The God of the Cosmos turns our “awake and save us” back toward us. He says, “I am awake. Now you wake up and be saved.” We cry out for his help, and the grace and goodness of God is that he reaches out in power to give it.

The uncomfortable message of Jesus is that the Son of Man — the glorious King, the promised Messiah — has not come to primarily to save his people from their difficult circumstances… from Rome, from powerful men with evil in their hearts, from the broken systems of injustice… not yet. First, he comes to save his people from themselves.

If we understand what Paul is saying here, we actually will have the internal delight and quiet confidence that we think of when we use the words “joy” and “peace”, but it’s important to understand that we’re not called to have that state in spite of our circumstances but because of them. Because Jesus really is that good and kind and lovely, because the deepest powers of the universe really are at work on our behalf… that’s where our peace and joy come from.

We are citizens of Jesus’ kingdom, called to live here on earth like people whose whole identity is caught up in our King. As a result, we live as people whose law, values, rights, and obligations are defined by a totally different standard than the people around us.

We don’t earn our status before God, we don’t obtain it through our own strivings, rather we come to Jesus, the center of all things, and at his feet we kneel, cast all things aside, and trust ourselves completely to him.

The good news for us is is that we will, by the power and goodness of God himself, become more and more Jesus shaped in every way—in our hearts and their affections, in our minds and the way we think, and in the conduct of our lives.

Paul is full of joy because he can see that his service to the gospel is bringing glory to the Messiah, and so he can be confident that his life is going exactly how it’s supposed to go. Whether he lives or dies, he proclaims Jesus either way.

Jesus shows us love that dignifies, that speaks truth, and that treats even his enemies as people—as image bearers, as those created by God and called by God to good purposes, even if they refuse to treat him in that way. He came to show the Father’s love, and made himself low to raise us up.

Jesus is the man the psalmist celebrates, and he is the “blessed one” spoke of in the beatitudes. He the man who walks not in the council of the wicked, the tree planted by streams of water. And his blessing looks like an all-powerful king descending into poverty; it looks like a man who mourns the consequences of a rebellion he did not authorize, so that the very ones who hate him might enter into joy. Jesus becomes poor to make us rich, and he invites us into a life that looks like his.

When Jesus shows up and invites us into the blessing of obedience, it’s likely to feel at the moment like a burden. But if we trust him, and say yes to his good plans, we will find that he gives us good things—often even better than what we thought we wanted.

In Christ—the fulfillment of the law and the fulfillment of Israel's calling—God accomplishes the promise and the purpose of the law and of Israel. In him, the God of Israel reconciles himself with the people of all nations, humans who have been so twisted by sin that even when we encounter his goodness our impulse is often to recoil from him so we can maintain our own illusion of control.

Here we have the hard and overwhelming word—all roads must lead us to this one and to him alone: Jesus of Nazareth, the Son of God, who comes to proclaim good news to the poor. And the good news he proclaims is himself. He comes to set at liberty those who are oppressed, and the Liberty is him and only him. "Today, in your hearing" this word is fulfilled.

God has been preparing a great celebration and he invites us, not because we have anything to bring, but because "as the bridegroom rejoices over the bride, so shall your God rejoice over you".

But this beloved one, this chosen one —the very Son of God—even as he comes to bring justice, establish righteousness, and to weigh in the balance every grief, transgression, and wrong act that opposes the goodness of God… even in that, he comes in mercy. The sinless one steps into the waters of repentance, not because he has wrong from which to repent but because he's come to carry the weight of the wrong for us.

Jesus comes to give us power and authority and freedom — to give us the right to become children of God. There is no power unless it is granted by God — we have no ability to force ourselves into God's family, no power to command him, or to demand from him. But Jesus comes, to give it freely. An invitation into a new family, and it just so happens that the Father of this family is the King of the Universe and the God of the Cosmos.

When God comes, he does so not in power, riches, and glory, but in humble obscurity, "despised and rejected.” Why? Mary knows. He does it out of mercy. He does it because he has seen us. Had he come as a great king, as a conquering warrior, with piles of gold and armies and beautiful garments, he would still be remote, distant, and unapproachable. But instead he comes all the way down into our darkness. "Surely he has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows.”

We're not supposed to be manufacturing peace, or manufacturing rejoicing — they flow from our location: which is "in the Lord.” Are you lacking joy? Are you lacking peace? Run to Jesus, friends. Run to him and in him you will find joy, and you will find peace. You cannot make them for yourself, and they are to be found in no other place.