The Dawn in the Darkness
Introduction: A World in Distress
Good morning. If you’ve watched the news this week, or
perhaps just lived life with your eyes open, you might have felt it. There’s a
heaviness in our world, a collective anxiety. We see it in headlines about wars
and rumors of wars, in the tremors of our political and social landscapes, in
the very real distress in our own families—sickness, grief, fear about the
future. It can feel like the ground beneath us is shaking.
On this Second Sunday of Advent, the church doesn’t offer us
a sentimental escape from this feeling. Instead, our Gospel reading leans right
into it. Jesus, in Luke 21, describes a cosmos in turmoil: “There will
be signs in the sun, the moon and the stars. On the earth, nations will be in
anguish and perplexity at the roaring and tossing of the sea. People will faint
from terror, apprehensive of what is coming on the world.” (v. 25-26).
This is not a cozy Christmas scene. It sounds like the end
of the world. And in a sense, it is. Jesus is describing the end of the
world as we know it. The crumbling of every system, every power,
every temporary security we rely on. He’s talking about the great Advent—His
coming again in glory.
1. The Purpose of the Shaking (v. 26-28)
Our first instinct in such shaking is terror. To freeze, or
to flee. But Jesus gives a stunning, counterintuitive command. He says
when these things begin to take place—not after they’re over, but
in the very midst of them—we are to “stand up and lift up your heads,
because your redemption is drawing near.” (v. 28).
Do you see the radical shift? The world sees collapse and
bows its head in despair. The disciple sees the same collapse and lifts
her head in hope. Why? Because the shaking is not random chaos. It is
a necessary unveiling. It is the dismantling of every false kingdom to make way
for the one, true, and lasting Kingdom of God.
The stable in Bethlehem was God’s quiet invasion. The coming
Jesus describes here is the full and public revelation. The darkness is deepest
just before the dawn, and the shaking is a sign that the Dawn-Maker is on His
way. Our redemption—not just from personal sin, but from the entire broken
system of this world—is at the very door.
2. The Promise That Stands (v. 29-33)
To a people trembling at shifting circumstances, Jesus
offers an anchor. He points to a fig tree, or any tree. “Look at the
fig tree and all the trees. When they sprout leaves, you can see for yourselves
and know that summer is near.” (v. 29-30). This is simple, observable
truth. The tender shoots are an infallible promise of the coming season.
Jesus says, “Truly I tell you, this generation will
certainly not pass away until all these things have happened.” (v.
32). This has perplexed many. But “this generation” likely means the
generation that sees these signs begin—the generation alive at the
time of the end. And the core of His statement is about the absolute certainty
of His word. He pivots immediately: “Heaven and earth will pass away,
but my words will never pass away.” (v. 33).
In a universe that feels like it’s passing away, here is our
fixed point: the Word of Christ. The promises of God are more
solid than the ground under our feet and the stars over our head. When every
news cycle brings a new alarm, His word stands: “I am with you.” “I will come
again.” “I am making all things new.” “Your redemption is sure.”
Conclusion: Living with Lifted Heads
So, what does this mean for us this Advent, in our anguish
and perplexity?
First, be honest about the darkness. Don’t
spiritualize it away. Advent meets us in the real winter of the world. It’s
okay to name the distress.
Second, interpret the darkness differently. The
shaking is not a sign of God’s absence, but of His approaching action. It is
birth pangs, not death throes. So, in your personal trial, in the chaos of the
age, remember the command: Stand up. Lift up your head. Your
posture is one of expectant watchfulness, not cowering fear.
Finally, cling to the promise. Anchor your
soul to the words of Jesus that will never pass away. They are more reliable
than your feelings, your bank account, your health, or any empire. He is
coming. The kingdom of this world will become the Kingdom of
our Lord and of His Christ.
The season of Advent is a gift. It’s the time when we
practice, in the growing darkness of December, exactly what we are to do in the
deeper darknesses of life. We light candles. We wait actively. We hope
defiantly. We proclaim, against all evidence to the contrary, that the Light is
coming, and the darkness has not, and will not, overcome it.
“When these things begin to take place, stand up and lift
up your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.”
Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.
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