Sermon for the 7th of December - Second Sunday of Advent
The season of Advent marks the beginning of a new church year. Yet it also feels like an in-between time—much like autumn turning toward winter. The leaves on our wisteria have mostly fallen, the daylight shortens, and the year edges toward its close. This is the moment when, if we’re not attentive, we slip into an autumn-winter autopilot: rushing, overextending, trying to finish everything before Christmas arrives.
But Advent gently interrupts us. It says: Don’t sleepwalk through this season. Something holy is happening beneath the surface.
Our readings today echo that invitation.
1. Isaiah and the Prophets: Hope Growing in Hidden Places
Isaiah gives us one of Scripture’s most striking images:
A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse,
and a branch shall grow out of his roots.
Life from what looks lifeless. Hope growing where we had written the story off. Isaiah spoke to a people whose world felt cut down, wintered-over. But he insists: God is not finished. Roots are stirring underground. New life is preparing to break forth.
This is the quiet wisdom of this season. Even when the earth appears barren, something living is gathering strength below. Advent trains our eyes to look for God in the hidden places of our lives—in the stumps we assume are dead, not fertile.
The prophets teach us to gaze at the stark horizon, the fading light, the quiet fields of our own hearts, and still say: Even here, God is growing something.
2. John the Baptist: The Prophet Who Wakes Us Up
Then into the Gospel strides John the Baptist—urgent, wild, uncompromising. He stands in the wilderness, between what was and what will be, shouting: “Prepare the way… Repent… Wake up.”
John refuses to let us drift into spiritual autopilot. His message isn’t meant to burden us with guilt; it’s meant to open our eyes. He calls us to clear a path within ourselves because he knows this: without intention, we will miss the One who is already drawing near.
3. Pausing to Pay Attention: Millet’s Angelus
Jean-François Millet captures Advent spirituality in his painting The Angelus. Two field workers stand at dusk, tools left in the soil, a basket of potatoes at their feet. They pause—briefly, simply—as the church bells ring.
Advent invites us to create such pauses. To stop in the midst of our work.
To bow the head, at least inwardly, and listen.
Those potatoes lying on the ground—late-season gifts of the earth—remind us that even in the barren months, nourishment is offered. Something still grows.
So during these weeks, ask yourself:
Where is God ringing a quiet bell in my life?
Where am I being invited to pause, to give thanks, to remember who sustains me?
4. The Courage to Shed What No Longer Gives Life
This season also carries a quieter lesson: the courage to let go. The trees around us have released their leaves, standing bare and unashamed. They do not cling to what has already died. They trust the rhythm of creation.
There is wisdom here for us. Advent calls us to release whatever no longer nourishes our spirits—habits that diminish us, stories that trap us, attachments that weigh us down.
To paraphrase John the Baptist:
What needs pruning in your life?
What needs to fall away so Christ can take root in you?
This is not about self-punishment. It is about freedom. It is about creating room for God’s new life.
5. The Peaceable Kingdom: What We Prepare For
Isaiah’s vision culminates in the peaceable kingdom—wolves with lambs, children safe, creation reconciled. A world no longer ruled by fear or rivalry but by God’s justice and gentleness.
This is what we prepare for.
This is why we pause, why we shed, why we resist the lure of autopilot.
Because Christ comes not only to comfort us but to transform us—
and through us, to heal the world.
So this Advent, we’re given a few simple invitations:
Pause and Pay Attention.
Like Millet’s workers, notice God’s quiet presence in the ordinary.
Shed What No Longer Gives Life.
Like the trees, release what has already served its purpose.
Rest in God’s Promise.
Trust the hidden growth beneath the surface.
For the shoot from Jesse is already stirring.
The kingdom of peace is not a fantasy.
And the voice in the wilderness still calls, “Prepare the way.”
Do not slip into frantically busy autopilot.
This is a holy season.
God is near.
Reference:
ENUMA OKORO, FT