A Thrill of Hope
Do you remember when Christmas trees towered overhead like giants and the holiday lights were so dazzling, you’d swear they could guide Santa all the way from the North Pole? It’s like as soon as the last bite of Thanksgiving dessert disappeared, a special kind of excitement would bubble up inside—starting as a gentle hum, then quickly building, racing you toward Christmas Day. Back then, it felt like December 25th would never actually arrive, no matter how much you wished for it.
Finally, it was December 24th and I couldn’t wait to get to my aunt and uncle’s house on Christmas Eve. Their place was pure magic—every corner sparkling, every ornament glowing, everything SO BIG when you’re little. When the presents from others were opened, and the party finally ended, my brothers and I would pile back into the car for what seemed the longest ride home in human history. Christmas Eve night had to be at least 36 hours long. I’d lie in bed staring at the ceiling, watching infomercials for miracle slicers and kitchen gadgets, praying they’d either put me to sleep or somehow fast-forward time to morning.
Whatever happened to those giant trees and blinding lights? Nothing, really. The trees are still the same height, and thanks to LEDs and new technology, the lights are actually brighter. So, what changed? Simply, we did. Somewhere along the way we grew up, and that wide-eyed, child-like Christmas wonder started slipping away. Sure, you get a little of it back when your own kids or grandkids come along, but it’s still different. Because now we’re the ones hauling the boxes out of the attic, fighting with tangled lights, shopping, wrapping, cooking, doing, doing, doing—until suddenly the hustle drowns out the holy.
Last Sunday was the first Sunday of Advent and I want to challenge us with this: let’s get that wonder back. Not just the nostalgia for bigger trees and brighter lights, but the soul-stirring awe of Jesus’ Advent—His coming into this world.
That’s what the word “Advent” actually means: coming. As believers, we can know the story inside-out, quote the theology, sing the carols—and still miss the presence of the One the season is about. I want this Christmas to feel different. I want us to wake up and sense that thrill of hope again.
I love the opening lines of “O Holy Night:”
“O holy night, the stars are brightly shining. It is the night of our dear Savior’s birth.
Long lay the world in sin and error pining, till He appeared and the soul felt its worth.
A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices, for yonder breaks a new and glorious morn…”
Friends, maybe the last couple of years have left a lot of us weary. But hear this: the thrill of hope is still ours to claim. Jesus, the Light of the World, still breaks into the darkness. So this Advent, let’s fall on our knees again. Let’s renew the wonder. Let’s watch for Him like kids waiting for Christmas morning—because He is coming. He came once in Bethlehem, and He keeps coming—into weary hearts, broken homes, and tired lives.
That’s the hope of Jesus – and the best news is He’s coming again. The first time He came, He came as a baby born in stable. The second time He comes, He’s coming a King of kings and Lord of lords. He’s coming to gather His people forever ever!
Matthew chapter 1 is where the New Testament bursts onto the scene with a genealogy that looks, at first glance, like the a skippable page in the Bible. Trust me—don’t skip it. Four hundred years of silence from heaven had just ended. God is about to speak again, and it begins with a family tree that’s messy, scandalous, and absolutely perfect.
Take a moment an read the genealogy HERE!
A Thrill of Hope
After four hundred years of heaven’s silence—no prophet, no fresh word, no burning bush—the very first line of the New Testament explodes onto the page like the opening chord of a song we’ve been dying to hear: “This is the genealogy of Jesus the Messiah, the son of David, the son of Abraham.”
Boom. Just like that, Matthew tells us exactly who this Baby is and why every heartbeat in Israel had been leaning forward for centuries.
Jesus = “The Lord saves.”
Christ = “The Anointed One,” the long-awaited King.
Son of David = He’s the promised Ruler who will sit on David’s throne forever.
Son of Abraham = He’s the promised Seed through whom every nation on earth will be blessed.
Matthew is writing to Jewish readers who know their “bibles” backward and forward. So with two names—David and Abraham—he’s shouting, “THIS IS HIM! The One the prophets circled in red! The One your grandmothers sang about while rocking you to sleep! The wait is over!”
Then he rolls out forty-two generations—like a red-carpet runner stretching all the way back to Abraham—to prove Jesus isn’t some latecomer or afterthought. He is the climax of a story God started writing 4,200 years earlier. Forty-two generations of promises, tears, exiles, and stubborn hope… and every single one was leading right here.
But can we just pause and get real for a second? Four hundred years is a long time to wait for a text message back from God. That’s fifteen generations of mamas praying the same prayer over their babies, fifteen generations of daddies scanning the horizon, wondering if they’d missed it, wondering if God had forgotten the promise.
And in those silent centuries, I guarantee somebody stood up in the synagogue and quoted Isaiah 55:8-9: “My thoughts are not your thoughts, neither are your ways my ways,” declares the Lord. “As the heavens are higher than the earth, so are my ways higher than your ways and my thoughts than your thoughts.”
Friends, aren’t you glad our God doesn’t think like us? If He operated on our timetable, on our logic, on our impatient, microwave, two-day-Amazon-Prime expectations, what kind of God would He be? A small one. A manageable one. A God who fits in our pocket instead of One who holds the universe in His.
No, thank the Lord His ways are higher! Thank the Lord His silence doesn’t mean absence—it means preparation. Thank the Lord that when He seems slowest, He’s actually being most faithful. Because here’s the gospel truth this genealogy screams from the rooftops: God keeps every single promise He ever made—even when it takes 42 generations—even when it takes 400 years of quiet.
Way back in Genesis 3, while Adam and Eve were still brushing fig leaves out of their hair, God promised a Seed who would crush the serpent’s head. And in Matthew 1, after 4,200 years of plot twists, exiles, and dark nights, God leans over heaven’s balcony and says, “Watch this.”
He hasn’t forgotten. He hasn’t forsaken. He’s not late. He’s right on time.
AND if He kept THAT promise—the biggest one, the hardest one, the longest one—then friends, we can trust Him with every promise still hanging in our own lives. Your waiting room is not a waste room. Your silence is not a sign of God’s indifference. It’s the quiet before the angels sing.
So this Christmas, let’s renew the thrill of hope. Because the God who broke 400 years of silence with a Baby’s cry is the same God who’s still writing your story—and He never, ever misses a deadline.
He’s faithful. He’s coming. And He’s worth the wait.
Friends, our God is FAITHFUL—capital F, underlined, bold, and italicized! It might not look the way you pictured. His rescue might show up long after you stopped checking the door. But He is faithful. He will never walk out on the story He started in you. Never. His promises don’t have an expiration date, and His love doesn’t come with a “too-late” clause. Don’t give up on Him—because He’s already promised He’ll never give up on you.
Let’s be honest: waiting stinks. Nobody grows up dreaming of mastering the art of waiting. We live in the drive-thru, two-day-shipping, high-speed-everything culture. We survived just fine without Wi-Fi in the ‘90s, but now if the little spinning wheel on our phone takes three extra seconds we’re ready to throw it across the room. We’ve been spoiled rotten by instant, and we’ve lost the muscle of patience.
Ever bailed on a line because it was moving too slow? Left the drive-thru because “I ain’t got time for this”? Hung up on customer service after the hold music hit the two-minute mark? Guilty. We give up on burgers, groceries, and phone calls in a heartbeat.
But here’s the good news that makes my heart want to shout: God will never give up on YOU. Never. Not for a second. 2 Peter 3:9 says it best: “The Lord is not slow in keeping his promise, as some understand slowness. Instead he is patient with you, not wanting anyone to perish, but everyone to come to repentance.”
He’s not slow—He’s patient. Some translations say “longsuffering.” I love that old word. It means He suffers long for you. He aches with you. He waits with you. He refuses to write you off, even when you’ve written yourself off a thousand times.
And Matthew’s genealogy is Exhibit A of God’s stubborn, patient, life-changing love.
Start at the top: Abraham. The father of faith? Sure. Also the guy who laughed in God’s face when He promised a baby, then tried to “help God out” by sleeping with Hagar. Epic fail. Yet God stayed patient, kept His promise, and ran the whole redemption plan right through Abraham’s family line.
Then David. Man after God’s own heart? Absolutely. Also an adulterer and a murderer who tried to cover his tracks with drunkenness and a battlefield setup. David’s rap sheet is ugly. Yet God looked at him and said, “That’s My king. That’s the bloodline My Son will come through.”
Bathsheba isn’t even called by name—she’s listed as “Uriah’s wife.” A walking reminder of shame and scandal. Yet God weaves her right into the story of the Savior.
Tamar—dressed up and seduced her father-in-law. Rahab—professional prostitute from Jericho. Ruth—a Moabite outsider. And Mary—teenage girl with a pregnancy story nobody in town believed.
These aren’t the polished poster-children of righteousness. These are broken, doubting, scandal-soaked, ordinary people who had every reason to think God was done with them.
But God said, “Watch Me work.”
Here’s what this family tree screams louder than any Christmas carol:
God is staggeringly patient. He refuses to give up on people the world has already written off.
God delights in changing lives. He takes the ordinary and makes it extraordinary. He takes the shattered and makes it shine. He takes the messed-up and makes it Messiah-carrying.
Friends, if God can use a laughing doubter, a murderous king, a prostitute, and a teenage girl with a questionable story to bring Jesus into the world, then there is no résumé bad enough, no past dark enough, no failure big enough to disqualify you from being used by Him.
He loves to take broken crayons and still color something beautiful. He loves to take cracked pots and carry living water anyway. He loves to take people who feel like leftovers and seat them at the King’s table.
And the best part? He doesn’t just fix you once and walk away. He keeps changing you, keeps healing you, keeps using you—your whole life long.
Beloved, maybe 2025 has already kicked you in the teeth. Maybe shame keeps whispering, “You’ve messed up too much. God’s done with you.” Maybe you’re staring at a situation that feels four-hundred-years-of-silence hopeless.
Hear me: That lie is straight from the pit. Your God is patient. Your God is powerful. Your God is in the business of turning broken stories into chapters of the greatest story ever told.
Christmas proves it: He sent Jesus—through that messy, magnificent bloodline—to say, “I’m not finished with you. In fact, I’m just getting started.”
So lift your head, church. Renew your hope. The same God who waited 42 generations, who suffered long through every scandal and setback, is the God who’s working in your life right now.
He’s faithful. He’s patient. He’s coming through.
This Christmas, He wants to break a little more heaven into your story. Anticipate that. Believe that. Live that. Because the God of Abraham, David, Tamar, Rahab, and Mary is still the God of YOU.
Friends, the same Spirit that hovered over Bethlehem is hovering over you. The same God who broke four hundred years of silence with a baby’s first cry is whispering your name today.
That genealogy we just read? It’s not ancient history—it’s your invitation. Every scandal, every wait, every impossible twist in that list was God saying, “I’m not scared of your mess. I’m not shocked by your failures. I’m not done with your story.” And today He’s saying it again—louder, clearer, closer than ever: “I chose you. I’m patient with you. I’m coming for you.”
So, here’s where the rubber meets the road. I invite to action—right now,—because hope isn’t something you feel; it’s something you live.
Here are three ways to grab hold of this Christmas anticipation and never let go:
1. Repent and Receive. Some of you walked in here carrying guilt like an overloaded Christmas bag—too heavy, too ugly, too long overdue. Drop it. Right now. Jesus didn’t come for perfect people—He came through the imperfect ones to get to you. If you’ve never said yes to Jesus, or if you’ve been running from Him, today is your Bethlehem moment. He’s here. He’s knocking. Open the door.
2. Renew Your Wait. A lot of us are in the middle of our own 400-year silence. The diagnosis hasn’t changed. The prodigal hasn’t come home. The marriage is still hanging by a thread. The dream still feels dead. Don’t you dare quit watching the sky. Renew your anticipation. Start praying again like a kid on Christmas Eve—believing that what God promised, He’s still able to perform. His delay is not denial. His silence is not absence. He’s working. Keep watching. Keep hoping. Keep expecting.
3. Risk Being Used. God didn’t save you to sit. He saved you to send. Look around—this room is full of Tamars, Rahabs, Davids, and Marys—beautifully broken people He’s piecing back together. Who in your life needs to hear that God uses messed-up people? Who needs the thrill of hope this Christmas? Your coworker? Your neighbor? That family member who’s given up on God because they think God’s given up on them? Tell them your story. Tell them His story. Risk the invitation. God’s still adding names to the family tree—and yours might be the one He uses to bring somebody else home.
Friends, Christmas is not a season—it’s a collision. Heaven crashed into earth in a manger, and it’s crashing into you right now. Lift your hands, open your heart, and let’s pray like people who believe the promise is still on the way.
Lord Jesus, we’re tired of half-hearted, grown-up, going-through-the-motions Christmases. We want the wonder back. We want the thrill of hope to hit us so hard we can’t sleep Christmas Eve. Break our silence. Heal our brokenness. Renew our anticipation. Use our mess. And come quickly, King Jesus—first into these hearts, then back for Your people. We’re watching. We’re waiting. We’re ready. In the name of the One who was, who is, and who is to come— Amen and amen!
YOU ARE LOVED,
PASTOR PUSCH
