How quickly the season of Advent comes upon us in the immediate follow up to Thanksgiving. And we who are blessed with so much abundance around us, so many distractions, so many ads inviting us to buy things and get our homes ready may miss out on the invitation of this beautiful season which is to prepare our hearts, to listen deeply, to slow down and not to hurry up, to savor, to enjoy, and to wait for the coming of the Lord. We have to choose to take a different path; we have to be selective about how we spend our precious days; and we need to be intentional about carving out time to pause, to pray and to live in the present. Let us pray, O Holy One, help us to focus our hearts and minds in this time of expectant waiting. Enable us to allow your deep peace that passes all understanding to enter our spirits and give us hope that you are doing a new thing in our lives and in our world. Amen.
The writer Kate Bowler shares this, “Advent asks us to live by a different rhythm. The early church saw this season as one of watching and waiting—not just for Christmas morning, but for the whole story of God’s redemption. They began the liturgical year not by rushing, but by slowing down. The prophet Isaiah describes this approach well: “In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength” (Isaiah 30:15). The church fathers loved this verse because it sounded like Advent: strength found not in frantic activity, but in patient trust.”
On the second Sunday in Advent, we focus on the theme of peace. What is it that disturbs the quiet of your hearts this day? Does a call to rest and quietness sound inviting to you? How might it be possible to create space to allow yourself to take in the peace that God wants for us while at the same time understanding what a privilege it is that we live without conflict outside our doors.
There is an old story about peace: A king offered a prize to whoever could paint the best picture of peace. Many artists tried, but after much deliberation, the king was down to the last two paintings. The first depicted a calm lake. The still water mirrored the mountains dressed in vibrant fall foliage and fluffy white clouds against a blue sky. Everyone who saw it immediately felt at peace.
The second painting had mountains too, but these were rugged and bare. The sky was angry and streaked with lightning. Down the side of the mountain tumbled a foaming waterfall. There was nothing peaceful about this painting. But when the king looked more closely, he saw that behind the waterfall was a tiny bush growing in the rock. In the bush, a mother bird had built her nest. There, in the midst of the tumult, sat the mother bird on her eggs. The king chose this painting as the perfect picture of peace, explaining, “Peace doesn’t only exist in the absence of noise or suffering. True peace comes from within and exists in the midst of things as they are.”
(Story shared by Young-Hyun Moon)
In our passage from the 11th chapter of Matthew, we find John the Baptist in prison. We know John as the prophet who cried out in the wilderness Prepare the Way of the Lord yet this morning, we read a passage about when he sends his messengers to get a word of hope, of consolation from Jesus. Perhaps in his moments of quiet, he is reflecting upon the meaning of his own ministry and his life. Has it all been worth it? Did he get it wrong? What does his faith mean? I’m sure he did not feel a sense of peace in that time. He is a prisoner so his public voice has been silenced; he sends his messengers to share an important question with Jesus: “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” (Matthew 11:3)
And this is not simply a question—it is a cry from the edge of despair. John, the great prophet who baptized Jesus and had declared him the Lamb of God, is now uncertain about himself and his ministry. Perhaps he is calling into question all the lessons he tried to teach as a prophet. He wants to know whether his whole life—his ministry, message, and all the risks he has taken have meant anything. Maybe it’s a question some of us have asked, especially when our efforts for justice and truth feel fruitless. After our efforts to work for peace in our world, watching as work we have done to speak for the least and the lost has been reversed, after our work to build communities of justice and love or our prayers for peace seem to go unanswered, we wonder—Did it matter? Did I get it wrong? Was any of it worth it? This is what hope sounds like when it’s running thin.
And how does Jesus respond? Jesus answers indirectly—as he describes what has been unfolding in his ministry: “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.” (Matthew 11:4-5) Jesus points not to some kind of great victory, but to quiet signs of transformation taking place. He doesn’t provide John with clear and certain answers; instead he invites him to understand that God is at work in our midst even now. It is a reorientation toward Isaiah’s vision:
“I am about to do a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it?” (Isaiah 43:19a) The empire is still intact. Herod still reigns. John will not be released from prison. Yet Jesus insists: God’s dream is unfolding. Look again. Listen. Perceive.
I think that what is powerful in the moment is not that Jesus performs miracles, but that he provides them as evidence of God’s reign at work—he speaks about an alternative kingdom not marked
by coercion or fear, but by healing, liberation, and good news for those on the margins. Hope in the gospel is not grounded in outcomes or visible success. He’s saying that real hope must be grounded in paying attention, trusting God is still at work,
even when systems remain unchanged, even when prophets die behind bars.
John’s question echoes across generations. Jesus doesn’t see John’s crumbling hope as failure. He names it as part of what makes John faithful. This is a pastoral word for us: hope that trembles is still hope. Even in doubt, John is still a prophet. Even in fear, he is still beloved.
Advent does not ask that we manufacture hope. It’s a season that invites us to bring our emptied hope to Jesus, to ask the hard questions, and to listen again for signs of God’s nearness.
When we’re running out of hope, it may be the perfect time to ask:
What do you see? What do you hear? And to trust that somewhere, even now, something new is springing forth. Our hope is that deeper understanding and confidence that God is doing something new even now in our midst and in our world may bring the peace that we so yearn for in these days of waiting. I will close with a word from Kate Bowler…
Blessed are we who begin again, who wait even when the world rushes past. Blessed are we who believe God’s work is not finished,
and dare to call this waiting hope. Kate Bowler
Resources:
-Kate Bowler, Advent Reflections
-Commentary on Matthew 11:1-11; Isaiah 43:19-21 | by Rev. Dr. Boyung Lee (cont.)