A Sermon for Advent 2
December 8, 2024 at Holy Communion
Isaiah 55:6–11, Romans 15:4–13, Luke 21:25–33
“My word shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose” (Isaiah 55:11). In the Name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. ☩ Amen.
Does an acorn have a soul? An acorn, the seed of an oak tree, does it have a soul? Believe it or not, this a question which one of my ancient philosophy classes in undergrad took very seriously.
Obviously, there’s a sense in which acorns do not have soul—they show no evidence that they think and feel, they can’t move themselves around. But is that all that it means to have a soul? Consider this: an acorn has a life-force in it. Yes, it needs water and sunlight and nutrients from the ground, but given those things it can transform itself from a tiny seed into a majestic oak tree. It is alive, and its life has direction and power, and all that potential is living in the seed and making it what it is. Whether or not “soul” is the right word for what an acorn has, it is not just a lump of organized dirt.
In the beginning, created everything by his Word. “He spoke the word and they were made” (Psalm 33:9); ”he commanded and they were created” (Psalm 148:5). But let’s not imagine that God spoke an audible word, as if God had tongue and a mouth, as if you could have heard him if you were standing nearby but wouldn’t have heard if you were far away. Creation happens at God’s word because each thing is a story that comes from the heart of God. God’s word about the acorn is that it will plant itself in the earth, dampen, break through its shell, but up a shoot, grow into a tree, and produce new acorns in its time. God’s word about the acorn is its nature and purpose.
In both our Old Testament reading and our Gospel, the Word of God asks us, “Haven’t you learned the lesson about God’s word, from seed and from the sprouting plant?” In Luke, Jesus points out a fig tree just coming into bud (Luke 21:29–30). When you walk in the springtime and see all the leaves coming in, you know that summer is near (v 30). In Isaiah, the prophet takes us back into the winter. You know that February snows and March rains mean that in the spring the plants, well-watered from above, will be showing their noses to the sun, and eventually there will be a harvest (Isaiah 55:10).
In both cases, the word that the plants speak is a word assuring us of coming fulfillment. Nature presses inexorably toward fulfilling the word that God spoke in creation. God did not command the rain to come down for no purpose. Nor did he command the seed to grow only to wither in its infancy without a cause, but so it could grow into full maturity, be harvested and resown. His word is unfailingly fulfilled.
For Isaiah this lesson means a general confidence in the ways of God. Human beings may not understand all aspects of God’s plans—”my ways are higher than your ways, and my thoughts than your thoughts,” he says (v 9)—but being simple should never prevent us from trusting the God who makes the grass grow.
For Jesus in our Gospel reading, he means something more specific. He has just told his disciples about the “signs of the times”: the “wars and rumours of wars” and “famines and earthquakes in various places” (Matthew 24:6–7), which all signify that the fulfillment of God’s plan for judgement and restoration is near. These are all signs of a world coming apart at the seams, a world in need of repair, a world which has not yet fully realized the word which God spoke when he created it. The world is like the fig bud: it shows the signs of fruit to come. It has not yet borne that fruit; but as surely as spring passes into summer, it is coming.
So, when Jesus summarizes this lesson, he says, “Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will never pass away” (Luke 21:33). Earth and sky and everything we experience will be gone tomorrow, changed every instant into something new. But the word of God is the constant along the way—the word which draws them from one moment to the next, and toward their permanent and transfigured state when they realize their communion with God.
In our Epistle St Paul applies this lesson. In his context of conflict between Jews and non-Jews in the early church, his assurance is that the scriptures contain promises for both. God will fulfill his promise to the Jews, but will also welcome non-Jews into his kingdom so that they become one people and glorify God together (Romans 15:8–12). We are probably not so concerned about the Jew-and-Gentile issue, but his point stands. We have a common hope, and that hope is certain because it rests on the unfailing foundation of God’s word. And our hope will, through openness to the Spirit of God, flourish into joy and peace while we wait for our fulfillment in God (v 13).
I’m told that there was a time when pastors would often encourage their congregations to mark up their Bibles with “promise boxes.” The idea is that you draw a clear box around God’s promises whenever you come across them in scripture so that, opening your Bible, they leap off the page, ready to give you assurance of God’s intention to do you good. This is a good practice.
So here’s just one promise-box, related to our readings for today. This is from the first letter of Saint John: “Beloved, we are God's children now, and what we will be has not yet appeared; but we know that when he appears we shall be like him, because we shall see him as he is” (1 John 3:2). Now we see only the sprouts, the first growth of Christ-like life poking its nose out of the ground of our hearts. But when Christ appears to us and to all at the end of our age, seeing him as he is we will be transformed into the same spotless mirror of the Father that he always is. He is a Word spoken by the Father, and so are we, destined for a common vocation of enjoying and showing the glory of God.
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