Promise and Fulfilment

Galatians 4:1-7              Isaiah 7:10-17                Matthew 1:18-25

Promise and Fulfilment

Most of us know what Immanuel means: God with us. Yet we often stop at the definition without letting the weight of that name press into our souls. We affirm that God is with us, but in moments of crisis we can behave as though he is far off, distant, unmoved, or uninterested. Many Christians live as if Jesus had never come at all, simply because the force of this name, Immanuel, has never truly dawned on them. And yet, whatever we feel, however dark the hour, God is with us.

Matthew reached back to Isaiah 7 when he announced this name. To grasp both the promise and its fulfilment, we must hear the two Scriptures together…the ancient word and the newborn reality.

But first we need a quick bird’s-eye view of the world into which Isaiah spoke. The once-united kingdom of David and Solomon had long since fractured into north and south, and tension simmered between Israel and Judah. At this moment in history, Israel, the northern kingdom, joined forces with Syria to resist the growing power of Assyria. They urged Judah to join their coalition, but Judah refused. Enraged, the two allies turned their armies toward Jerusalem.

In panic, King Ahaz of Judah did the unthinkable: he sought protection from Assyria, the very empire threatening them all. It is into this swirl of fear, of politics, and of misplaced trust that God sent Isaiah with a message, not simply of warning, but of promise. A promise wrapped in a name: Immanuel…God with us.

The first words spoken by the prophet were words of comfort. Referring to the coalition Isaiah prophesied: “It shall not stand, and it shall not come to pass.” But Ahab was required to believe God and not go ahead with his alliance with Assyria and so Isaiah added a stern warning: “If you are not firm in faith, you will not be firm at all.” It all sounds simple enough, doesn’t it? God gave his promise and expected an obedient reaction.

But not only did God give his promise, he also graciously allowed Ahab to ask for a sign…any sign he could think of that would prove to him that God’s word was trustworthy. “Ask a sign of the Lord your God,” Isaiah continued, “let it be deep as Sheol or high as heaven.” Again, the proposition was quite simple. If you do not have enough faith to trust God’s word, well then, ask for a sign of your own choosing to validate it…a sign which would authenticate the prophetic message concerning the seemingly foreboding future.

But notice how the king responded to this gracious offer. “I will not ask, and I will not put the Lord to the test.” Now that may sound so spiritual, but what exactly was behind these pious words? From God’s response through the prophet we see that Ahaz simply did not trust God. He wasn’t willing to take the chance of God actually coming through. “Look, Isaiah,” he seemed to say, “we need to be practical. There’s no point in bringing God into this equation…he’s in heaven, we’re here on planet earth. I just must make the best of a very sticky situation, don’t I? After all, God gave me a brain to think these things through, didn’t he?” 

But faith is knowing God’s promise, understanding it intellectually, and trusting him to do what he said he would do. Ahaz did not want to risk his future by trusting in an unseen God when he had a very powerful seen ally. Seeing is believing…better to trust in chariots and horses than in the name of the Lord God.

You see, a word from God could be easily dismissed, but a personal sign…a sign Ahaz himself could choose…well that would really complicate matters, wouldn’t it? What if it actually happened? Coincidence is a fearful thing for a non-believer. If God granted him the sign he requested, then the king’s overtures to Assyria would make him look like a fool. Pride has often come between a man and his God.

In a vivid prediction of judgement and promise that would make the king’s head spin, God revealed the consequences of his foolish decision. Isaiah said, “Hear then, O house of David! Is it too little for you to weary men, that you weary my God also? Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign. Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son and shall call his name Immanuel. He shall eat curds and honey when he knows how to refuse the evil and choose the good. For before the boy knows how to refuse the evil and choose the good, the land whose two kings you dread will be deserted.” But then the words became very personal. “The Lord will bring upon you and upon your people and upon your father's house such days as have not come since the day that Ephraim departed from Judah—the king of Assyria!”

Do you see the result of the king’s lack of faith in God? The judgement previously pronounced upon the coalition forces was now extended to Judah as well. And the very one Ahaz trusted, the kingdom of Assyria, would be the instrument of God’s judgement. The treaty itself would become a burden as Assyria levied heavy taxation on Judah.

The consequences of sin are heavy indeed. To trust in anything other than God comes with a very high price tag.

But as you well know, God is not only a God of judgement…he is primarily a God of mercy and grace and therefore woven into the very fabric of this grim prophecy is an element of hope. God would preserve his people amid judgement. Where Ahaz refused a sign, God provided a sign himself…one which would have a double fulfilment. “Therefore the Lord himself will give you a sign. Behold, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son and shall call his name Immanuel.”

Ahaz dismissed God as an uninterested, impotent, and distant Deity…one who was either not able or not interested enough to direct the affairs of history, let alone assist in a moment of national crisis. And so, if God was removed, the king might as well get on with the job of being king and run his country along the political rules of logic. No faith, no trust, just political wheeling and dealing, all the while selling his people down the line.

But God is not removed! He is Immanuel…God with us…he is involved in every aspect of human existence…he upholds all things by the word of his power and turns the hearts of people whichever way he wills. At some point in life, everyone will come to know this and experience it first-hand…hopefully during this life.

God has not abandoned his creation…he has not abandoned us…he is not distant or uninterested. The coming of Jesus proves that God is intimately interested and involved in our lives. None of us may do and live as we please…we are all accountable to God and we will all answer to him in this life or the next. There are no number of doors we can close and no number of lights we can turn off to hide from him.

He is Immanuel…God with us…and so Isaiah added that though Judah would suffer the consequences of Ahaz’s lack of faith and trust, God would cause a faithful remnant to return from exile to the Promised Land. But the prophecy had more than one fulfilment in mind. Yes, Isaiah’s young wife conceived and bore a son, and yes, before that child was weaned the coalition Ahaz feared had collapsed, but the words of God were not limited to that application. Hundreds of years later, a virgin conceived…this time not from a man, but by the overshadowing of the Holy Spirit. She conceived a Child that would truly be Immanuel…God with us. 

But as Isaiah’s prophecy applied to his generation as well as to generations later, his words can be applied to us as well. How many of us have not faced at least one crisis this past year? Some of us have come through unscathed, but others may still be struggling to understand why God would allow something so difficult or so painful to happen to his children. Some may be confused by his apparent indifference to the many awful recent events that happen almost on a daily basis in this troubled world of ours. 

But God is not indifferent. As he revealed to Ahaz, so he reveals to us his immanence…he is Immanuel. While adversity may be inevitable in this fallen, broken world, he has promised us a peace in the very midst of our worst trials…a peace that transcends logic as it is based on faith and trust in who our God is…a God of truth and justice, of righteousness and goodness, of mercy, grace, and love…and a God who always knows what is best. 

Our God never downplays or denies our struggles…but he does promise an inner sanctity that leads to an inner sanity…serenity now and serenity always. How do we know this? Well, because we have his Word and because we have his Sign…we have Immanuel…God with us and in us and he is our hope of eternal glory. Through his victory, we have victory…through his death we have life…eternal life.

So the message to Ahaz echoes on down through the ages to us here today. Don’t worry about the coalition forces lined up against you…whatever they may be. Shift your focus from your adversity and your adversary and see who is with you…see the one who is before you, behind you, beside you, beneath you, above you, and within you. Turn and focus on the one who calls himself Immanuel…God with us…and trust him because he has promised never to leave you nor forsake you.

Shall we pray?

© Johannes W H van der Bijl 2025

A Christmas Reflection: Windmills, Faith, and the Power of Passing It On

Johann and Louise: Training Disciples to Make Disciples in the Netherlands

As Christmas approaches, Louise and I want to pause and say thank you. Your prayers, encouragement, and generosity have made it possible for us to continue the work God has entrusted to us here. We truly could not do this without you. This year, instead of only writing, we wanted to share a bit of our hearts with you through two short videos. In the first video, I reflect on something that has deeply shaped the place where we serve: Schermer Lake. Centuries ago, the lake was not drained all at once. Instead, it was drained incrementally, by 52 windmills, each doing its part, steadily and faithfully, until the land was transformed. That image has become a powerful picture for how we understand disciple-making. Louise and I are simply the first windmill, passing on the Gospel to others, who then pass it on again and again. Real change doesn’t usually happen through one dramatic moment, but through faithful people, empowered by God, multiplying what they have received. We are seeing this take place, one life at a time, and it is deeply encouraging. https://youtu.be/6GBGBeW9JAQ?si=dyPjv_tOXvZdx6GG In the second video, Louise shares her personal testimony, how she came to faith, and how that faith has sustained her through some of the hardest seasons of our lives. Her story is one of God’s faithfulness, even when circumstances were overwhelming. We pray that her testimony will encourage you, especially if you are walking through uncertainty or hardship yourself. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=KDxigN-cKJg As we look ahead to 2026, we sense God calling us to continue and to deepen this work. If you feel led to partner with us more intentionally through increased or new financial support, we would be profoundly grateful. Every gift, large or small, is another “windmill” helping the Gospel move forward in ways that only God can fully measure. We know these are uncertain times. With so much talk of war and division in the world, the message of Christ’s peace, grace, and reconciling love feels more urgent than ever. Thank you for standing with us as we seek to live and share that message faithfully. From our hearts to yours, we wish you a blessed Christmas and a New Year filled with God’s grace, love, and peace. With gratitude and hope, Johann & Louise   Support Us Johann and Louise spent two years helping to develop the St. Frumentius Seminary in Gambella, Ethiopia. They then worked in Southern Africa, serving in seven southern African countries, while continuing to work with the Diocese of Egypt, North Africa through engaging in a disciple making movement in order to grow the body of Christ. They are now serving in Heiloo, the Netherlands. We are sent  through the Society of Anglican Missionaries and Senders, a missionary sending community, engaging in building relationships with the worldwide church to experience the broken restored, the wounded healed, the hungry fed, and the lost found through the love and power of Jesus Christ.  Support SAMS

Copyright © 2016 Society of Anglican Missionaries and Senders, All rights reserved. www.sams-usa.org      Our mailing address is: PO Box 399 Ambridge PA 15003 Attention to: Johann and Louise van der Bijl Want to change how you receive these emails? You can update your preferences or unsubscribe from this list

The Greatest Gift

The Greatest Gift

We often speak about gifts, especially in seasons of celebration, but Scripture invites us to ask a deeper question:

What do we give to the One who has given us everything?

I recently wrote a poem that opens with that very question:

“O Source of all that’s good and true, what offering can I bring

For him, the Gift of gifts, your Son – eternal, reigning King?”

This is the posture of true worship. We come before God not with assumptions, but with humility. We quickly realize that nothing we offer originates with us. Every good and perfect gift comes from him. And yet, God did not demand…God gave.

“Not made but born, not forced but sent, my proxy and my peace.”

Jesus was not created; he was incarnated. He was not coerced but willingly sent. He came as our representative…our substitute…and our peace. Paul tells us in Philippians 2 that Jesus “made himself nothing,” stooping from unimaginable heights to rescue souls like yours and mine. This stooping down…this great emptying of himself is the beginning of the Greatest Gift.

And so, the next movement of the poem draws us deeper into the mystery of divine love:

“His love exceeds all finite thought, his emptying unknown.”

We can explain doctrines, but we cannot exhaust his love. The incarnation is not simply a theological concept…it is a wonder. The King leaving his throne, not to merely visit the lost, but to claim them as his own.

“To raise the earthbound sons of men where only God may go.”

This is the miracle of grace: not only forgiveness, but elevation. In Jesus, we are lifted up, adopted, seated with him, welcomed into the presence of God. He did not only come down to us; he brings us up with him.

Then the poem turns deeply personal:

“When I could not ascend to him, he came on wings of grace.”

This is the gospel in one line. We could not climb our way up to God…no ladder of morality or effort would reach him. So he came to us.

“He met me in the ash and rust and gently kissed my face.”

This paints a picture of divine tenderness. God does not recoil from our brokenness…ash and rust being the consequences of destruction and decay…God doesn’t recoil from our brokenness. He meets us there in the mess of it all. Where deity and dust…where divinity and humanity were once divided, Jesus bound the breach…he is fully God and fully man…reconciling heaven and earth in his own Person.

The final verse leads us to the cross:

“No wit of mine, no will defined can seek the path once trod.”

You see, salvation is not discovered by intelligence or discipline…it is revealed in a Person.

“Yet Wisdom came in infant form, the saving Lamb of God.”

The cradle always pointed to the cross. He bore our sin, he carried our guilt, he shed his blood, and clothed us in a righteousness we could never earn. The Greatest Gift was not only given…it was given for you.

And so we end where Scripture itself leads us, echoing the ancient proclamation of Isaiah:

“For unto us a child is born, to us a son is given,

The weight of all the world he bears, the King of earth and heaven.

He is the great and mighty God, our hope that will not cease,

He reigns with truth and righteousness, our everlasting Peace.”

This is the gift beyond all gifts…Jesus Christ, given, not taken; received, not earned.

May our appropriate response be worship, gratitude, and lives surrendered to the One who gave us everything.

The Greatest Gift

O Source of all that’s good and true, what offering can I bring

For him, the Gift of gifts, your Son – eternal, reigning King?

Not made but born, not forced but sent, my proxy and my peace,

He stooped from heights unsearchable to grant my soul release.

His love exceeds all finite thought, his emptying unknown,

He left his throne to lift the lost and claim us as his own.

The Wonder of all wonders this: that he should come so low,

To raise the earthbound sons of men where only God may go.

When I could not ascend to him, he came on wings of grace,

He met me in the ash and rust and gently kissed my face.

When deity and dust were worlds apart, estranged, confined,

He bound the breach in perfect bond – divine and flesh entwined.

No wit of mine, no will defined, can seek the path once trod,

Yet Wisdom came in infant form, the saving Lamb of God.

He wore my sin, he bore my guilt, he bled to make me whole,

And wrought for me a righteousness that saved my shrivelled soul.

Chorus:

For unto us a child is born, to us a son is given,

The weight of all the world he bears, the King of earth and heaven.

He is the great and mighty God, our hope that will not cease,

He reigns with truth and righteousness, our everlasting Peace.

© Johannes W H van der Bijl 2025

Standing Between Two Advents

Psalm 71:1–6, 17–21           Isaiah 11:1–10              Romans 15:4–9              Matthew 3:1–12

Standing Between Two Advents

“Blessed Lord, you caused all holy Scriptures to be written for our learning: Grant that we may in such wise hear them, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them, that by patience and comfort of your holy Word, we may embrace and ever hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life, which you have given us in our Saviour Jesus Christ. Amen.”

The Christian Calendar has not always begun with Advent. In the earliest centuries of the Church, the liturgical year naturally centred around Easter, the celebration of the resurrection of Jesus. In fact, the East still reflects this orientation: the Pascha cycle, the great journey from Lent to Easter, remains the heart from which the other seasons radiate.

In the West, however, by about the fourth to fifth century, the celebration of the Nativity of our Lord began to take on a central role. Western churches came to view the Incarnation as the dramatic starting point of God’s redeeming revelation, the moment when the eternal Word became flesh, the dawning of our salvation.

Still, the shape of the season we now call Advent took some time to develop. In parts of Spain and Gaul, because baptisms were often administered at Epiphany on January 6, churches instituted a period of penitential preparation beforehand. It began originally on St. Martin’s Day, November 11, and lasted roughly forty days, for obvious reasons. Advent was therefore not merely about preparing for Christmas, but it was also about preparing for baptism, it was about repentance, and it was about being ready for covenant entry into the body of Christ.

Later, Advent was shortened to the four weeks we observe today, beginning on the Sunday nearest St. Andrew’s Day, November 30, creating a season that stretched from the first Sunday of Advent to Christmas. The Feast of the Nativity now became the liturgical threshold between the first and second halves of the year, between Jesus’ coming into the world and his ongoing ministry in the world, until his second coming.

A trace of the older and longer Advent season is preserved in the historic Collect for the Sunday next before Advent, which uses the Latin word excita, translated as “stir up.” Just as an aside, in England, “Stir-up Sunday” eventually acquired a domestic meaning, especially in the 17th–19th centuries. Families would traditionally begin preparing their Christmas puddings that same day. Because the pudding mixture needed to be “stirred up” well in advance and take weeks to mature, the Collect was ironically a helpful reminder. Children and parents would gather around the mixing bowl and each person would take a turn stirring the pudding, while making a private wish or prayer. This practice made the Collect not just a church prayer, but a cultural memory, linking the rhythms of faith to the rhythms of family and, indeed, to the rhythms of a community.

Nevertheless, that same word excita, appears in the Collect for the fourth Sunday in Advent, translated as “raise up,” as if to summon the people of God toward heightened readiness, deeper longing, and more urgent holiness.

The other three historic Advent Collects are products of the sixteenth-century Reformation, where the emphasis is clearly upon the Word of God, its proclamation, its authority, and our need to be shaped by it. For this reason, on this Second Sunday in Advent, we still pray:

“Blessed Lord, you caused all holy Scriptures to be written for our learning: Grant that we may in such wise hear them, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them, that by patience and comfort of your holy Word, we may embrace and ever hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life, which you have given us in our Saviour Jesus Christ. Amen.”

That prayer situates us perfectly: between the First Advent and the Second Advent; between Jesus who came to save and Jesus who will come to judge; between the grace already given and the glory not yet fully revealed.

As believers before the incarnation were called upon by the prophets to prepare themselves for the coming of their King and for the commencement of his kingdom, so too are we called upon by the prophetic teaching of the Word to be prepared for his return and for the consummation of his kingdom. Throughout the Scriptures, the people of God were expected to live holy lives in constant readiness to meet their holy God, yet we who stand between the two Advents, have more than all believers prior to the incarnation. At his first advent Jesus came to purify his people so that they might offer to him an offering in righteousness. This he accomplished by dying in our stead on the cross. He was born so that he might die. He died so that we might be born again. We have been born again in him so that we might die to self and live for him.

A good example of this process of self-mortification, if you will, is seen in Psalm 71. The Psalm is not the prayer of a young and untried believer, but of one who has lived long with God. It is the voice of a saint who has known deliverance and trouble, hope and fear:

“In you, O Lord, do I take refuge; let me never be put to shame! In your righteousness deliver me and rescue me; incline your ear to me and save me! Be to me a rock of refuge, to which I may continually come; you have given the command to save me, for you are my rock and my fortress.”

The psalmist was not merely seeking protection from enemies; he was seeking identity in God. In like manner, Advent reminds us who we are; not people anchored in culture, politics, or prosperity, but people anchored in God’s covenant promises.

Notice: “For you, O Lord, are my hope, my trust, O Lord, from my youth. Upon you I have leaned from before my birth; you are he who took me from my mother's womb. My praise is continually of you….O God, from my youth you have taught me, and I still proclaim your wondrous deeds. So even to old age and grey hairs, O God, do not forsake me, until I proclaim your might to another generation, your power to all those to come.”

This is not generic spirituality. This is a relationship, enlarged by time and deepened by trials. Advent presses upon us the same question:

Where do we place our hope while we wait?

Because Advent is waiting. It is a holy restlessness. It is the acknowledgement that the world, as it is, cannot satisfy, and that the church, as she is, cannot rest. We wait not because God is delayed, but because God is preparing us and working in and through us.

And so the psalmist prayed in his older years, “You shall revive me again… You will bring me up again” (71:20). Advent is a season of reviving hope…of reviving certainty…of reviving faith. Perhaps the elderly believer understands this better than the young: God’s future work is not less certain than his past work, in fact, it is more certain because of his past work. 

The First Advent is proof that our hope is not imaginary. The Second Advent is assurance that our hope is not yet fulfilled.

Now, if Psalm 71 expresses the longing of the believer, Isaiah 11 presents the answer to that longing. “A shoot shall come forth from the stump of Jesse,” Isaiah wrote.

At the time, Israel seemed cut down to a stump, politically shattered, spiritually compromised, exiled under judgment. Yet God promised new growth, not from David’s glory, but from his father Jesse’s roots, for in humble origins lay hidden power.

This is how God works:

Salvation always begins in obscurity. Hope begins in weakness. Redemption begins in humility. The Messiah would come in the fullness of the Spirit with wisdom and understanding, counsel and might, knowledge and fear of the Lord.

Every political slogan, every cultural promise, every new human reform pales in comparison, because the Messiah is not merely a ruler with good ideas; he is a ruler with God’s Spirit, ruling in righteousness and in graciousness and in power.

Isaiah said: “He shall not judge by what his eyes see.”

His justice is not based on optics, popularity, or polls. He sees the heart. He sees truth. He sees falsehood. He corrects the proud. He lifts the poor. And with a breath of his lips…one word from the Word…he strikes wickedness.

And then the prophet gives us that magnificent, impossible image: a wolf with a lamb, a leopard with a goat, a child with a serpent. Not because nature is improved… but because creation is redeemed and restored. The Messiah does not simply fix us. He remakes the world.

Dearest beloved brethren, Advent is the season when we recall that as the Messiah has come as promised, he will surely come again as promised. The realisation of the first coming proves that the second is inevitable.

In Romans 15, Paul tied the imagery of Psalm 71 and Isaiah 11 together and applied them directly to our lives as he so frequently did with other Old Testament Scriptures.

“Whatever was written in former days,” he said, “was written for our instruction.”

For Paul, the Old Testament was not a museum of religious artifacts. No, for him it was the living voice of God, feeding hope into weary hearts. Paul said we receive “patience and comfort” from the holy Word. That means waiting is not an accident. It is a discipline.

And what is the fruit of this discipline? Well, Paul said it was “…that we might have hope.” Not optimism, not sentiment, not pious feelings, but hope…hope rooted in the historical acts of God.

Just as the first Advent of Jesus fulfilled the promises God made to Israel, so his first Advent extended mercy to the Gentiles. Quoting from Isaiah, the Psalms, Deuteronomy, and again from Isaiah, Paul made it clear that the result of the first Advent was that the Gentiles might rejoice with his people.

Jew and Gentile together, not two peoples but one united body, singing the same song of redemption…because Advent is not tribal hope. It is universal hope. The Messiah is the desire of the nations.

Listen again to Paul’s prayer: “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing…” Not after he returns, mind you, but right now. This is the posture of the Church between the Advents: our eyes ever looking toward heaven, our feet firmly positioned in the Word, our hands on the Gospel plough, our hearts fixed on his promises.

But approaching the first Advent, Israel first heard the cry of John the Baptist…a dusty, wild, uncompromising man, standing at the edge of history announcing the imminent arrival of the King.

John’s words were not soft words. They were pointed and direct: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.”

You see, Advent is not merely comfort. It is also confrontation. The King is coming and we need to be prepared.

John called Israel to repentance because the presence of God demands purity. We cannot enter the kingdom with unexamined hearts. Nor should we stroll into Advent with sentimentality or complacency.

John’s message was violent in its honesty: Trees without fruit will be cut down. Chaff will be burned with unquenchable fire. False religion will not survive.

But in all this fire and brimstone preaching, do not miss his humility: “I am not worthy to carry his sandals,” he said.

The greatest prophet willingly stepped aside because the King himself was near…the lesser made way for the greater for though John baptized with water, an outward sign of repentance, Jesus baptizes with the Holy Spirit and fire, the inward transformation of the heart.

At his first Advent Jesus purified a people for himself. At his second he will perfect them. He was born so that he might die. He died so that we might be born again. We were born again so that we might die to self and live for him.

And so we stand, dearest beloved brethren, between two Advents: The Advent of mercy, and the Advent of majesty. The first was in humility. The second will be in glory. The first was the Kingdom inaugurated. The second will be the Kingdom consummated.

So what do we do while we wait?

In the Collect for this Second Sunday in Advent we pray with genuine hearts: “Grant that we may hear, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest the Scriptures…”

If we allow the Word to shape our hope, purify our loves, and transform our lives, we will live as people prepared; not panic-stricken, but holy; not frantic with news cycles, but rooted in God’s promises; not naive about evil, but confident in the King who defeats it.

In Jesus we have confidence, vision, purity, but also an urgency. He is coming. But of that day and that hour no one knows. So, we must be prepared.

This is the message of Advent: a people longing, a people waiting, a people ready.

And as the saints before the Incarnation were called by the prophets to prepare for the coming King, so we who live between two Advents stand under the same divine summons:

“Prepare the way of the Lord.”

Shall we pray?

© Johannes W H van der Bijl 2025