The gift that we need

Luke 1:5–10

5 In the time of Herod king of Judea there was a priest named Zechariah, who belonged to the priestly division of Abijah; his wife Elizabeth was also a descendant of Aaron. 6 Both of them were righteous in the sight of God, observing all the Lord’s commands and decrees blamelessly. 7 But they were childless because Elizabeth was not able to conceive, and they were both very old. 8 Once when Zechariah’s division was on duty and he was serving as priest before God, 9 he was chosen by lot, according to the custom of the priesthood, to go into the temple of the Lord and burn incense. 10 And when the time for the burning of incense came, all the assembled worshipers were praying outside.

If you found yourself face-to-face with Aladdin’s genie, what would you ask for? One wish for yourself. One for your family, one for the rest of the world.
 
That question reveals something important about us: we are very good at naming what we want, but not always clear about what we need. Christmas often magnifies this tension because we live surrounded by expectations, gifts, lights, traditions, miracles, and happiness. Scripture gently interrupts our fantasies and asks a deeper question: Where do we begin? We begin, Ecclesiastes reminds us, by remembering our Creator.
 
Christmas is not about magic replacing reality; unlike Aladdin or Santa Claus, the biblical story is not about wishes granted without cost, effort, faith, or commitment. Christmas is about God entering reality as it truly is, marked by suffering, waiting, faith, conviction, and prayer. It is about God giving not what we imagine, but what we need.
 
Luke places this story in a very real moment in history: “In the time of Herod, king of Judea.” This was a time of political oppression, spiritual silence, and social fear where God had not spoken through a prophet for centuries, and yet, Luke tells us that in this heavy silence, there lived an elderly couple, Zechariah and Elizabeth. They were people of faith, people of obedience, and people of deep loneliness. Faithful, yet childless, righteous, yet sorrowful; their story reminds us that Christmas begins not in ideal conditions, but in difficult times.
 
Luke is careful to emphasize continuity with Israel’s story. This is not a break from the past; it is its fulfillment. Zechariah belonged to the priestly division of Abijah, and Elizabeth descended from Aaron. Verse 6 is crucial: “Both of them were righteous before God, observing all the Lord’s commands and decrees blamelessly.” This does not mean they were perfect. It means they were covenant faithful and yet verse 7 introduces tension: “But they had no children… and both were very old.” In the ancient world, childlessness carried shame and was often misinterpreted as divine disfavor. Luke dismantles that theology because righteousness does not guarantee ease, and faithfulness does not exempt us from sorrow.
 
The phrase “righteous before God” (δίκαιοι ἐναντίον τοῦ θεοῦ) is deeply important. Their lives were measured by God’s standards, not public opinion. Luke contrasts external shame with internal faithfulness; this is core Advent theology: God often chooses people whose faithfulness is hidden, not celebrated. The word “blameless” (ἄμεμπτοι) does not mean pain-free; it means without hypocrisy; their faith and their lives were integrated, and what they believed shaped how they lived.
 
Then Luke moves us into the Temple where Zechariah is chosen by lot to offer incense, an honor many priests never experienced in their lifetime. This moment represents routine obedience, not spiritual ambition. Incense symbolized the prayers of the people rising to God, a mediation between heaven and earth. Verse 10 says: “And the whole multitude of the people were praying outside.” One priest inside. Many people are outside, and all are praying. God’s intervention begins during prayer, not performance, not during spectacle, but during faithful routine.
 
There is a story of a woman who woke every morning, brewed coffee, and prayed by the window for her adult son to return to faith. For years, nothing changed, no breakthrough. One day, she realized, “Prayer isn’t always about immediate results, it’s about staying present before God.” Luke 1:5–10 reminds us that prayers do not expire. They rise like incense, slowly, silently, but never unnoticed. God’s silence does not mean God’s absence.
 
So, we must ask: What do we wish for, and what do we truly need? Tangible or intangible? Temporary or everlasting? Impressive or ordinary? Overbearing or humble? Christmas answers clearly that God did not send a fantasy, but He sent His Son.
 
John Wesley was robbed by a thief after a service. The thief found little money, but Christian literature then, Wesley turned back, not to accuse, but to evangelize. Years later, a businessman came to thank Wesley, saying that the encounter led to his restoration. The gift Wesley offered was not money, but Christ, and that gift changed a life.
 
Luke 1:5–10 teaches us that God’s greatest work often begins in obscurity. Faithfulness matters even when prayers seem unanswered. God hears prayers prayed in silence; divine intervention often comes during ordinary worship; advent hope grows quietly, patiently, faithfully; before angels speak, before miracles happen, before Christ is revealed, there is prayer, obedience, and waiting, and God is present in all three.
 
So, this Christmas, ¿do you have what you want? Maybe yes or maybe not, but God knows what you need, and He has already sent it. In conclusion: To God be the glory.