Sermon for the 4th Advent Sunday

 

The Foolishness That Saves Us: An Advent Sermon on 1 Corinthians 1:18-22

 

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

On this Fourth Sunday of Advent, as we stand on the very threshold of Christmas, our waiting is almost over. We’ve spent weeks preparing our hearts, singing songs of a coming King. And if we’re honest, our minds—shaped by stories and history—might picture what that means: a king arriving with banners flying, an army at his back, a wisdom that commands respect, a power that overthrows enemies. That is the kind of deliverance the world understands. That is a king we know how to welcome.

But today, the Apostle Paul, writing to a church tangled in pride and division, pulls back the curtain on God’s plan and shows us something astonishing. He reveals that the wisdom of God looks, to the eyes of the world, an awful lot like foolishness. And the power of God shows up in what the world calls weakness.

Let’s listen to God’s Word from 1 Corinthians, chapter 1, verses 18 through 22:

“For the message of the cross is foolishness to those who are perishing, but to us who are being saved it is the power of God. For it is written: ‘I will destroy the wisdom of the wise; the intelligence of the intelligent I will frustrate.’ Where is the wise person? Where is the teacher of the law? Where is the philosopher of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world? For since in the wisdom of God the world through its wisdom did not know him, God was pleased through the foolishness of what was preached to save those who believe. Jews demand signs and Greeks look for wisdom.”

This is the Word of the Lord. Thanks be to God.

The Great Divide

Paul starts with a stark and simple truth: there are two reactions to the message of the cross, and they could not be more different.

To those who are perishing, he says, it is foolishness. The Greek word is mōria—the root of our word “moron.” It’s not just a little silly; it’s scandalous, offensive nonsense. A crucified Savior? A Messiah who dies a criminal’s death? It’s the ultimate paradox. In a world that worships strength, self-reliance, and victorious power, the cross looks like utter defeat. It seems weak. Illogical. A failed rescue mission.

But, Paul says, to us who are being saved—and notice that present tense, it’s an ongoing reality—to us, this same message is the power of God. Not just a nice idea. Not just a comforting story. The Greek word is dunamis. It’s explosive, transformative, life-creating power. It is the very engine of salvation.

So, here is the great divide: one person looks at the cross and sees foolishness. Another looks at the very same cross and finds the power that is rebuilding their life from the inside out. What makes the difference? It is not intellectual superiority. It is the gracious work of the Holy Spirit, opening blind eyes to see the truth that shatters all worldly logic: that God’s perfect strength was made perfect in the weakness of Jesus.

God’s Upside-Down Wisdom

Now, Paul anticipates our objection. “But surely,” we think, “human wisdom must count for something? Our philosophy, our science, our reason—these are the tools we use to understand everything else. Why not God?”

Paul’s answer is jarring. He says that in His magnificent, sovereign wisdom, God has designed a universe where our very best human wisdom, when set against Him, comes up utterly empty. He quotes Isaiah: “I will destroy the wisdom of the wise.” God actively frustrates the intelligence of the intelligent.

Why? Verse 21 gives us the heartbreaking reason: “For since in the wisdom of God the world through its wisdom did not know him…” Our human wisdom, for all its brilliance in building bridges and curing diseases, is completely incapable of finding its way back to God. Left to our own devices, we use our wisdom to build towers of Babel—monuments to our own achievement. We use it to create categories that divide “us” from “them.” The Corinthian church was doing it: “I follow Paul,” “I follow Apollos.” We still do it. Our wisdom, untethered from God, leads not to Him, but to pride, and from pride to division.

And so, in His great mercy, God chose a path that human wisdom would never, could never, invent. Paul says God was pleased—it brought Him joy—to save those who believe through the foolishness of what was preached.

What is this “foolishness”? It is the story we are about to celebrate. It is the infinite, all-powerful Creator God, entering His creation not in a whirlwind, but as a single cell in a young woman’s womb. It is the King of Kings arriving not in a palace, but in a stable, laid in a feeding trough. It is the Author of Life growing up in obscurity and submitting to a shameful, criminal’s death on a Roman cross. This is God’s master plan. To the world, it is the height of folly. To God, it is the masterpiece of His wise, redeeming love. He didn’t come to impress the wise. He came to save the lost.

Our Advent Choice: Demanding or Receiving?

This leaves us with a choice, especially here at Advent. Paul names the two ways we naturally try to avoid this “foolish” gospel.

“Jews demand signs,” he says. They wanted a Messiah who would prove himself with spectacular, miraculous credentials. “Show us a sign, then we’ll believe!” “Greeks look for wisdom.” They wanted a Messiah who would fit into an elegant philosophical system, who would debate and win with brilliant rhetoric.

My friends, we haven’t changed. We are still demanding signs. “God, if you are real, fix this problem in my life. Give me this job, heal this sickness, prove yourself useful to me, then I’ll trust you.” And we are still looking for wisdom. “God, make faith intellectually satisfying. Make it fit neatly with my politics, my science, my sense of justice. Make it respectable among my friends.”

But the cradle and the cross defy both demands. The baby in Bethlehem is not a spectacular sign of military might. The man on the cross is not a model of philosophical wisdom. He is something else entirely. He is the power and the wisdom of God, hidden in the foolishness of love.

So this Fourth Sunday of Advent calls us to lay down our demands. It calls us to become, in the world’s eyes, fools. It calls us to embrace the beautiful, shocking, scandalous truth: that God saved the world not with a sword, but with a sacrifice. Not with a decree from a throne, but with a cry from a cross. Not by demanding our service, but by offering His Son.

This is the “foolishness” that unites us. At the foot of the cross, our arguments stop. Our resumes don’t matter. Our intellectual pretensions fade. We all stand on level ground, beneficiaries of a grace we could never earn, witnesses to a love we could never invent.

Beloved,

As we light this final candle, the Candle of Love, we are not just lighting a symbol of warm feelings. We are bearing witness to the foolish, overwhelming, world-saving love of God that came down at Christmas.

This week, when you hear the Christmas story again, listen with new ears. When the world says it’s just a quaint fable for children, remember: it is the dynamite power of God for salvation. When you are tempted to believe that real power is found in dominance, or real wisdom in slick answers, look to the manger. Look to the cross.

For the foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than human strength.

Let us pray.

Gracious and holy God, on this last Sunday of our Advent waiting, we confess that we often seek you on our own terms. We demand signs that suit us and wisdom that flatters us. Forgive us. By your Spirit, open our eyes anew to the stunning, saving “foolishness” of the manger and the cross. Give us the courage to be fools for Christ, to trust not in our own understanding, but in your unfathomable love. As we go from here to celebrate the birth of your Son, may we worship not the king we expected, but the Savior you sent—Jesus Christ, our Lord, in whose name we pray. Amen.

And now may the peace of God, which surpasses all human understanding—which seems like foolishness to the world—guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.