Advent: God Is Bringing Us Hope

Most of us enjoy celebrating the traditional themes of Advent: hope, peace, joy and love – not suffering. Yet suffering in some form happens to all of us, making us desperate for relief. The desperation produced by suffering is, in fact, the bad news that leads us to the good and glorious news of the gospel.

We Are Desperate

Ernest Hemingway provides a wonderful, terrible illustration about the desperation suffering causes in his short story, “The Capital of the World.” In this story, a father goes to Madrid to continue his search for his estranged son, Paco. Desperate to find the young man, the bereft father puts an ad in the paper: “Paco, meet me at Hotel Montana, 12 noon, Tuesday, all is well. All will be forgiven, Papa.”

When the man shows up at the hotel at the appointed time, he can’t believe his eyes. A crowd of 800 men, all named Paco, await his arrival. Each one is looking for forgiveness, reconciliation and restoration with his estranged father, usually because of things he has done.

This story captures not only the idea that we all suffer but the truth that we are desperate. We are all like the exiled Israelites to whom God speaks through the prophet Isaiah in Isaiah 40: desperate, yearning and hoping for relief and redemption. That’s the hope and desire of the brokenhearted and crushed in spirit who need to hear from God.

Perhaps you feel this way too. If you don’t right now, you have in the past, or you will in the future. We’re not Buddhists, but we would agree with Buddhism’s First Noble Truth, which says, “Life is suffering.” Because this is true, we need relief.

Unlike the Buddhists, though, our biblical worldview tells us we suffer because of sin. It’s sin and its effects, then, that make us desperate.

Concerning Questions

These thoughts all inform me when I read Isaiah 40, a familiar Advent passage. The question that comes to my mind here is a profound one: Does our sin negate the promises of God? Over the years, he gave Israel some incredible promises. He gave Abraham the promise of blessing: that through him and his descendants, the world would be blessed. And God gave David the promise of a forever kingdom – that one of his sons would sit on an everlasting throne. In the end, these promises converge in the Messiah, the Son of David, through whom God brings salvation to the world.

Sadly, by Isaiah’s time, the descendants of Abraham and the members of the dynasty of David no longer trusted the promises of God. Instead, they aligned themselves with the empty, false promises of the world. Their unbelief in God redirected their future from blessing toward judgment, and they moved from independence with God to subservience under pagan powers that ultimately led to captivity, exile, despair and hopelessness.

That’s where my question arises: Did the Israelites’ sin negate the promises of God? And, to add a more personal one, does my sin do the same?  Are God’s promises just empty, sentimental words? Does sin thwart and negate his good and gracious purposes?

As believers in Christ, we have been sealed by the Holy Spirit in baptism and marked as Christ’s own forever. You and I have received the promises, but then we err and stray like lost sheep. We follow the devices and desires of our own hearts. We’ve left undone these things that we ought to have done, and we’ve done those things we ought not to have done. There’s no health in us. If you’re like me, you may lie in bed at night hearing the haunt of condemnation, tempted to despair, believing God is annoyed and frustrated because of your lack of obedience.

It’s also way too easy to think that the suffering you experience occurs because God is getting back at you for your lack of obedience. The world calls that karma, and that idea has infiltrated our everyday thinking. Several years ago, we were on a trip out of the country, and our house flooded. When our neighbor called me in England at 1:00 in the morning to tell me water was coming out of our front door, the first thought that came to my mind was, “Our giving dropped below 10%; God’s probably getting back at us.” That’s how quickly we slip into that kind of mindset.

Comforting Promise

But Isaiah 40 answers our questions and concerns about sin with a comforting promise of hope for his exiled and broken-hearted people. This chapter announces God’s surprising plan of grace and glory for his rebellious ones – and not just for them, but also for the entire world.

Isaiah 40 is also marked by a seismic shift in tone and application. In what seems like the blink of an eye, the passage moves from judgment to comfort, deliverance and revelation of God’s glory, all exploding on the scene. It shifts from exhortation and confrontation to comfort and assurance because God remembers his promises.

Let’s examine it a little further. The chapter starts out with “Comfort, comfort” (v. 1) and “Speak tenderly” (v. 2). God repeats this comfort when we’re afflicted, and this is what we need: divine comfort. This is why Thomas Cranmer included the Comfortable Words in our Book of Common Prayer, making this language of comfort part of our Anglican tradition. God repeats himself because he wants people to know this deep feeling of comfort for his rebellious people, people who deserve what they are getting. He wants to win back their hearts: “Comfort, comfort my people … Speak tenderly to them” (vv. 1-2), but not simply because he wants to shift their behavior. He wants to shift their hearts, which in turn will shift their behavior, and they will love and worship him.

God invites us in with comfort, and then, going back to our passage, he commissions other people – his prophets, the people there, us today – to turn to someone else and say, “Yes, the Lord is bringing comfort.”

More Than a Sentiment

Yet another question arises: How is this more than a sentiment? It sounds wonderful. The people are in despair, and God says two words: “Comfort, comfort.” But how is this more than a sentiment, a sort of biblical “thoughts and prayers” that leaves us there in the darkness of our lives, wanting more? We know Isaiah’s words represent more than a sentiment by four truths we see in this passage.

1. God bestows his people with identity. This is what brings comfort: “‘Comfort, comfort my people,’” says your God.” Through their unbelief, they were brought low, but God still identifies them as his people, a covenantal promise. He repeats time and again, “I will be your God, and you will be my people.” They’re his possession; they’re his prize. They’re the ones he protects and makes provision for. He’s saying, “I haven’t forgotten you. You’re still my people. You’re not acting like my people at all, but you are my people, and I will go get my people.

That’s why we renew our baptismal vows, which say we are sealed by the Holy Spirit, marked as Christ’s own forever. We need something to break into the darkness, and the promise of who you are in Christ is part of that identity marking.

In the New Testament, we’re called “the children of God.” We’re naturally children of wrath, but God makes us children of his+, adopted into his family. Being the adopted child of God means God wanted you in his family. You didn’t weasel your way in; he wanted you there.

Another identity marker is this: “Speak tenderly to Jerusalem” (v. 2). In exile, God’s people were far from Jerusalem. But God dignifies them with their true identity and assures them he understands their suffering by calling them “my people.” That’s identity. He also calls them “Jerusalem.” That’s a miracle, because they weren’t acting like Jerusalem; they were acting like Babylon. But God is calling them to something different, and this is also what happens to us in Christ.

In Christ, God identifies with us in our sufferings. He was tempted in every way, as we are. But there’s an amazing identity shift that takes place. If we’re in Christ, our sins are forgiven and we’re declared pure, perfect, righteous and holy.

By his Holy Spirit, he doesn’t just call you back. The process of sanctification involves him making you in this life what he calls you: pure, perfect, righteous and holy, which you will be for fully realized in heaven. You’re his adopted child. That’s one comfort.

2. God redeems his people. That’s the second comfort. The passage says in verse 2, “Her iniquity is pardoned.” The people’s sins brought them to the point of being dominated by their conquering enemy, Babylon. Now, the divine warrior fights on their behalf to forgive them of their sins. Up to this point, God has been pointing out their sins, which make them deserving of judgment. But in Chapter 40, he says, “But you’re forgiven.”

This is why we don’t stop talking about the forgiveness of our sins, and repenting and hearing the absolution every Sunday. Our sinning, our law-breaking, has the consequence of death. But in the Great Exchange, we say, “OK, Jesus, you said you were laying down your life for these sins. We’ll give these to you. You’ll take the payment, the consequence, and we’ll take what you earn. We earn death, and we’re giving that to you. By your merits, you earn eternal life, and you’re giving that to us.” That’s the Great Exchange.

3. God guarantees his promises. This is the third reason we know God’s comfort is not sentimental. Verse 5 tells us, “the mouth of the Lord has spoken.” The word of our God will stand forever; the fulfillment of this comforting promise depends not on favorable historical trends but only on the promises of God. The people weren’t waiting for some king of Babylon to be kind to them. Only the one true God can be absolutely trusted, and his words never prove false. That’s why being a people of the Word is so important – that’s the only thing that is stable in this life. That was the assurance the Israelites needed in their time of desperation, knowing their enemy was wavering and also knowing they couldn’t be trusted to secure this promise on their own. Only God, who made the promise, is the one who can make it happen.

This is what we need. Our comfort rests not in the consistency of human leaders – even ecclesiastical ones. We’re not your hope by any stretch, and we never pretend to be. Only in the certainty of God’s faithfulness and his divine Word; that’s the assurance he gives.

This promise also comes along with others, such as “He who began a good work in you will see it through to completion” (see Phil. 1:6). Jesus tells us that nobody can snatch us out of the Father’s hands (see John 10:28-29), and Paul tells us in Romans 8 that nothing can separate us from the love of God (see Rom. 8:38-39). We need assurance, and God guarantees he will get you to the end.

4. God is for them. He’s for you. This is what Isaiah 40:3 tells us: “The glory of the Lord shall be revealed.” Isaiah is saying the glory of the Lord is going to show up. Valleys are raised up, roads are prepared – the king is showing up, and he is going to his people. It’s all about glory and glory and glory, which makes us realize our humility. The Bible consistently compares God’s strength with his tenderness. When we read First Peter, we hear, “Humble yourselves, therefore, under the mighty hand of God … casting all your anxiety on him, because he cares for you” (1 Pet. 5:6-7). When Jesus washes the disciples’ feet, he says, “All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me” (Matt. 28:18).

He knows his authority, his identity and his destiny. So what does he do? He stoops down and washes his disciples’ feet. Here, we have that pairing again: the glorious Lord coming to be present with his people. He is coming to them as a conquering King who fought on their behalf and won a victory they could not win on their own, a generous benefactor giving them gifts and rewards they didn’t even earn. But he is also coming as a gentle shepherd who loves them with tenderness, passion and patience.

Our Advent Hope

This is our hope. With the coming of the Messiah, the Word is made flesh, and God’s glory is revealed in the face of Jesus Christ. He will come as a shepherd who, as Isaiah says, will gather the lambs in his arms, carrying them in his bosom as a loving Lord. Despite his great power as a conquering King, he uses his force and his power on our behalf, for our comfort and for our healing. Jesus identifies with this portrait, describing himself as the good shepherd who lays down his life for his sheep (see John 10:11).

Isaiah 40:7-8 says the Messiah will face a withering even unto death, but this incarnate word, with power beyond this world, overcomes sin and death, rising from the grave and making it certain that God’s word will never die. We can trust it to our death.

The apostle Peter, in 1 Peter 1:25, describes the unfading word of God in our Isaiah reading as the gospel itself. What is the gospel? From Genesis to Isaiah to the Gospels to Revelation, the gospel is God’s promise of a Son who will crush the serpent’s head, forgive the sins of his people, reconcile with them, adopt them into his family, raise them from the dead and give them everlasting life, solely on the basis of his grace and for the sake of Christ.

We have a precious identity. We have forgiveness of sins. We have this assurance: As God’s people, we’re made in his image; we’re his adopted children. Paul, in Ephesians 2:10, called us his “workmanship,” but that language is not the best translation of the Greek word poiema. Instead, it means “masterpiece,” a work of art. You are God’s masterpiece – not just as images of God, but as his redeemed, adopted children.

Work of art. Masterpiece. As God’s covenant people, you are God’s Mona Lisa. That’s what Isaiah 40 is saying: “You’re valuable to me as my people. I’ll do anything to get you back.”

But there’s something else about the Mona Lisa: It’s been vandalized and defaced four times. In 1956, a vandal threw acid at it, and later that year, a rock was thrown at the painting. In 1974 someone spray-painted the painting’s glass enclosure with red paint, and then just a few years ago, another person threw a ceramic mug at it, also hitting the glass enclosure. With every attack, art lovers and curators were furious.

And God is even angrier at the attacks against you. Even though you may have gotten yourself into a mess, he’s angrier at those who dominate: Satan, sin, hell, death and the grave, which put you into despair and exile, darkness and hopelessness. Whether you defaced yourself, whether someone else defaced you, whatever it is, since you are his masterpiece, he is promising that he will restore you. That’s what God does. Isaiah 40 is telling us about the hope of restoration, and God will see it through. There is a King who is coming, and he came in the incarnation, and he conquered by dying, and then he ascended to his throne where he currently rules and reigns, and then he’s going to come again in power and great triumph. And when he does, First Peter 5 says, God will crown you with an unfading, radiant glory.

That’s the wonder of the gospel, that those rebellious people, we rebellious people, will get crowned with glory by the very king we originally rejected.

Hope is not lost. That’s what we celebrate, that we have every reason – because of the work of Christ – to have great hope.

In Advent, we look both ways. We look back to Christ’s first Advent, what he did. We look forward to the second Advent. We’re not in some type of limbo. Limbo is miserable. Instead, we stand between the two best things possible. I have confidence back there because of what Jesus did. My hope is secure as the tomb is empty and that he is coming again. And so we have a double-barreled hope right here, expressed in the Proper Preface: God, “because you sent your beloved Son to redeem us from sin and death, and to make us heirs in him of everlasting life; that when he shall come again in power and great triumph to judge the world, we may without shame or fear rejoice to behold his appearing.”