Advent Love - When God Pitched a Tent

At this time of year, love feels everywhere. You only have to glance at the Christmas film list on Netflix to see that being with loved ones sits at the centre of the season. But love is also found in quieter, more grounded places, in the everyday interactions we barely register. It comes in all shapes and sizes and is expressed in different ways.

‘Love languages’ has become a popular way of describing how we give and receive this love: acts of service, physical touch, words of affirmation, gifts, and quality time. My family have got it tricky because all five are up there for me. Although my son wrote in my birthday card this year that he loves my ‘insatiable hunger for family time’, quality time may just be at the top.

It strikes me that Jesus understood something about our love language long before we named it. We needed to see love lived out in action and spoken out loud. We needed God to spend time with us, to walk alongside us, to care about the marginalised, to laugh and cry together, and to touch wounded hands. The incarnation is love made tangible.

But not everyone experiences love in a positive way, and Christmas can be painfully complicated. Last year was my first without both my parents, and this year the absence feels sharper still. For some, love is not a safe or helpful word at all because it has been distorted by harm, loss, or disappointment, and those who once loved them have left them lonely.

That is why the incarnation matters so much. God does not arrive with a tidy version of love, neatly packaged and easy to receive. Jesus comes into the mess, grief, and absence of this world. Into noisy families and lonely tables, and into places where love has been misunderstood, withheld, or even weaponised. This kind of love does not demand that we feel joyful or festive and it does not insist that we have the right words or the right emotions. It simply sits with us, notices us, and stays. Love came down and dwelt amongst us.

Which leads us to John 1, where we are told that Jesus came to dwell with us. In this passage, as many of you will know, Greek the word for ‘dwell’ echoes the Old Testament idea of God tabernacling amongst the people. Put in modern terms, Jesus came to pitch a tent in our back garden. Here is a good sermon trick: get a pop-up one or two person tent and literally pitch it in the church during your sermon. The pop-up part makes it dramatic!

But what if you woke up one morning, drew the curtains, and saw a tent pitched in your garden? Most of us would be annoyed and some might be curious, but all of us would likely want to know what was going on. It would feel like an interruption, even an invasion.

But, Jesus did pitch his tent in our midst all those years ago, God’ presence was with us, and yes, he did interrupt our lives by making a home in our world and we haven’t been the same for over 2,000 years.

The image shifts again when we remember how Jesus came to be among us. He was born into a family forced to travel by their oppressors, and once born, forced to flee and live as refugees in another country. Jesus knew what it was to make a home in foreign lands. He is a God who understands displacement and cares deeply for the marginalised. This kind of tent pitching gives fresh meaning to ‘God with us’, especially in a world marked by forced migration and fear of the stranger. Love looks like being with, and walking alongside, those who are displaced.

So, what happens when love comes down and makes a home in our world, and in our lives? We are interrupted. God’s presence unsettles us. And yet, in the words of Luke, good news is proclaimed to the poor, prisoners are set free, sight is given to the blind, and God’s favour rests among us.

This Christmas, what would it look like for God to pitch a tent in your garden, farm, village, or neighbourhood?

This is the last reflection of the year. As we take a break for Christmas, may you know God’s love for your community and there is no expectation to be the jolliest as Jesus walks with us, sits with us, and dwells with us in the messiness.

We are loved.

Jo Allen

Joint CEO, Rural Ministries