A God Who Sees, Hears, Knows, and Comes Down

A reflection from Exodus on the Long Road to Bethlehem (Our Advent 2025 Series)

This Advent we are walking what I have been calling The Long Road to Bethlehem. It is a journey through some of the major turning points in God’s saving story, not only the weeks leading up to Christmas but the long stretch of history that prepares us for the coming of Christ. Last week we went back to the beginning, to a world God made good and a humanity that broke their relationship with God by questioning His goodness. In that moment we learned something essential about God. His first instinct toward fallen people is not rejection. His first movement is to come looking. He asks, Where are you, not because He needs information, but because He desires relationship.

This week the story moves far from that garden and into Egypt.

Israel did not arrive in Egypt as slaves. They came because of a severe famine that swept across the land. By God’s providence, one of Jacob’s sons, Joseph, had risen to a position of great authority in Egypt. Through Joseph, God saved many lives, including the lives of his own family. Joseph invited them to move to Egypt and that country was a place of refuge for them.

As generations passed, however, that story was forgotten. A new Pharaoh came to power who did not remember Joseph. All he saw was a growing population of Israelites living in his territory, and fear took hold. Suspicion grew. What if these people sided with an enemy someday. The Israelites were forced into hard labor, and their lives were tightly controlled. A place of safety slowly became a place of brutal slavery.

By the opening chapters of Exodus, Israel is living under crushing oppression. Their days are filled with forced labor, harsh commands, and the kind of exhaustion that sinks into your bones. Sometimes suffering comes into our lives exactly that way — through no fault of our own. A diagnosis we did not ask for. A job loss we did not expect. Responsibilities that never let up. 

The cry of human heart, then and now, is often: God, do you see me? Do you hear me? Do you know what this feels like?

Into that kind of world, and into ours, God reveals His heart.

One day Moses is out in the wilderness tending sheep when he notices a bush that burns but is not consumed. As he approaches, the living God speaks his name. And the first thing God does is not give Moses a plan or a list of instructions. God gives Moses a window into His heart.

God says...
I have surely seen the affliction of my people.
I have heard their cry.
I know their sufferings.
I have come down to deliver them.

At first these might sound like ordinary action words, but in Hebrew they carry a depth of relationship. God is not simply noticing Israel the way we notice something in passing. He sees with the focused and compassionate attention of someone whose heart is involved. It is the way a parent watches a child who is hurting.

When God says He hears, He is not saying He is vaguely aware that noise is happening somewhere in the universe. It is the attentive hearing of a close friend who leans in, who responds not only to the words but to the tone and the tears.

And when God says He knows their suffering, He is not describing information. In Scripture, to know someone is to share life with them. It is even the delicate word for marital physical intimacy. God is saying that their pain has entered My heart. I am involved. I am connected to them.

Then God says, I have come down. God does not remain at a distance. He does not shout instructions from above. He enters the story. And He does this not because they’ve done anything particularly well or recited the appropriate prayers. God comes down because His people are suffering, and His heart is moved.

God also says to Moses, “I will be with you.” Moses hesitates, argues, and points out his weaknesses. God does not tell Moses he is strong enough on his own. God tells Moses, I am with you. Salvation begins not with our competence but with God’s presence.

If you look at Moses’ life, you notice something else. God had been preparing him for this role long before the burning bush. Moses spent forty years in Pharaoh’s palace learning culture, language, leadership, and gaining relationships that later gave him access to Pharaoh’s court. After that, Moses spent forty years in the wilderness learning how to survive in the desert. Those skills became essential when he eventually led the Israelites toward the promised land. Moses did not know he was in God’s training program, but he was. While Israel felt forgotten, God was already shaping the deliverer they would need.

That is worth remembering. Long before we can see it, God is already moving.

The story then leads to the night of Passover. God announces a final judgment on Egypt’s cruelty, but He also provides a way to protect His people. Each household is to take a lamb, prepare a simple meal, and mark the doorframe with its blood. God says, When I see the blood, I will pass over you. The blood becomes a sign that these people belong to Him.

In Scripture, blood represents life poured out, something costly and precious. Note, importantly, that Passover is not a guilt offering. It is not about removing personal sin. It is deliverance. Year after year, Israel was commanded to remember this night. “We were slaves in Egypt, and the Lord brought us out.”

When you look across Scripture, a pattern appears involving blood:
In the garden, God made garments for Adam and Eve, which required the life of an animal. Blood on the ground.
In Egypt, the blood of the lamb covered the doorposts.
At the cross, the blood of Christ covered our sin once for all.
In the Lord’s Supper, Christ gives His blood into us. He dwells within us and works through us in the world.

God keeps moving closer.
Ground. Doorpost. Cross. Cup.

Passover teaches us that deliverance is not earned. It is given. The message is not to try harder. The message is take refuge under the Lamb.

And the Exodus itself points forward to something even greater. The deepest bondage is not Pharaoh. It is the bondage inside us. Sin, shame, fear, anxiety, the desire to control, the idols we serve, the addictions we hide, the patterns we cannot break, and the death we cannot outrun.

So when the right time came, God did not simply send another deliverer. He became the Deliverer. He came down again, not in a burning bush but in a manger. Not carrying a staff but carrying our humanity. Not bringing a lamb but being the Lamb.

Christ is our Passover. His blood covers us. His resurrection breaks open the tomb from the inside. His presence becomes our hope in a world that is still filled with trouble.

We live in the tension of Advent. God has already delivered us in Christ. God will yet deliver us fully when Christ returns. Until then, hear the comfort of Scripture. The God who saw Israel sees you. The God who heard Israel hears you. The God who knew their suffering knows yours. And the God who came down then has come down now in Christ for you.

So take heart. Walk in hope. Hide under the Lamb. He will lead you toward a freedom greater than anything this world can imagine.