PHASE ONE: PREPARATION
for a life that would multiply
Long before Jesus became a public figure—before crowds formed and His words were recorded—He lived a life that appeared unremarkable by most measures.
For around 30 years, Jesus remained largely unseen. There were no sermons, miracles or followers. He grew up in a small village, lived within a family, learned a trade and took His place in a local community. His days were shaped by work, relationships, prayer and Scripture. These were slow years, marked more by faithfulness than drama. Yet these decades were not a pause before the real work began. They were the necessary preparation.
The first four reports in this book examine these unseen years—not to idealise them, but to take them seriously. What does it mean that such a world-changing faith movement began in quiet preparation?
Only later, when John the Baptist publicly identified Him at the Jordan River, did Jesus step into view. Then, His public teaching and activities lasted only a few intense years. At the end, He left His followers with a simple but expansive commission: “Go and make disciples [followers or apprentices] of all the nations” (Matthew 28:19). The movement He began grew through ordinary people sharing who they had found with others.
Behind it all stands a striking claim, later summarised by the apostle Paul: that Jesus was fully divine but that he “made himself nothing,” entering human life without privilege or advantage (see Philippians 2:5–8, NIV)—learning, waiting and accepting limitations.
Week 1 – A baby
Luke 1:1-2:38; John 1:1-18; Matthew 1:1-25, cf. Luke 3:23-38
While they were there (in Bethlehem), the time came for her baby to be born. Luke 2:6.
He came to us as a baby. The Gospels begin here. Not with power, miracles, or crowds, but with vulnerability—with the breath of a newborn in the arms of his young mum. The beginning of this movement, surprisingly, is a womb, not a throne room. Matthew names his flawed family—including abusers and murderers; with four women— Tamar, Rahab, Ruth, and Uriah’s wife—whose lives were marked by scandal, tragedy and deep sorrow. Jesus was the Son of David, and quite literally the Son of outsiders, immigrants, the overlooked and exploited. Luke brings us closer to the family drama surrounding his arrival. Mary’s pregnancy shocked her village. Joseph wrestled with hurt, doubt and anger before stepping into extraordinary obedience and courage. Both were asked to accept something that would cost them dearly—and both said yes.
Luke also records Mary’s Magnificat and Zechariah’s prophecy—announcing both revolution and mercy: with social injustice overturned, the proud scattered, and the humble valued. Long before his Sermon on the Mount, Jesus was reshaping the world— the script being rewritten by an unmarried village girl and her aging cousin’s husband. And there is the birth story itself. We often imagine chaotic scenes: frantic travel, rejection at every door, a desperate couple in a lonely stable. But Luke simply says, “While they were there (in Bethlehem), the time came for her baby to be born”—suggesting something calmer. In a simple village home, with women who knew what to do—and the manger a practical crib available in the family living space, not a sign of neglect—Jesus entered the world into warmth, care, and community.
The first to hear the news were not the rulers, scholars, or priests in nearby Jerusalem, but shepherds—poor, rough men whose testimonies held little weight. To them, the sky split open with song: “Today… a Saviour has been born to you” (Luke 2:11 NIV)— not only for the powerful, self-righteous, or self-serving; but for those who smell of sheep, the overlooked.
His first worshippers were from the margins. They ran, saw, believed, and then told everyone they met—the first evangelists. His earthly life and kingdom began there at the edges with their unpolished joy; the holy One held in their rough hands. John reminds us that this baby was “the Word” who had always been—present before creation, eternally with God, eternally God—who chose to become one of us. Fragile. Dependent. Learning obedience and trust as we do.
Jesus was not a mythical character, but a real infant with all the limitations of human life. He entered the world as we do—fragile, dependent, needing care. He willingly accepted the slow pace of human development—experiencing hunger, cold, tears, learning to walk and talk. He surrendered or veiled his divinity—not losing it but not drawing upon it. He lived within ordinary human limitations, as one of us.
He launched his movement from this place of vulnerability. He did not ask of followers what he was unwilling to embrace himself. The way of his kingdom still begins here: emerging from unlikely places, with surrender, humility, and presence. Not in perfection or strategy, but in quiet availability—perhaps in a renewed sense of gentleness, a slower pace, a greater respect for small beginnings, a readiness to look for God at the margins, and a desire to honour the ordinary people he chooses!
Might his invitations still come disguised as interruptions, misunderstandings, or pain— calling for courage? How did his becoming a baby—one of us, who understands us—shape his preparation for the most significant faith movement of all time?
