November 30, 2025
Advent 1/ Year A
The Rev. Dr. Elaine Ellis Thomas
St. John’s Episcopal Church, Essex CT
Isaiah 2:1-5; Psalm 122; Romans 13:11-14; Matthew 24:36-44
Last week, in my sermon about kingship and Christ the King, I repeated Jesus’s words to Pilate, “My kingdom does not belong to this world” (John 18:36). I am not sure there is a Sunday, the beginning of a new season and a new year in the Church calendar, where this point is driven home more forcefully than today. While the world is decorated with lights and greens and carols are blasting from speakers everywhere we go, in here, Matthew gives us this admonition: “Keep awake, therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming” (24:42). And if you think maybe you heard those words not so long ago, you did, just from Luke’s gospel.
There is a long and ancient tradition of observing a 7-week, rather than a 4-week Advent. Our readings that point toward end-times and being ready both end the liturgical year and start a new one in a season of preparation. This preparation is not just for a babe in a manger but for Christ returning in glory. At the end of this service, we will sing the glorious hymn “Lo, he comes with clouds descending.” We are in an in-between, a liminal time, and it is made even more unsettling when the “kingdom” we find ourselves in is of a world far different than the one outside our doors. We are longing for the coming of a baby, but what we get is Judgment Day.
Just so you know, I am not an Advent Scrooge. If you want to decorate and listen to Christmas music, please do. Life is too short and too hard and the days are growing dark earlier and earlier for anyone to try to steal whatever joy we can find in this season.
And yet, I hope we can slow down just a bit. The inside of St. John’s will be muted for just a while longer. A few greens here and there, increasing over the four Sundays of Advent, just as an additional candle will be lit on our wreath as a reminder that the night may be far gone, but the day is not quite here, to paraphrase Paul (Romans 13:12).
In the Medieval Church, the four Sundays of Advent had the austere and rather terrifying themes of Death, Judgement, Heaven, and Hell. To prepare oneself for the Second Coming was to contemplate our mortal death, Christ coming to judge the world, and the expectation that we are all destined for a place in the afterlife in the heavenly realms or the realm of fire and brimstone. Perhaps we do not hold to such Dantean conceptions of what comes after death, but to my knowledge, no one really knows what happens after we die or when the end times will come. Even Jesus did not know that: “But about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father” (Matthew 24: 36).
Well, if Jesus doesn’t know, what are we to do? What help is there for us? How can we possibly prepare ourselves?
Here’s the Good News. We don’t have to know. We don’t need all the answers. Jesus says to be prepared, to be ready, and we know how to do that. “Lay aside the works of darkness and put on the armor of light,” Paul instructs the Romans (13:12). Maybe those works of darkness are not the debauchery and reveling Paul lists, but maybe they are looking out for ourselves and not our neighbors, hoarding our goods and resources, spewing anger and mistrust against those who are different from us, being resentful and jealous of the good fortune of others. Whatever it is that keeps us bound in fear or worry or isolation – those are the things we are being invited to cast off. The armor of light is acts of service and generosity, gathering in worship and fellowship, praying each day for God’s presence in and among us. We don’t need to be afraid or constantly vigilant as long as we are doing the things Jesus taught us to do: love God, love neighbor.
These days of waiting and expectation come as the days shorten and the shadows lengthen. It is easy to lose sight of what it is we are even waiting for. And how will we know that it is here when it comes? What if we miss it altogether? To this, Jesus says, “Keep awake,” and trust that the light will shine on our path.
The poet Mary Oliver wrote a wonderful Advent poem called “Making the House Ready for the Lord.” It describes the messy, sometimes chaotic way we make ourselves ready as we go about the business of living each day. Oliver writes
Dear Lord, I have swept and I have washed but
still nothing is as shining as it should be
for you. Under the sink, for example, is an
uproar of mice –it is the season of their
many children. What shall I do? And under the eaves
and through the walls the squirrels
have gnawed their ragged entrances–but it is the season
when they need shelter, so what shall I do? And
the raccoon limps into the kitchen and opens the cupboard
while the dog snores, the cat hugs the pillow;
what shall I do? Beautiful is the new snow falling
in the yard and the fox who is staring boldly
up the path, to the door. And I still believe you will
come, Lord: you will, when I speak to the fox,
the sparrow, the lost dog, the shivering sea-goose, know
that really I am speaking to you whenever I say,
as I do all morning and afternoon: Come in, Come in.
[1] Mary Oliver, from Thirst (Boston: Beacon Press, 2006)