The Story of Rescue:
Christmas Day

[Note: This is the final part of “The Story of Rescue,” an Advent series exploring the biblical narrative of God’s rescue plan through Jesus Christ. Read Part 1: Longing and Anticipation | Part 2: The Unexpected Announcement | Part 3: The Humble Arrival | Part 4: The Response of Worship.]

The waiting is over. The anticipation has been fulfilled. The promise made in Genesis 3:15 has come to pass. The light Isaiah prophesied has broken into the darkness. The child born in Bethlehem—the one announced by angels, worshiped by shepherds and wise men—is here.

Today we light the Christ candle. Today we celebrate not just that rescue was promised, not just that it was announced, not just that it arrived humbly—but that it is accomplished. The incarnation is complete. God is with us. Emmanuel has come.

But what does this mean? What actually happened when the eternal Word became flesh? And why does it matter so profoundly that we pause everything to celebrate it?

The Word became flesh

John’s Gospel doesn’t begin with a census or angelic announcements. It begins with eternity:

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. All things were made through him, and without him was not any thing made that was made. In him was life, and the life was the light of men. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it. (John 1:1-5)

John takes us back before Bethlehem, before Mary and Joseph, before the prophets, even before Genesis 3. He takes us to the beginning, to creation itself, and reveals that the child in the manger is the eternal Word through whom all things were made. This baby’s origin isn’t a human birth—it’s eternity. He existed before time began. He created the universe. He is God himself.

Then comes the staggering declaration:

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us, and we have seen his glory, glory as of the only Son from the Father, full of grace and truth. (John 1:14)

The Word—eternal, divine, creator of all—became flesh. Not appeared to be flesh. Not temporarily inhabited a human body. Became flesh. Fully God took on full humanity and united both natures in one person forever. This is the incarnation, and it’s the central miracle of Christmas.

What it means that the Word became flesh

We need to be clear about what happened here because the implications are staggering. When the Word became flesh, God didn’t stop being God. The infinite didn’t become finite. The eternal didn’t cease being eternal. Rather, God the Son added humanity to his deity. He took on human nature—with all its limitations, vulnerabilities, and weaknesses—while remaining fully divine.

This means Jesus experienced hunger, thirst, fatigue, pain, and temptation. He grew tired. He wept. He bled. He died. These weren’t pretend experiences or mere appearances. They were real because his humanity was real. When Jesus suffered, God himself suffered. When Jesus died, God himself tasted death.

Why does this matter? Because it means God didn’t rescue us from a distance. He didn’t send a representative or delegate the task to someone else. He came himself. He entered into our condition completely. He took on our nature, experienced our struggles, and faced our enemy. The rescue is personal, intimate, and costly beyond measure.

The light has come

John uses another image to describe what happened at the incarnation: light breaking into darkness.

The true light, which gives light to everyone, was coming into the world. He was in the world, and the world was made through him, yet the world did not know him. (John 1:9-10)

This echoes Isaiah’s prophecy: “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light” (Isa. 9:2). The darkness John describes isn’t just physical—it’s spiritual, moral, and relational. It’s the darkness of sin’s corruption, of Satan’s deception, of humanity’s rebellion against God. It’s the darkness of death itself.

Into this darkness, light has come. Not a metaphorical light or an inspirational idea—a person. Jesus himself would later declare: “I am the light of the world. Whoever follows me will not walk in darkness, but will have the light of life” (John 8:12).

What the light reveals

Light does two things: it illuminates and it exposes. When Christ came as light into the world, he revealed both truth and falsehood, both beauty and ugliness.

He revealed the truth about God—that God is love, that he is merciful, that he doesn’t abandon his people in their darkness. He revealed the truth about humanity—that we are desperately lost, that our hearts are deeply corrupted, that we cannot save ourselves. He revealed the truth about salvation—that it comes through grace, not works; through faith, not effort; through Christ alone, not through any other means.

But light also exposes. Jesus’ presence revealed the depth of human sin. Religious leaders who appeared righteous were shown to be whitewashed tombs. Systems that seemed holy were exposed as corrupt. Hearts that claimed to love God were revealed to love self instead. The light of Christ doesn’t just show us the way—it shows us ourselves, and what it shows isn’t flattering.

This is why some people loved the light while others hated it: “And this is the judgment: the light has come into the world, and people loved the darkness rather than the light because their works were evil” (John 3:19). The same light that draws some repels others. The same Christ who saves some offends others. Light requires a response.

Grace and truth have arrived

John adds one more crucial detail about the incarnation:

And from his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. For the law was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. (John 1:16-17)

The law showed us God’s standard and exposed our failure. It revealed what righteousness looks like and demonstrated that we can’t achieve it on our own. The law was good and necessary, but it couldn’t save. It could only condemn.

But grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. Not grace without truth—that would be mere sentimentality, affirming people in their sin. Not truth without grace—that would be crushing condemnation with no hope of redemption. Grace and truth together, perfectly balanced, fully expressed in the person of Jesus.

Grace upon grace

Notice how John describes what we’ve received: “grace upon grace.” Not just grace, but grace layered upon grace, wave after wave of unmerited favor. This is what the incarnation provides.

We receive the grace of God becoming human to identify with us. The grace of Jesus living the righteous life we couldn’t live. The grace of him bearing the punishment we deserved. The grace of his resurrection conquering death. The grace of his ongoing intercession for us. The grace of his Spirit dwelling in us. The grace of his promised return to complete our salvation.

Every aspect of the gospel is grace. From beginning to end, from election to glorification, it’s all undeserved favor freely given by God. And it all begins with the incarnation—with God taking on flesh to rescue those who could not rescue themselves.

No one has seen God

John makes one final profound statement about the incarnation:

No one has ever seen God; the only God, who is at the Father’s side, he has made him known. (John 1:18)

God is invisible, infinite, incomprehensible. No human can see him in his fullness and live. Moses asked to see God’s glory, and God responded, “You cannot see my face, for man shall not see me and live” (Ex. 33:20). God is too great, too holy, too glorious for finite, sinful humans to behold directly.

But the Son has made him known. Jesus is the visible image of the invisible God (Col. 1:15). He is the exact imprint of God’s nature (Heb. 1:3). He said to Philip, “Whoever has seen me has seen the Father” (John 14:9). Through the incarnation, the unknowable God becomes knowable. The invisible becomes visible. The transcendent becomes immanent.

Why this matters for us

This means we don’t have to guess what God is like or wonder if he cares. We can look at Jesus and see God’s character displayed. When Jesus healed the sick, we see God’s compassion. When Jesus ate with sinners, we see God’s acceptance. When Jesus wept at Lazarus’s tomb, we see God’s empathy. When Jesus drove out the money changers, we see God’s zeal for holiness. When Jesus died on the cross, we see the full extent of God’s love.

Everything we need to know about God is revealed in Christ. This is why studying Jesus’ life, death, and resurrection is so crucial. It’s not just learning about a historical figure—it’s encountering God himself. Every page of the Gospels reveals something about who God is and how he relates to his creation.

What Christmas means

So what are we celebrating today when we light the Christ candle? We’re celebrating that:

God has entered our world. He didn’t remain distant or detached. He came. He took on flesh. He experienced what we experience. He knows our struggles because he lived them.

Light has broken into darkness. The darkness of sin, death, and Satan’s deception has been invaded by divine light. The darkness hasn’t been eliminated yet—that awaits Christ’s return—but it has been definitively defeated. The light shines, and the darkness cannot overcome it.

Grace and truth have come. We’re no longer left with only the condemning demands of the law. We now have grace—unmerited favor, freely given. And we have truth—reality about God, ourselves, and salvation clearly revealed.

God has made himself known. We’re no longer left to speculate about God’s character or guess at his intentions. In Christ, God has shown us exactly who he is and what he’s like. The invisible God has become visible.

Rescue has been accomplished. The promise made in Genesis 3:15 has been fulfilled. The serpent’s head has been crushed. Sin’s power has been broken. Death’s sting has been removed. Those who trust in Christ have been reconciled to God.

The already and the not yet

Yet we must be honest: we still live in a broken world. Sin still corrupts. Death still claims victims. Suffering still abounds. The full manifestation of Christ’s rescue awaits his return. We live in the “already but not yet”—the kingdom has been inaugurated but not yet consummated.

This is why we celebrate Christmas with joy and longing mixed together. Joy because Christ has come. Longing because we await his coming again. Joy because rescue has been accomplished. Longing because its completion is still future. Joy because light has invaded darkness. Longing because darkness still remains.

Christmas Day is a celebration of victory already won and a reminder that the final victory is still coming. The Christ candle burns bright today, but we await the day when Christ himself will be the light, and there will be no more night (Rev. 22:5).

Application points

Worship the incarnate Christ: Today isn’t primarily about family traditions or gift-giving (though both have their places). It’s about worshiping God who became flesh. Intentionally focus your heart on Christ today, making him the center of your celebration.

Meditate on the magnitude: The eternal Word became flesh. Let that truth sink deep. Don’t let familiarity rob you of wonder. Spend time today pondering the staggering reality of the incarnation and what it means that God entered our world.

Walk in the light: Christ has come as light into the world. Consider whether you’re walking in that light or still clinging to darkness. Identify what needs to be exposed and surrendered to the light of Christ’s truth.

Receive grace upon grace: The incarnation makes endless grace available. Examine whether you’re trying to earn what God freely offers. Stop living from the emptiness of performance and start living from the fullness of grace.

Make him known: Just as Christ made the Father known, we’re called to make Christ known. Think about who needs to hear about the light that has come into the world and how you can be part of making Christ known to others.

For reflection this Christmas Day

• “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness has not overcome it.” Where in your life does darkness still seem overwhelming? How does the truth that light has invaded darkness and will ultimately triumph give you hope today?

• We celebrate that Christ has come (already) while we await his return (not yet). How does living in this tension shape how you engage with the brokenness and suffering you see in the world? How should the “already” affect your present, and the “not yet” affect your future hope?