The Comforting Road
Second Sunday of Advent
Text: Isaiah 40:1-11
Let me paint a mental picture for you... imagine...
Night is coming. Darkness creeps across the sky, chasing the retreating sunlight westward. Small points of starlight begin to pierce through the violet colours of twilight, as it fades into the deep blue of night. The silhouette of gentle, rolling hills reaches out to the horizon. They look painted upon the dusk canvas, deftly placed by the elegant strokes of a great artist. There is a peaceful stillness in this place, where even the slightest whisper would rumble across the vast landscape. It seems as if time itself is holding its breath, handing us a glimpse of eternity in the moment.
We stand upon a raised cobblestone road, meandering into the distance toward the faint glow of daylight. Above us, the unmistakable twinkling of a distant radiant star. Westward leading... still proceeding... As we strain to listen to the silence, we seem to hear the distant echo of familiar music. We are seven days into our journey, and still much of the road lies ahead of us. We have been on this path before, as the sign reminds us. This is Advent... the road to Bethlehem.
The signpost is the second one we’ve stopped to rest at. The last one said “Hope,” the next two will say “Joy” and “Love.” They are the markers of the journey, calling us to press forward to Christmas. Like the last one, someone has left a purple candle flickering just below the stone tablet. In the dancing light, we can see the word “Peace” inscribed on its roughly hewn surface.
Just below the sign, we see the edge of what looks to be another road. Several loose cobblestones have crumbled away just enough for us to catch a glimpse of this ancient path. Not simply buried beneath us, it forms the foundation upon which we walk. We are reminded that we are not the first people to walk this way. From its ancient flagstones the cry of the great prophet echoes in our ears:
“Comfort, O comfort my people...”
Ancient words to an ancient people to be sure, and yet they resonate in us in a way that makes this road before us new. Why? The road to Bethlehem is a road of hope. The story of the people who first heard these words was one of great hope in the midst of darkness. The signposts of Advent call us to pause and learn of those who have walked this road before us.
This ancient road began construction under the harsh sun near the city of Babylon, some six hundred years before Bethlehem would appear on the horizon. We see a community held captive on the banks of the Euphrates River, held in exile for more than seventy years from their homeland of Israel. So many decades before, the armies of King Nebuchadnezzar had marched on Jerusalem, devastating the Promised Land, destroying the city, and razing the great Temple to the ground. Not content with leaving Israel in ash and ruin, the Babylonians carried away the best and brightest Israel had to offer. Forced to walk the hard road to exile under watchful guard, it seemed as if all had been lost. The prophets of doom were right... No one listened to them before, but everyone listened to them now.
At no other time in its history did Israel face such a crisis of faith. Many said and believed that Israel could never fall, that God stood with them and that no army could ever bring them down. Those words had been true in the past, as the Assyrians tried and failed to storm the walls of Jerusalem. Many unnamed prophets proclaimed that the same would happen to the army of Babylon. Yet now, here they were, battered, bruised, and beaten. Where was God? The people of Israel cried. They had become comfortable people, and now with everything stripped from them, all they had left were the hard questions. How could they worship God without the Temple? If God is the only God, and stands by Israel, then why did Jerusalem fall? God, it seemed, had failed them.
For more than seven decades, they suffered in exile. Many tried to keep the traditions, many others didn’t see the point. They were angry, bitter. Despairing that the world they knew, everything they held sacred, had crumbled before their eyes. There was almost nothing to hold on to. The grass withers, the flower fades, and Israel seemed destined to be eaten by history. The road home seemed to fade into the shifting sands of the desert. It would be more than a generation later the words of the great prophet would ring out, giving new life to a devastated faith.
The prophet cried out to this stricken community. The call was to this people whose faith was shattered and reduced to a shadow of their former selves. The first words we hear are not “repent!” They are not words of judgement, and they are not words of doom. They are unexpected words of comfort. The words of the prophet came, like the grace of God so often is, when the people needed it most.
“Comfort, O comfort my people, says your
God, Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,
Let me paint a mental picture for you... imagine...
Night is coming. Darkness creeps across the sky, chasing the retreating sunlight westward. Small points of starlight begin to pierce through the violet colours of twilight, as it fades into the deep blue of night. The silhouette of gentle, rolling hills reaches out to the horizon. They look painted upon the dusk canvas, deftly placed by the elegant strokes of a great artist. There is a peaceful stillness in this place, where even the slightest whisper would rumble across the vast landscape. It seems as if time itself is holding its breath, handing us a glimpse of eternity in the moment.
We stand upon a raised cobblestone road, meandering into the distance toward the faint glow of daylight. Above us, the unmistakable twinkling of a distant radiant star. Westward leading... still proceeding... As we strain to listen to the silence, we seem to hear the distant echo of familiar music. We are seven days into our journey, and still much of the road lies ahead of us. We have been on this path before, as the sign reminds us. This is Advent... the road to Bethlehem.
The signpost is the second one we’ve stopped to rest at. The last one said “Hope,” the next two will say “Joy” and “Love.” They are the markers of the journey, calling us to press forward to Christmas. Like the last one, someone has left a purple candle flickering just below the stone tablet. In the dancing light, we can see the word “Peace” inscribed on its roughly hewn surface.
Just below the sign, we see the edge of what looks to be another road. Several loose cobblestones have crumbled away just enough for us to catch a glimpse of this ancient path. Not simply buried beneath us, it forms the foundation upon which we walk. We are reminded that we are not the first people to walk this way. From its ancient flagstones the cry of the great prophet echoes in our ears:
“Comfort, O comfort my people...”
Ancient words to an ancient people to be sure, and yet they resonate in us in a way that makes this road before us new. Why? The road to Bethlehem is a road of hope. The story of the people who first heard these words was one of great hope in the midst of darkness. The signposts of Advent call us to pause and learn of those who have walked this road before us.
This ancient road began construction under the harsh sun near the city of Babylon, some six hundred years before Bethlehem would appear on the horizon. We see a community held captive on the banks of the Euphrates River, held in exile for more than seventy years from their homeland of Israel. So many decades before, the armies of King Nebuchadnezzar had marched on Jerusalem, devastating the Promised Land, destroying the city, and razing the great Temple to the ground. Not content with leaving Israel in ash and ruin, the Babylonians carried away the best and brightest Israel had to offer. Forced to walk the hard road to exile under watchful guard, it seemed as if all had been lost. The prophets of doom were right... No one listened to them before, but everyone listened to them now.
At no other time in its history did Israel face such a crisis of faith. Many said and believed that Israel could never fall, that God stood with them and that no army could ever bring them down. Those words had been true in the past, as the Assyrians tried and failed to storm the walls of Jerusalem. Many unnamed prophets proclaimed that the same would happen to the army of Babylon. Yet now, here they were, battered, bruised, and beaten. Where was God? The people of Israel cried. They had become comfortable people, and now with everything stripped from them, all they had left were the hard questions. How could they worship God without the Temple? If God is the only God, and stands by Israel, then why did Jerusalem fall? God, it seemed, had failed them.
For more than seven decades, they suffered in exile. Many tried to keep the traditions, many others didn’t see the point. They were angry, bitter. Despairing that the world they knew, everything they held sacred, had crumbled before their eyes. There was almost nothing to hold on to. The grass withers, the flower fades, and Israel seemed destined to be eaten by history. The road home seemed to fade into the shifting sands of the desert. It would be more than a generation later the words of the great prophet would ring out, giving new life to a devastated faith.
The prophet cried out to this stricken community. The call was to this people whose faith was shattered and reduced to a shadow of their former selves. The first words we hear are not “repent!” They are not words of judgement, and they are not words of doom. They are unexpected words of comfort. The words of the prophet came, like the grace of God so often is, when the people needed it most.
“Comfort, O comfort my people, says your
God, Speak tenderly to Jerusalem,
and cry to her that she has served her term,
that her penalty is paid,
that she has received from the Lord’s hand
that her penalty is paid,
that she has received from the Lord’s hand
double for all her sins.”
Words of reconciliation and peace. God is with you, and God cries with you, the prophet says. Deliverance comes hand in hand with forgiveness. The time was drawing close when Israel would see the Promised Land again, and that restoration was not far away. With these words, the prophet lays the cornerstone of the road home. It is only after this we hear:
“A voice cries out:
‘In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord,
make straight in the desert a highway for our God!’”
Immediately after crying words of comfort, the prophet cries “prepare!” Prepare to go home, prepare to rebuild, prepare because redemption is at hand! This forced exile will not last forever, and there are already signs that it will soon end! You have heard God’s comforting words, now live them and prepare!
And so this highway was built in the hearts of Israel, and they prepared to go home. Yet it was not built on cheap promises or wishful thinking. It was based on a deep and abiding faith of God who kept promises to Abraham and Sarah, and all their descendants. It was built on the remembrance of God, who heard the cries of the people in Egypt, and delivered them from slavery. It was rooted on the tangible presence of God, who lived in the present with the exiled nation in their suffering. The revelation was that God was not tied to the Promised Land, nor to the physical structures of the Temple. The grass may indeed wither, the flower may well fade, but the word of God stands forever. God is still God. The people may be different when this is all over, but hope and peace is rooted in God alone. God is eternal. God not only survives the Exile, but thrives in a way more profound that Israel could expect or imagine. Through the words of the prophet, this comforting road helped re-forge and strengthen Israel’s faith in a way that would change it forever.
A cool breeze caresses the candle flame on the signpost. It flickers briefly, bringing us back to our walk through Advent. The violet sky relinquishes its last strokes of colour to the inky, deep blue of night. We see before us, the road to Bethlehem in a new way, with the hopeful words of the prophet still ringing in our ears... and in the silence...
On this road, we remember our own struggles, our own hard questions of faith. We wonder as our churches experience decline. We see society fragmented and filled with suspicion. We are more fearful of the future, attempting to look to the past for solutions that are doomed to fail. The grass is withering and the flower is fading... We are left battered, bruised, and beaten with our own experiences. It feels as if we walk this road alone. So often have we walked this path, looking off in so many different directions, that we have missed the foundation upon which we stand. Not only have people walked this way before us, but they have experienced crises more profound and more troubling than our own. The words of comfort from the prophet remind us of those who have walked this way before us. They remind us of the comforting presence of God in the midst of times of pain and sorrow.
The words of the prophet ring out from the foundations of this road, and resonate in us.
The grass may indeed wither, the flower may well fade, but the word of God stands forever. God is still God. We may be different when this is all over, but hope and peace is rooted in God alone. God is eternal. God not only survives our present struggles, but also thrives in a way more profound that we can expect or imagine. Through the words of the prophet, this comforting road can help us re-forge and strengthen our faith in a way that will change it forever. For all the trials we have faced in the church, the one thing we forget is that God is still God. God not only waits for us in Bethlehem, but also walks this long road with us.
The road of Advent is one of anticipation and of hope. Yet God calls us to follow it while we are in the still in the midst of our own struggles and strife. To walk towards Bethlehem is to express hope in the midst of despair. It is not ignoring the suffering of the present, but daring to look past it. It is acknowledging the struggle now, and yet preparing ourselves for something new to come.
In this season of Advent, a light of hope in the midst of gloom is what we need. What waits for us at the end of this road already surrounds us now, pressing us to continue. We celebrate the coming of Christ, in whom our often incomprehensible and mysterious God came to us in tangible: a human child.
Some other travellers have built a small fire by the roadside, they beckon for us to join them. For a brief moment, we set aside the troubles of our journey, knowing that God is still there. It is late, and is time for rest. Tomorrow brings the promise of daylight and the travels of a new day... Bethlehem waits.
Amen.
Sermon originally preached for the call on Sunday, December 8, 1996
St. John’s Presbyterian Church, Cornwall, Ontario; John Crowdis
Revised for Clarkson Road Presbyterian Church, Sunday December 4th, 2005
Mississauga, Ontario
“A voice cries out:
‘In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord,
make straight in the desert a highway for our God!’”
Immediately after crying words of comfort, the prophet cries “prepare!” Prepare to go home, prepare to rebuild, prepare because redemption is at hand! This forced exile will not last forever, and there are already signs that it will soon end! You have heard God’s comforting words, now live them and prepare!
And so this highway was built in the hearts of Israel, and they prepared to go home. Yet it was not built on cheap promises or wishful thinking. It was based on a deep and abiding faith of God who kept promises to Abraham and Sarah, and all their descendants. It was built on the remembrance of God, who heard the cries of the people in Egypt, and delivered them from slavery. It was rooted on the tangible presence of God, who lived in the present with the exiled nation in their suffering. The revelation was that God was not tied to the Promised Land, nor to the physical structures of the Temple. The grass may indeed wither, the flower may well fade, but the word of God stands forever. God is still God. The people may be different when this is all over, but hope and peace is rooted in God alone. God is eternal. God not only survives the Exile, but thrives in a way more profound that Israel could expect or imagine. Through the words of the prophet, this comforting road helped re-forge and strengthen Israel’s faith in a way that would change it forever.
A cool breeze caresses the candle flame on the signpost. It flickers briefly, bringing us back to our walk through Advent. The violet sky relinquishes its last strokes of colour to the inky, deep blue of night. We see before us, the road to Bethlehem in a new way, with the hopeful words of the prophet still ringing in our ears... and in the silence...
On this road, we remember our own struggles, our own hard questions of faith. We wonder as our churches experience decline. We see society fragmented and filled with suspicion. We are more fearful of the future, attempting to look to the past for solutions that are doomed to fail. The grass is withering and the flower is fading... We are left battered, bruised, and beaten with our own experiences. It feels as if we walk this road alone. So often have we walked this path, looking off in so many different directions, that we have missed the foundation upon which we stand. Not only have people walked this way before us, but they have experienced crises more profound and more troubling than our own. The words of comfort from the prophet remind us of those who have walked this way before us. They remind us of the comforting presence of God in the midst of times of pain and sorrow.
The words of the prophet ring out from the foundations of this road, and resonate in us.
The grass may indeed wither, the flower may well fade, but the word of God stands forever. God is still God. We may be different when this is all over, but hope and peace is rooted in God alone. God is eternal. God not only survives our present struggles, but also thrives in a way more profound that we can expect or imagine. Through the words of the prophet, this comforting road can help us re-forge and strengthen our faith in a way that will change it forever. For all the trials we have faced in the church, the one thing we forget is that God is still God. God not only waits for us in Bethlehem, but also walks this long road with us.
The road of Advent is one of anticipation and of hope. Yet God calls us to follow it while we are in the still in the midst of our own struggles and strife. To walk towards Bethlehem is to express hope in the midst of despair. It is not ignoring the suffering of the present, but daring to look past it. It is acknowledging the struggle now, and yet preparing ourselves for something new to come.
In this season of Advent, a light of hope in the midst of gloom is what we need. What waits for us at the end of this road already surrounds us now, pressing us to continue. We celebrate the coming of Christ, in whom our often incomprehensible and mysterious God came to us in tangible: a human child.
Some other travellers have built a small fire by the roadside, they beckon for us to join them. For a brief moment, we set aside the troubles of our journey, knowing that God is still there. It is late, and is time for rest. Tomorrow brings the promise of daylight and the travels of a new day... Bethlehem waits.
Amen.
Sermon originally preached for the call on Sunday, December 8, 1996
St. John’s Presbyterian Church, Cornwall, Ontario; John Crowdis
Revised for Clarkson Road Presbyterian Church, Sunday December 4th, 2005
Mississauga, Ontario
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