Homily, December 7, 2025, Rev. Holly Cardone

Sermon for Advent II

Matthew 3:1–12

In the name of the God who is coming, who has come, and who shows up in the middle of our messy, imperfect right-now. Amen.

Advent, week two. I haven’t even begun to get cozy with my peppermint mocha and twinkle lights. Though I have my Christmas playlist going when I’m in the car. Like last week, in the Gospel of Matthew today, the tone is different than the cozy, nostalgic trappings of Christmas. It’s a little uncomfortable. It’s a prophet in camel hair from the wilderness shouting at us.

John the Baptist comes roaring out of the wilderness shouting, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near!” John is not subtle. John is not polite. And John is not interested in our curated holiday Instagram post, lights on a tree, or Christmas shopping. John walks right into the second week of Advent, disrupting our sleepwalking, because, John insists, something new is happening now. And it is right around the corner.

This is that great Advent idea of “already, not yet.” God’s kingdom is here.
God’s kingdom is still coming and both are true.

Last week I reminded you of the meaning of apocalyptic language in scripture. Apocalyptic: meaning to reveal, to uncover, to unveil what is behind the curtain Last week’s gospel and today’s gospel the writer uses eschatological language to highlight the pressing urgency of the moment. Apocalyptic, that word is part of our cultural landscape, but eschatology?  That is a seminary word. And it’s often heard in the context of end times, fire, destruction, the whole Left Behind franchise.

Last week’s Gospel and this week’s gospel reflects the eschatological language of the 1st century.  Eschatology simply means “the study of last things.” In Judaism, this meant imagining the day when God would set the world right, redeem Israel, restore justice, bring peace, resurrect the dead, create a world where the dignity of humanity is honored again.

I mentioned this last week also, for ancient Jews living under the Roman empire, eschatology wasn’t about escape, it was about hope. It was the belief that God would not abandon them to oppression forever.

Well, Jesus steps right into that hope. But Jesus never talks about the end of the world. He talks about the end of a world that destroys people. He talks about the end of violence and domination and cruelty.

John Dominic Crossan and Marcus Borg say that eschatology, in Jesus’ world, wasn’t about cosmic destruction, it was about transfiguration. It meant imagining the world as it would be if God were its direct ruler. The final kingdom. The kingdom of God.

So, when John the Baptist cries, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near,” he’s not warning them about God blowing everything up. He’s warning and inviting them, into the end of injustice. The end of greed. The end of systems that crush the poor. The end of the world as empire built it. And that means the advent of something new.

Advent is the season where Kairos, God’s time, breaks into Chronos, our everyday calendar time. Chronos is predictable: clocks, schedules, commutes, deadlines. Kairos is holy and disruptive: the moment when God taps you on the shoulder and says, “Hey, pay attention.” It’s a time set aside to examine where we’ve been, where we’re going, and who God is shaping us to be.

This is why repentance matters. Because repentance isn’t about feeling lousy or crawling around saying, “I’m the worst.” Repentance is recognizing where we have become separated from God, from one another, from our own dignity. Repentance is saying, “I’ve been walking one way, and it’s leading me away from life. I need to turn around.” It is a reorientation, a re-alignment toward God’s dream for us.

John the Baptist is inviting people into that turning. That readiness. That wakefulness. When John says to the Pharisees and Sadducees a “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?” he isn’t talking about God having anger issues. The wrath of God, in Scripture, is God’s fierce grief over anything that destroys creation, anything that crushes human dignity. It is God’s heartbreak over injustice.

William Paul Young, the author of the novel, “The Shack,” defines the “wrath of God,” “as God's intense, fiery love against evil and anything that harms us. It is not a petty anger at us, but God's holy character pursuing wholeness, like a surgeon removing cancer. Young sees wrath as the destructive force of sin and separation confronting God's pure love, but ultimately, Jesus' sacrifice reconciles us, transforming wrath into healing love that burns away our darkness, leading to universal restoration rather than eternal punishment.”

The God that is, was and will be this Christmas is the God who gets angry when children suffer, rages against cruelty and brutality, and a God who weeps with us when we hurt each other. Not divine punishment, but divine love that never looks away.

The season of Advent is the gift of time despite all the evidence of the contrary out there, in the world, in the mall, online. A time to breathe, to look honestly at ourselves, to repent, not in shame but hope, and time to prepare for the God who comes to us not only in glory but also in vulnerability.

Because the purpose of Christ’s coming, at Christmas and at the end of all things, is to reveal God’s heart. A heart that shows us grace, teaches us how live lives of love and compassion, to heal all that is broken in us and in the world, and to invite us into a kingdom where dignity is restored and love is the organizing principle of the universe.

Last week Jesus left us with these words, “Therefore, you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.” The unexpected hour is here, in the story of John the Baptist, a dirty and unkempt wild-eyed prophet baptizing anyone willing to get into the water with him. The unexpected hour is the wilderness, and Christmas, when the kingdom of God breaks into the world as a newborn baby.

This Advent, as we wait for Christ, I invite you to also stay awake to Christ already present and healing and calling us to toward him and life.

Amen.