Creation. Fall. Promise. The Long Road Begins.

Advent — the four-week season leading up to Christmas — invites us to look toward Bethlehem, but the road there is much longer than we often think about. Before shepherds and angels, before Mary’s song or Joseph’s dream, the story that leads to the birth of Christ begins all the way back in Genesis. This season we are walking a series called The Long Road to Bethlehem, tracing the path of God’s redeeming work through creation, fall, slavery in Egypt and deliverance, exile in Babylon and return, the long silence before the Messiah, and finally the manger where hope takes on flesh.

The journey begins in a garden.

“In the beginning,” Scripture says, “God created the heavens and the earth.” With each movement of creation — light from darkness, sky from waters, land from sea, life blossoming in every corner — God speaks a blessing over it: good. Again and again, the refrain echoes across the newly formed world. And then, when God creates humanity in His own image, entrusts us with His world, and breathes His own life into us, the word changes: very good.

We don’t hear that often enough. God did not create out of need or loneliness. He created out of overflowing love — like a couple who welcomes a child not because something is missing, but because love expands when it is shared. Creation itself is an act of generous, intentional love. The universe is gift. Humanity is gift. You are gift.

Look around your own life and the traces of that original goodness appear everywhere — the colors of autumn, a clear winter sky, the laugh of someone dear to you, the quiet wonder of being alive. These everyday joys belong to the blessing spoken over creation from the beginning. We were made to receive them.

But the story doesn’t stay there.

Genesis 3 introduces us to the world we recognize all too well — a world in which trust is fragile, shame comes quickly, and fear runs deep. The serpent whispers a question designed to plant doubt in the heart: “Did God really say…?” Suddenly, the God who walked with them in the garden feels suspect. Withholding. Untrustworthy.

And Adam and Eve decide to decide for themselves.

It is such a small act on the surface — a piece of fruit taken and eaten — but Scripture lets us see the deeper truth. Sin is not merely breaking a rule. Sin is breaking trust. It is believing the lie that God is not good. It is choosing our own limited understanding over the love and wisdom of the One who made us.

And the moment they eat, everything shifts. Their eyes are opened, but not in the way they hoped. Shame rushes in. Fear follows. The desire to hide takes root. For the first time ever, when they hear the sound of the Lord walking in the garden, they do not run toward Him.
They run away.

That single moment changes every moment after it. It’s a world familiar to us. Shame still drives us into hiding. Fear still narrows our vision. Brokenness still touches every corner of our lives — our relationships, our bodies, our thoughts, our sense of self. We were created for harmony and joy. Instead, we live in its absence.

And still, God comes toward us.

“Adam, where are you?” Those are the first divine words spoken after the fall. Not a shout. Not condemnation. A question. A seeking. A God who refuses to let His children stay hidden in their fear.

Then, before Adam or Eve can form a confession, before they know what to ask, God speaks hope:

One day a descendant of the woman will crush the serpent’s head.
The brokenness will not have the last word. Evil will not stand forever.
The very act that shattered the world will be undone by grace.

Right there — in the middle of hiding and shame — Advent begins. The first promise of Christmas is spoken not in Israel, but in Eden. The long road to Bethlehem starts with a God who says, “I’m going to fix this.”

Then comes something remarkably tender. Adam and Eve had tried to cover themselves — their nakedness and shame — with fig leaves, a woefully inadequate and all-too-temporary covering. So God makes garments of skin for them: real covering, durable and protective. It is the first hint that love and renewal will cost God something. The life of one of God’s creatures is taken to cover human shame. It’s a quiet foreshadowing of Christ, the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world.

Then God sends them out of the garden. Though it may seem like punishment, even this is mercy. It is protection. God will not allow them to eat from the tree of life and live forever in their brokenness. He desires something better. A redeemed eternity. A restored creation. A home where shame and hiding are no more.

So the road continues.

Creation. Fall. Promise.
Each step reveals a God who seeks us, provides for us, protects us, and refuses to abandon us even when we turn away.

That same God is still at work in the world today. Advent whispers to us the same truth spoken in Eden:

God is coming for you.
God is already moving toward you with mercy.
God has made a way home.

The long road to Bethlehem begins in a garden, but it ends with a Savior who comes to find us, cover us, restore us, and lead us back to Himself. And that is where hope takes on flesh.

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In the coming weeks, The Long Road to Bethlehem will take us through slavery in Egypt, where God’s people suffered through no fault of their own and God delivered them; through the Babylonian exile, where they suffered as a consequence of their own choices; and through 400 years of silence, when no prophet arose. Each of these mirrors seasons in our own lives. Walk with me through Advent as we explore them together. It’s a long road to Bethlehem, but it is a road marked with love, redemption, and new life.