Advent begins with longing—with God’s people sitting in the dark and remembering what it means to wait. And when we look back through the Old Testament, we discover that this longing isn’t new; it’s been woven into the story since Eden. From the garden to the patriarchs, from Moses to David, from the poets to the prophets, Scripture builds a rising expectation: Someone is coming.

Today, as we begin the Advent season, we’re going to trace that hope through the pages of the Bible—not just to appreciate the gift we received when Christ came the first time, but to rekindle our anticipation for what his return will bring.

First Samuel 11 drops God’s people into a moment of real vulnerability: a city surrounded, a nation unsure, and a threat far greater than their ability to handle. Yet this chapter showcases a familiar pattern woven throughout Scripture—when human strength runs out, God’s deliverance steps in. The events at Jabesh-gilead remind the church today that overwhelming pressures, persistent fears, and seemingly unwinnable battles do not signal defeat. Instead, they highlight the need for the One who rescues, restores, and leads his people forward. As Israel cried out for help, received the salvation only God could provide, and gathered to celebrate his intervention, their story becomes a lens through which to view every modern struggle. This passage invites God’s people to anticipate his deliverance, recognize his hand when it arrives, and mark his faithfulness with grateful celebration.

There’s a kind of judgment in the Bible that doesn’t come as fire or thunder. It comes when God steps back and lets people have exactly what they keep reaching for. Most have tasted a little of that in their own lives—a job that seemed perfect but slowly hollowed life out, a choice that looked wise until consequences started piling up, a desire that promised joy but delivered something thinner and sharper. It raises an uncomfortable question: what if getting what the heart insists on isn’t always a blessing? In Scripture, God sometimes lets people walk into the future they’re determined to build, not to crush them, but to show how fragile those hopes actually are. These moments reveal whether trust rests on God or on something that can’t hold the weight placed on it. And that tension sits right at the centre of this passage.

We all want clarity in a confusing world—leaders we can trust, plans that make sense, and some sign that God is still in control. But what do we do when everything feels uncertain? When leaders disappoint us, when our own choices go wrong, and when God seems silent? In 1 Samuel 9–10, we meet Saul—an ordinary man from an ordinary family on an ordinary errand—who finds himself caught up in God’s extraordinary plan.

Through lost donkeys, chance encounters, and reluctant obedience, we see that God’s purposes are never lost, even when his people are. This passage invites us to trust the quiet, steady hand of God—to rest in his gracious rule when life feels aimless—and to believe that his redemptive work continues through ordinary people and everyday moments.

In 1 Samuel 8, Israel asks for a king “like all the nations,” revealing a temptation that still confronts us today: to trust what we can see rather than the God we cannot. The people were drawn to human leadership—Samuel’s aging authority, the failures of his sons, the stability and power of surrounding nations—because it promised security, predictability, and control. Yet human rulers are fallible: they take, they exploit, and they fail. Even the best leaders eventually show cracks, and every system built on human strength alone will disappoint.

This passage challenges us to see the difference between visible, fragile leadership that takes and the invisible, faithful rule of God, who provides, sustains, and defends His people. It calls us to walk by faith, not by sight, and to learn to trust in the unseen King rather than the rulers we can measure and manage.

Sermon from October 26th, 2025 service. Godsgrace Agu preaching.

We live in a world that doesn’t like kings. We prefer freedom, autonomy, and the right to rule ourselves. We want control—over our choices, our image, our future. But deep down, every one of us serves something. It might be ambition, comfort, fear, or the approval of others, but none of us is truly throne-less. Someone—or something—reigns in our hearts. The question is, who?

Israel wrestled with that same question long ago. They had all the signs of religion, all the rituals of devotion, yet they lived as if God’s throne were empty. And it cost them dearly. But then, in one remarkable chapter, everything began to change. First Samuel 7 describes a people learning again what it means to live under the rule of the Almighty—and what happens when they finally let God reign.

If the “fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom” (Prov. 9:10), then we must admit: sometimes we act like fools. Many believers treat God with frivolity and approach him casually. We prefer a God who feels approachable, familiar, and even manageable. We like his love, his mercy, and his patience. But his holiness? His untameable majesty? His uncompromising purity? That feels too invasive and too judgmental. So, we smooth the edges, softening God and tailoring him to our preferences and sensitivities.

The result is a tepid Christianity that speaks easily of grace but trembles not at glory, a Christianity in which reverence is rare, and awe is replaced by ease. But the God of the Bible will not be domesticated, manipulated, or disregarded. He is sovereign. He is holy. And the only right response is to bow before him.

Sermon from October 05, 2025 service. Cliff Donaldson preaching.

Imagine carrying a golden box, believing it alone could guarantee your victory. Silly, right? Yet in 1 Samuel 4, Israel treated the ark of the covenant like a divine good-luck charm, hoping to force God’s hand and wield his power—and the cost was catastrophic. Thousands died, the priesthood collapsed, and the glory of God departed from their midst. This story isn’t just ancient history—it’s a warning to us. We can be quick to use God’s name, pray the right prayers, check the right boxes, or follow the right rituals, assuming his blessing will automatically follow. Today, we’ll see the danger of presumption, the heartbreak of God stepping back, and the hope of his invitation: to pursue him with humility, obedience, and wholehearted trust. The question is urgent: will we seek intimacy with God—or merely use him for utility?