The cost of the unexpected

Both Mary and Joseph had to embrace God’s plan before they saw how it would all work out. They had to trust in the dark, saying yes to something that would bring them suspicion, hardship, and sacrifice. Their obedience wasn’t blind—the angels had given them enough information to trust God’s character and promises. But it wasn’t complete either—they didn’t know how the story would unfold.

This is always how it works with God. He gives us enough light to take the next step, but rarely enough to see the whole path. He asks us to trust his character more than our ability to understand his methods. He invites us into a story that will likely cost us something and certainly won’t unfold according to our preferences.

The announcements to Zechariah, Mary, and Joseph weren’t just about them. They were about God establishing a pattern that would continue throughout redemptive history. He keeps working in unexpected ways through unexpected people. He keeps confounding human wisdom with divine foolishness. He keeps choosing the weak to shame the strong.

And he keeps inviting us to say yes—to trust that his rescue plan, however unexpected and uncomfortable it might seem, is infinitely better than anything we could have imagined.

Application points

Examine your expectations of God: Reflect on how you’ve limited God to working only in ways that make sense to you. Identify what “impossible” things you’ve stopped praying for because they seem beyond human possibility.

Embrace the cost of obedience: Like Mary and Joseph, saying yes to God’s call often comes with personal cost and social misunderstanding. Consider whether you’re willing to obey even when it’s costly and others don’t understand.

Look for unexpected invitations: God may be calling you to something that doesn’t fit your plans or preferences. Pay attention to the “unexpected announcements” in your own life—the opportunities, promptings, or circumstances that don’t make immediate sense but might be God’s invitation.

Trust in the dark: You don’t need to see the whole path to take the next step. Identify what God is asking you to trust him with right now, even though you can’t see how it will all work out.

Reject human credentials as prerequisites: Stop waiting until you feel qualified, impressive, or put-together before saying yes to God. Recognize that he specializes in using ordinary people who are simply willing to trust and obey.

For reflection this week

• Like Zechariah, have you adjusted your prayers and expectations downward because you’ve become accustomed to human limitations? What would it look like to pray believing that nothing is impossible with God?

• Mary’s yes came with enormous personal cost and social scandal. What is God asking you to say yes to that might cost you reputation, comfort, or security? What fears are holding you back from obedience?

• Joseph had to trust God’s word even when circumstances suggested a completely different story. Where in your life are you struggling to trust God because the circumstances seem to contradict his promises?

• The announcements came to ordinary people doing ordinary things—a priest at work, a girl at home, a man troubled by difficult news. How might you be missing God’s “unexpected announcements” because you’re looking for something more dramatic or spectacular?

• God’s method of rescue—the incarnation through a virgin birth—was scandalous and easily dismissed by those looking for displays of power. How does your desire for God to work in “respectable” or impressive ways potentially blind you to how he’s actually working?