Glory in Zion
This reflection is the conclusion of “A Messianic Advent,” a series exploring the first songs of the Messiah’s coming through the words of those who waited — and still wait — for Israel’s redemption.
Heavy with the Weight of Glory
On the night the Messiah was born, the heavens burst open, heavy with the weight of glory.
This was no soft shimmer of stars, but the crushing nearness of heaven itself invading the earth.
No wonder the shepherds trembled.
An angel’s voice thundered through the hills: “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you.”
Before the shepherds could even blink, the sky erupted. A multitude of the heavenly host appeared all around them—soldiers of light declaring victory before the battle had even begun:
“Glory to God in the highest heaven,
and on earth peace to those on whom His favor rests.”
In the biblical mind, to find favor in someone’s eyes is to be seen with affection—to be chosen, welcomed, embraced. In the birth of Messiah, the favor of God had come to rest again on his people through the covenant child.
The angels declared that the glory of the heavenly Zion had become the glory of the earthly Zion.
Heaven touched earth, and for one holy night, the two became one.
Heavy under the Weight of Transgression
Two thousand years later, we live beneath another kind of weight. Christmas calls us to joy, yet the world outside our doors trembles.
The earth, Isaiah said, “staggers like a drunkard… it sways like a hut in the wind; its transgression lies heavy upon it.” The same creation that once rang with angelic praise still groans under the weight of its rebellion.
We celebrate the birth of the Prince of Peace, yet we are surrounded by wars and rumors of wars.
We light candles for hope while violence and hatred spread across continents like wildfire.
We hang lights in our homes while nations sit in darkness and call it progress.
Our carols rise through tears and experiences that are anything but joy-filled.
This is the heaviness of Advent: holding the weight of transgression in one hand and the weight of glory in the other. We live between what has been promised and what has not yet come to pass.
Heavy with the Hope of Zion
The songs of the messianic Advent are about the Messiah who was, is, and will yet be. The birth of Jesus, told through the voices of those who first received him, is not merely the story of a baby born to bring us some measure of personal comfort, peace, or joy.
These four faithful Jews standing at the opening of Luke’s gospel testify of a story that reached far beyond them, one that is still unfolding toward its finale. It’s a story that stretches into our day, yet remains unfinished.
God does not ask us to hold the full weight of his glory—we have not yet been remade to bear it.
Nor does he ask us to carry the weight of our transgression—the one seated at his right hand has already lowered himself to bear that burden for us.
Instead, I believe the advent of Messiah asks us to hold the weight of hope—a hope heavy with the glory of Zion. The songs of Zechariah, Mary, Simeon, and Anna remind us that Advent is a joyful, painful, forward-reaching ache before renewal.
We live between two Zions: one above, blazing with glory, and one below, desolate and longing for light.
But each declares what the angels above and the shepherds below experienced that holy night—
that heaven and earth will one day sing in unison,
and that God himself will dwell among his people forever.
The songs of the Messianic Advent still echo across the sanctuary of eternity, calling every heart to join the same refrain:
“Glory to God in the highest,
and on earth, shalom, on whom his favor rests.”
The covenant has been remembered, the promise made flesh, the consolation of Israel in motion, and the redemption of creation has begun.
May we too join the song of heaven. The king has been born, and in only a little while, the weight of glory will rest again in Zion.