But you, O Bethlehem of Ephrathah, who are one of the little clans of Judah, from you shall come forth for me one who is to rule in Israel, whose origin is from of old, from ancient days [Micah 5:2].
In the 8th century before Christ, as powerful Assyrian armies threatened the southern kingdom of Judah, people looked anxiously for signs of YHWH’s presence and deliverance. Many turned their eyes to Jerusalem, the great city with its magnificent temple, the obvious place to look for divine intervention. After all, wasn’t this where kings ruled and priests offered sacrifices? Wasn’t this where YHWH’s presence dwelt in the Holy of Holies?
But through the prophet Micah came an unexpected word. In the OT text appointed for this Sunday [Micah 5: 2-5a, the Fourth Sunday of Advent, RCL, Year C], written and spoken to that troubled people of so long ago, the prophet startled listeners by announcing that their deliverance would come from the small village of Bethlehem. Most would have thought, “Surely there must be some mistake. YHWH’s deliverer would surely emerge from somewhere more significant, more obvious, more … suitable.”
Yet Micah’s prophecy was entirely in keeping with YH’WHs pattern of working through the unexpected and overlooked. Those who knew their sacred history might have remembered another time when Bethlehem had seemed too insignificant, when YHWH sent Samuel to the same village to anoint a new king. There he found David, a young shepherd boy tending his father’s sheep. And now, once again, through Micah’s words, YHWH was pointing to Bethlehem as the source of something momentous.
This pattern—the Divine working through the seemingly insignificant—challenges our natural inclinations. We often find ourselves looking for God’s presence in the obvious places, the centers of power and prominence. And indeed, God can be found there. But time and again, scripture reminds us that God seems to have a particular fondness for working through the unexpected and overlooked.
As many of you know, this past week Duke celebrated its 100th birthday. The trust indenture that established the university specified “that there shall be a great towering church.” And so, artisans labored for two years building Duke Chapel, the soaring 210-foot English Gothic edifice that stands at the heart of west campus. Jane and I have worshipped there many times. I’ve even preached there on several occasions. During the 20 years I worked at Duke, I prayed there often during the workday. Within that beautiful sacred space, I’ve experienced powerful moments of God’s presence.
Yet, where have I felt that divine presence even more intimately? In quiet, mostly dark hospital rooms, holding and praying with those who had just said a final goodbye to a loved one. In bright, exciting maternity wards, where new life has entered the world. In Blacknall Presbyterian small group moments, as we share our prayer concerns. In soft gatherings at the beach with dear friends, whose relationships stretch not across years, but decades. We certainly can—and do—experience God in majestic places. But just as in Micah’s time, God has a way of reaching us in spots we never would have anticipated.
As we enter this final week of Advent, Micah’s prophecy invites us to reconsider where and how we’re looking for God’s presence. Are we, like those in ancient times, focusing only on the obvious places? Are we limiting our expectations to the grand and prominent, missing the quiet work of God in unexpected corners of our lives?
The prophecy tells us that from Bethlehem would come one “whose origin is from of old, from ancient days” [5:2]. There’s beautiful irony in how this crucial prophecy comes to us—not through the more prominent voice of Isaiah or in the Psalms—but rather through Micah, one of the so-called “minor” prophets. Even the vehicle of the message reinforces its content: God choosing to work through what the world might consider insignificant.
This ruler from Bethlehem, Micah tells us, “shall stand and feed his flock in the strength of the Lord” [5:4]. The image is not of a warrior-king imposing peace through might, but of a shepherd caring for his flock. It’s another unexpected picture—the mighty one who serves, the leader who nurtures. This shepherd-king brings peace not through the obvious means of military power, but through the seemingly insignificant acts of caring and tending.
Some of you feel small or overlooked in today’s world. Age may have limited your mobility, illness may have restricted your activities, or circumstances may have pushed you to society’s margins. Micah’s message speaks directly to such feelings. The same God who chose Bethlehem — “too little to be among the clans of Judah” — continues to work through those the world might consider insignificant.
This is the surprising hope of Advent: that God’s presence often appears where we least expect it. Not just in the grand sanctuaries and soaring chapels, though God is surely there, but in hospital rooms where hands are held, in quiet corners where prayers are whispered, in simple gatherings where love is shared. The God who chose Bethlehem continues to choose the unexpected, the overlooked, the seemingly small.
As we prepare our hearts for Christmas, Micah challenges us to look beyond the obvious places. Where might God be working in ways we haven’t noticed? What small moments might hold holy significance? What overlooked person might be carrying God’s presence into our lives? The invitation of this final week of Advent is to open our eyes to God’s surprising work in our midst, remembering that the one who chose tiny Bethlehem still delights in working through unexpected places and people.
Like those who first heard Micah’s prophecy, we stand in anticipation, waiting and watching. I’m convinced that this ancient word calls us to adjust our gaze, to look not just to the prominent and powerful, but to the quiet corners and overlooked places in our lives. For the God who chose Bethlehem continues to surprise us, working through the seemingly insignificant to bring forth something momentous. This Advent, may we have eyes to see and hearts ready to recognize God’s presence, even—or especially—in the most unexpected places.
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