Grounded in hope
Commentary
Many people think it strange to begin the church year with a Gospel Lesson that focuses on the second coming of Christ. Logically (or at least chronologically) that would seem to be the appropriate lesson for the end of the year. But if we listen to many modern theologians (including Moltmann and Pannenburg), we will realize the lectionary has this exactly right. The place to begin the story of our redemption is at the end.
Eschatology has a role in theological understanding analogous to that which psychology plans in the understanding of human nature. If psychology (the Freudian schools in particular) tells us that what we are is determined by our past, then eschatology tells us that what we can be is determined by our future. In other words, what we know and believe about our future has a genuine effect on the present. Ultimately, "hope" is what makes all the difference. Mission, meaning, purpose -- all are grounded in hope.
This theme undergirds all three of the lessons. Jeremiah offers a vision of redemption to people about to be enslaved. Paul indicates that belief in the second coming of Christ will enhance the Thessalonians' faith, which is already quite lively. Jesus speaks of the future in terms that promise deliverance from ultimate disaster and immediate fear.
Jeremiah 33:14-16
These verses recycle a messianic prophecy from an earlier part of the book, Jeremiah 23:5-6. The wording is almost the same, but not quite. Now, instead of the king receiving a new name, the renewed city of Jerusalem enjoys this honor. In any case, the main interest for this day is the reference to a righteous "Branch," an ideal ruler from the line of David who will execute justice and righteousness. Christians attribute this role to Jesus, and the imagery enters our hymnody. "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" contains the line, "O come, strong Branch of Jesse, free Your own from Satan's tyranny," "All Hail The Power Of Jesus' Name" says, "Extol the stem of Jesse's rod and crown him Lord of all." Jesse, of course, is the father of David.
The verses are presented as an oracle of Jeremiah from around 588 B.C.E. Because the verses are missing in the Septuagint, many scholars think they are actually a late addition to the book by another author. In any case, the narrative context links the oracle to the siege of Jerusalem under Nebuchadnezzar, king of Babylon. During that time, Jeremiah predicted the downfall of the city and the capture of its king, Zedekiah. Not surprisingly, Zedekiah was disappointed with this prognosis and imprisoned Jeremiah until he could adopt a more positive outlook. In a sense he did, but only by looking further into the future and declaring that God would eventually restore the fortunes of Judah, as well as those of the northern kingdom of Israel, which had been destroyed by the Assyrians more than a century previous.
Why speak of an eventual salvation to people about to enter bondage? Some years ago, a holocaust survivor named Victor Frankl wrote an incredible book titled Man's Search for Meaning. As a trained psychologist, he told of his own informal study of the personalities of those who were interned with him in the concentration camps. The single greatest factor that contributed to survival under those conditions was the belief that deliverance was possible. Those who lost this hope, he observed, died soon after. In Jeremiah's case, the source of hope was deferred even further. He offered those who went down to Babylon little hope of returning themselves. But their children or their grandchildren -- these would experience God's salvation. For many of the exiles, that was enough.
Puns on the name Zedekiah play a role in these accounts. The name of that king literally means "The Lord is my righteousness." In 23:6, Jeremiah prophesied that the name of the messianic ruler would be "The Lord is our righteousness." What is behind the move from my to our and then from king to city? Christians believe the Messiah to be one who transferred his own status before God to them, and who indeed gave his name to the community. That is, after all, what it means to be called "Christian": it means to be part of the community that bears the name of the Christ.
1 Thessalonians 3:9-13
These words provide the conclusion to the first half of this Pauline letter, the oldest book in the New Testament. Timothy has visited the church of Thessalonica and conveyed a good report to Paul. The latter overflows with joy and thanksgiving at the news that the Thessalonians have remained firm in the faith. Then, in verse 10, Paul makes what has got to be one of the most tactful transitions in all literature. He tells them that while he is constantly thanking God joyfully for them, he also prays night and day that he will have the opportunity to visit them, in order to restore whatever is lacking in their faith. He continues immediately with doxology but the cat has snuck subtly out of the bag: something is lacking in their faith.
What is it? If we read the rest of the letter, we will discover that the primary deficiency concerns their understanding of eschatology (4:13--5:11). Paul prepares already for this in his reference here to "the coming of our Lord Jesus with all his holy ones." The NRSV translates these last words "saints" and spoils Paul's surprise. The Thessalonians would probably assume that the "holy ones" coming with Jesus at the end of time would be angels. Later, Paul takes up their question to him concerning those who have died, and only then does he reveal that the holy ones who will come with Jesus on the last day include their own loved ones (4:16-18).
Even aside from his exemplary tact, Paul's style is interesting here. He does not congratulate the Thessalonians themselves for what they have done well, but praises God for this. Likewise, he does not criticize them for what they lack, but prays to God to supply it. His perspective is consistently theocentric.
There are two possible Advent themes here. First, Paul's own desire to come to the Thessalonians envisions a sort of "apostolic parousia." Why is it important that he sees them face to face, when they can simply write each other more letters? The letters are not enough. There is longing for presence, and that is very much a part of what Advent is all about.
Secondly, the reference to the Lord's coming in verse 13 is intended to motivate the Thessalonians. It is in anticipation of this day that God strengthens their hearts in holiness and establishes the goal of being blameless. This is the preparatory nature of Advent, the ethical value of hope.
Luke 21:25-36
Apocalyptic texts are grossly misused in many ways. Two obvious mistakes: 1) they are taken as predictive in a simplistic sense that applies all of the signs and symbols to current events; 2) they are used to promote evangelism through "scare tactics." One option for preaching is to use the sermon time as an opportunity for debunking such notions. This may be necessary (especially as this millennium draws to a close) if members of your congregation have been especially afflicted by this variety of false teaching. But a sermon on "Why we shouldn't try to predict the parousia" focuses more on what the text doesn't mean than on what it does mean. Most preachers and most congregations find such sermons unsatisfying.
The central theme of this text is "Hope." It indicates two different responses to distress in the world: a) faint with fear at what is happening to civilization; or b) look up, raise our heads in anticipation of deliverance. What makes the difference? Knowing that God is near (v. 31). Only the most superficial reading would take the latter affirmation as meaning "near, chronologically." Chronology is mostly irrelevant in apocalyptic thought. The source of our hope is not believing that Christ is going to return before the year "whatever," but believing that Christ is near at hand, that his salvation is already taking effect in our lives.
The point is that we respond differently to distress in the world if we know God is in charge. To say the rule of God is near affirms the possibility, even the likelihood, of God's will being done. Such thinking is not naive, but it is paradoxical. Earlier in this chapter, Jesus told his disciples that some of them would be put to death, but that not a hair of their head would perish (21:16-18). Obviously, then, evil may have significant effect on our lives, but not ultimate effect. God has the long word, even our death.
The whole point of the text, then, is to contrast living with hope to living without hope. Look at verse 34: "Be on guard that your hearts not be weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life." We may see the word "drunkenness," think "immoral behavior," and take the text to mean, "Don't do bad things, like getting drunk, because Jesus is coming back to judge you." But that's not the point. The primary thought is not "Don't get drunk," but "Don't let your hearts be weighed down." Drunkenness is but a symptom of living without hope, as is dissipation, or preoccupation with the worries of life.
People without hope are people without purpose: "Without a vision, the people perish." The central theme of Advent, and of all apocalyptic literature, is to stimulate the imagination to hope, to enliven faith in a better life so as to fill this present one with meaning and purpose.
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
By Elizabeth Achtemeier
Jeremiah 33:14-16
Promises are so important! We know, for example, that when we make a child a promise, we must keep it at all costs, or the child will lose all trust in us and our word. We also know that if we do not keep a promise to a friend, we may lose that friendship.
Certainly we make promises through all our life. One of the most important ones is made when we stand before a minister to be married. There we promise to love and comfort, to honor and keep our spouse, in sickness and in health. And we promise that we will forsake all others and be faithful to that marital partner as long as we both shall live.
We even have the organization of "Promise Keepers" these days -- thousands of men who meet together in conferences, and who promise to be good and faithful husbands, and to instill in their home life piety and trustworthiness and love.
Sometimes we keep our promises, but sometimes we do not. Sometimes our words are just empty pledges, having no influence on our life and actions. And often times, we live in regret and guilt that we have not kept some spoken word. We think a person who keeps his or her word is a person to be honored and trusted, and we deplore and rue the times when we fail to be thus trustworthy.
We even might say that there is only One who perfectly keeps his promises, and if we study the Scriptures, we find that One is God. Throughout the Bible, God is a promise-keeping God. "The Word of our God will stand forever," Second Isaiah proclaims (Isaiah 40:8). My word "shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose," God vows (Isaiah 55:11). And the whole record of the Scriptures tells us that is true.
So it is, too, with the promise to which the Lord refers here in Jeremiah 33:14-15. Over 400 years before the time of Jeremiah, God promised King David that he would establish the davidic reign forever (2 Samuel 7:13). "Your house and your kingdom shall be made sure forever before me," God vowed. "Your throne shall be established forever" (v. 16). And then a hundred years before the time of Jeremiah, God renewed that promise: "There shall come forth a shoot from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots" (Isaiah 11:1). In like fashion here in our Jeremiah text, God makes the promise once again; "In those days and at that time I will cause a righteous Branch to spring forth for David" (33:15). A davidic king to sit upon the throne! God guaranteed it by his word!
What God guarantees Israel and Judah in this text, however, is not just a davidic king. It is a righteous descendant of David. For it was very important that the king whom God raised up should be a righteous ruler.
There is no doubt that rulers, presidents, and leaders of nations and societies often determine the quality of life for those over whom they rule. A despot in Africa, who is interested only in gaining wealth for himself, can ruin the economy of his nation and plunge his people into poverty. An immoral president in a democracy can undermine the morality of a society and make it think that any style of life is acceptable, because even its president is abandoning ethical rules. A thieving and lying political or religious leader can lead his or her followers into equal deception that mimics the leader's perfidy.
The same was true in the life of biblical Israel. Repeatedly we find in the history of Israel's kings the phrase that says some king "made Israel to sin" (e.g., 1 Kings 15:34; 1 Kings 16:26, et al). Thus, when the king was unrighteous, Israel, too, was unrighteous in the eyes of God. Israel's life was bound up with the life of its king. The king was Israel. Israel was the king. And that people's whole fate from the hands of God depended on whether or not a righteous king ruled on the throne.
Israel did have a couple of decent and good kings, such as Josiah and Hezekiah, both of whom carried out sweeping religious reforms. But most of Israel's kings were not righteous, and that was especially true in the time of Jeremiah. Jehoiakim was a despot, introducing all sorts of syncretistic worship into Judah, oppressing the poor, and persecuting the prophets. Judah's final king before the Babylonian exile, Zedekiah, was nothing more than a puppet of the Babylonian empire. Thus, through the ages before that and even after, when it seemed that the throne would never be occupied again, Israel looked for a righteous and just ruler. Of every king who ascended the davidic throne or who claimed it, the question was asked, "Are you the one who is to come, or should we look for another?" Are you the long-awaited Branch of the davidic house, whom God promised us so long ago?
God is a promise-keeper, whose word is good forever. Therefore on this first Sunday of Advent, we eagerly await the day when we may celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ, who is the fulfillment of this age-old promise of a davidic ruler. Certainly Christ is a righteous Branch of David, fulfilling perfectly the will of God. Bound up with his person and sharing by trust in his righteousness, we are counted pure in the eyes of God. This is a righteous King who makes us righteous as well. And certainly too, Jesus Christ is just, in his life on this earth, bringing God's justice and order to the poor and oppressed, condemning the wicked, and setting right the relationships among human beings. Still today the risen Christ by his Spirit guides us in justice for all, and gives us the power to love one another.
But has this ancient promise been fully fulfilled? Do Judah and Jerusalem and indeed, all the nations of the earth, including ours, live in safety and security? Are our streets so safe now that we walk them at night? Are our children surrounded by a society of decency and peace? Can all of us enjoy an abundant life, free of violence and wrong, fear and upheaval? Or do the wicked still prowl through our society and world, and are countless millions still faced with the threat of death? Obviously, this promise in our text of safety and security has not yet fully been realized. The fulfillment of the total promise still awaits its time "in the days that are coming," when God brings it all to pass.
But remember! God is a promise-keeper. He began to fulfill this promise by sending us his own Son in the birth of that babe of Bethlehem. He has always kept his word in the past; the whole history of Israel testifies to that faithfulness. So we now know that God will also keep his word -- his full word -- in the future.
The evil and violence, the sin and suffering that surround us on every side are not the last word. On this first Sunday of Advent, the church not only looks back to the birth of Christ, but it also looks forward to Christ's Second Coming, when he will come to set up his kingdom. Then in fact, safety and security and blessed life will be present for all people, and God will rule over all. God is a promise-keeper whose word will come to pass.
Eschatology has a role in theological understanding analogous to that which psychology plans in the understanding of human nature. If psychology (the Freudian schools in particular) tells us that what we are is determined by our past, then eschatology tells us that what we can be is determined by our future. In other words, what we know and believe about our future has a genuine effect on the present. Ultimately, "hope" is what makes all the difference. Mission, meaning, purpose -- all are grounded in hope.
This theme undergirds all three of the lessons. Jeremiah offers a vision of redemption to people about to be enslaved. Paul indicates that belief in the second coming of Christ will enhance the Thessalonians' faith, which is already quite lively. Jesus speaks of the future in terms that promise deliverance from ultimate disaster and immediate fear.
Jeremiah 33:14-16
These verses recycle a messianic prophecy from an earlier part of the book, Jeremiah 23:5-6. The wording is almost the same, but not quite. Now, instead of the king receiving a new name, the renewed city of Jerusalem enjoys this honor. In any case, the main interest for this day is the reference to a righteous "Branch," an ideal ruler from the line of David who will execute justice and righteousness. Christians attribute this role to Jesus, and the imagery enters our hymnody. "O Come, O Come, Emmanuel" contains the line, "O come, strong Branch of Jesse, free Your own from Satan's tyranny," "All Hail The Power Of Jesus' Name" says, "Extol the stem of Jesse's rod and crown him Lord of all." Jesse, of course, is the father of David.
The verses are presented as an oracle of Jeremiah from around 588 B.C.E. Because the verses are missing in the Septuagint, many scholars think they are actually a late addition to the book by another author. In any case, the narrative context links the oracle to the siege of Jerusalem under Nebuchadnezzar, king of Babylon. During that time, Jeremiah predicted the downfall of the city and the capture of its king, Zedekiah. Not surprisingly, Zedekiah was disappointed with this prognosis and imprisoned Jeremiah until he could adopt a more positive outlook. In a sense he did, but only by looking further into the future and declaring that God would eventually restore the fortunes of Judah, as well as those of the northern kingdom of Israel, which had been destroyed by the Assyrians more than a century previous.
Why speak of an eventual salvation to people about to enter bondage? Some years ago, a holocaust survivor named Victor Frankl wrote an incredible book titled Man's Search for Meaning. As a trained psychologist, he told of his own informal study of the personalities of those who were interned with him in the concentration camps. The single greatest factor that contributed to survival under those conditions was the belief that deliverance was possible. Those who lost this hope, he observed, died soon after. In Jeremiah's case, the source of hope was deferred even further. He offered those who went down to Babylon little hope of returning themselves. But their children or their grandchildren -- these would experience God's salvation. For many of the exiles, that was enough.
Puns on the name Zedekiah play a role in these accounts. The name of that king literally means "The Lord is my righteousness." In 23:6, Jeremiah prophesied that the name of the messianic ruler would be "The Lord is our righteousness." What is behind the move from my to our and then from king to city? Christians believe the Messiah to be one who transferred his own status before God to them, and who indeed gave his name to the community. That is, after all, what it means to be called "Christian": it means to be part of the community that bears the name of the Christ.
1 Thessalonians 3:9-13
These words provide the conclusion to the first half of this Pauline letter, the oldest book in the New Testament. Timothy has visited the church of Thessalonica and conveyed a good report to Paul. The latter overflows with joy and thanksgiving at the news that the Thessalonians have remained firm in the faith. Then, in verse 10, Paul makes what has got to be one of the most tactful transitions in all literature. He tells them that while he is constantly thanking God joyfully for them, he also prays night and day that he will have the opportunity to visit them, in order to restore whatever is lacking in their faith. He continues immediately with doxology but the cat has snuck subtly out of the bag: something is lacking in their faith.
What is it? If we read the rest of the letter, we will discover that the primary deficiency concerns their understanding of eschatology (4:13--5:11). Paul prepares already for this in his reference here to "the coming of our Lord Jesus with all his holy ones." The NRSV translates these last words "saints" and spoils Paul's surprise. The Thessalonians would probably assume that the "holy ones" coming with Jesus at the end of time would be angels. Later, Paul takes up their question to him concerning those who have died, and only then does he reveal that the holy ones who will come with Jesus on the last day include their own loved ones (4:16-18).
Even aside from his exemplary tact, Paul's style is interesting here. He does not congratulate the Thessalonians themselves for what they have done well, but praises God for this. Likewise, he does not criticize them for what they lack, but prays to God to supply it. His perspective is consistently theocentric.
There are two possible Advent themes here. First, Paul's own desire to come to the Thessalonians envisions a sort of "apostolic parousia." Why is it important that he sees them face to face, when they can simply write each other more letters? The letters are not enough. There is longing for presence, and that is very much a part of what Advent is all about.
Secondly, the reference to the Lord's coming in verse 13 is intended to motivate the Thessalonians. It is in anticipation of this day that God strengthens their hearts in holiness and establishes the goal of being blameless. This is the preparatory nature of Advent, the ethical value of hope.
Luke 21:25-36
Apocalyptic texts are grossly misused in many ways. Two obvious mistakes: 1) they are taken as predictive in a simplistic sense that applies all of the signs and symbols to current events; 2) they are used to promote evangelism through "scare tactics." One option for preaching is to use the sermon time as an opportunity for debunking such notions. This may be necessary (especially as this millennium draws to a close) if members of your congregation have been especially afflicted by this variety of false teaching. But a sermon on "Why we shouldn't try to predict the parousia" focuses more on what the text doesn't mean than on what it does mean. Most preachers and most congregations find such sermons unsatisfying.
The central theme of this text is "Hope." It indicates two different responses to distress in the world: a) faint with fear at what is happening to civilization; or b) look up, raise our heads in anticipation of deliverance. What makes the difference? Knowing that God is near (v. 31). Only the most superficial reading would take the latter affirmation as meaning "near, chronologically." Chronology is mostly irrelevant in apocalyptic thought. The source of our hope is not believing that Christ is going to return before the year "whatever," but believing that Christ is near at hand, that his salvation is already taking effect in our lives.
The point is that we respond differently to distress in the world if we know God is in charge. To say the rule of God is near affirms the possibility, even the likelihood, of God's will being done. Such thinking is not naive, but it is paradoxical. Earlier in this chapter, Jesus told his disciples that some of them would be put to death, but that not a hair of their head would perish (21:16-18). Obviously, then, evil may have significant effect on our lives, but not ultimate effect. God has the long word, even our death.
The whole point of the text, then, is to contrast living with hope to living without hope. Look at verse 34: "Be on guard that your hearts not be weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life." We may see the word "drunkenness," think "immoral behavior," and take the text to mean, "Don't do bad things, like getting drunk, because Jesus is coming back to judge you." But that's not the point. The primary thought is not "Don't get drunk," but "Don't let your hearts be weighed down." Drunkenness is but a symptom of living without hope, as is dissipation, or preoccupation with the worries of life.
People without hope are people without purpose: "Without a vision, the people perish." The central theme of Advent, and of all apocalyptic literature, is to stimulate the imagination to hope, to enliven faith in a better life so as to fill this present one with meaning and purpose.
FIRST LESSON FOCUS
By Elizabeth Achtemeier
Jeremiah 33:14-16
Promises are so important! We know, for example, that when we make a child a promise, we must keep it at all costs, or the child will lose all trust in us and our word. We also know that if we do not keep a promise to a friend, we may lose that friendship.
Certainly we make promises through all our life. One of the most important ones is made when we stand before a minister to be married. There we promise to love and comfort, to honor and keep our spouse, in sickness and in health. And we promise that we will forsake all others and be faithful to that marital partner as long as we both shall live.
We even have the organization of "Promise Keepers" these days -- thousands of men who meet together in conferences, and who promise to be good and faithful husbands, and to instill in their home life piety and trustworthiness and love.
Sometimes we keep our promises, but sometimes we do not. Sometimes our words are just empty pledges, having no influence on our life and actions. And often times, we live in regret and guilt that we have not kept some spoken word. We think a person who keeps his or her word is a person to be honored and trusted, and we deplore and rue the times when we fail to be thus trustworthy.
We even might say that there is only One who perfectly keeps his promises, and if we study the Scriptures, we find that One is God. Throughout the Bible, God is a promise-keeping God. "The Word of our God will stand forever," Second Isaiah proclaims (Isaiah 40:8). My word "shall not return to me empty, but it shall accomplish that which I purpose," God vows (Isaiah 55:11). And the whole record of the Scriptures tells us that is true.
So it is, too, with the promise to which the Lord refers here in Jeremiah 33:14-15. Over 400 years before the time of Jeremiah, God promised King David that he would establish the davidic reign forever (2 Samuel 7:13). "Your house and your kingdom shall be made sure forever before me," God vowed. "Your throne shall be established forever" (v. 16). And then a hundred years before the time of Jeremiah, God renewed that promise: "There shall come forth a shoot from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots" (Isaiah 11:1). In like fashion here in our Jeremiah text, God makes the promise once again; "In those days and at that time I will cause a righteous Branch to spring forth for David" (33:15). A davidic king to sit upon the throne! God guaranteed it by his word!
What God guarantees Israel and Judah in this text, however, is not just a davidic king. It is a righteous descendant of David. For it was very important that the king whom God raised up should be a righteous ruler.
There is no doubt that rulers, presidents, and leaders of nations and societies often determine the quality of life for those over whom they rule. A despot in Africa, who is interested only in gaining wealth for himself, can ruin the economy of his nation and plunge his people into poverty. An immoral president in a democracy can undermine the morality of a society and make it think that any style of life is acceptable, because even its president is abandoning ethical rules. A thieving and lying political or religious leader can lead his or her followers into equal deception that mimics the leader's perfidy.
The same was true in the life of biblical Israel. Repeatedly we find in the history of Israel's kings the phrase that says some king "made Israel to sin" (e.g., 1 Kings 15:34; 1 Kings 16:26, et al). Thus, when the king was unrighteous, Israel, too, was unrighteous in the eyes of God. Israel's life was bound up with the life of its king. The king was Israel. Israel was the king. And that people's whole fate from the hands of God depended on whether or not a righteous king ruled on the throne.
Israel did have a couple of decent and good kings, such as Josiah and Hezekiah, both of whom carried out sweeping religious reforms. But most of Israel's kings were not righteous, and that was especially true in the time of Jeremiah. Jehoiakim was a despot, introducing all sorts of syncretistic worship into Judah, oppressing the poor, and persecuting the prophets. Judah's final king before the Babylonian exile, Zedekiah, was nothing more than a puppet of the Babylonian empire. Thus, through the ages before that and even after, when it seemed that the throne would never be occupied again, Israel looked for a righteous and just ruler. Of every king who ascended the davidic throne or who claimed it, the question was asked, "Are you the one who is to come, or should we look for another?" Are you the long-awaited Branch of the davidic house, whom God promised us so long ago?
God is a promise-keeper, whose word is good forever. Therefore on this first Sunday of Advent, we eagerly await the day when we may celebrate the birth of Jesus Christ, who is the fulfillment of this age-old promise of a davidic ruler. Certainly Christ is a righteous Branch of David, fulfilling perfectly the will of God. Bound up with his person and sharing by trust in his righteousness, we are counted pure in the eyes of God. This is a righteous King who makes us righteous as well. And certainly too, Jesus Christ is just, in his life on this earth, bringing God's justice and order to the poor and oppressed, condemning the wicked, and setting right the relationships among human beings. Still today the risen Christ by his Spirit guides us in justice for all, and gives us the power to love one another.
But has this ancient promise been fully fulfilled? Do Judah and Jerusalem and indeed, all the nations of the earth, including ours, live in safety and security? Are our streets so safe now that we walk them at night? Are our children surrounded by a society of decency and peace? Can all of us enjoy an abundant life, free of violence and wrong, fear and upheaval? Or do the wicked still prowl through our society and world, and are countless millions still faced with the threat of death? Obviously, this promise in our text of safety and security has not yet fully been realized. The fulfillment of the total promise still awaits its time "in the days that are coming," when God brings it all to pass.
But remember! God is a promise-keeper. He began to fulfill this promise by sending us his own Son in the birth of that babe of Bethlehem. He has always kept his word in the past; the whole history of Israel testifies to that faithfulness. So we now know that God will also keep his word -- his full word -- in the future.
The evil and violence, the sin and suffering that surround us on every side are not the last word. On this first Sunday of Advent, the church not only looks back to the birth of Christ, but it also looks forward to Christ's Second Coming, when he will come to set up his kingdom. Then in fact, safety and security and blessed life will be present for all people, and God will rule over all. God is a promise-keeper whose word will come to pass.
