The First Sunday in Advent: Jesus Changes Everything
The First Sunday in Advent: Jesus Changes Everything
Romans 13:8-14 and St. Matthew 21:1-13
by William Klock
Advent reminds us that Jesus has changed everything. The world around us celebrates the beginning of the new year on January 1st, but for the Church the new year begins today, the First Sunday in Advent. Again, because Jesus has changed everything. As we approach Christmas, when we recall and celebrate Jesus’ birth, Advent calls us to reflect on what Jesus has done: in his incarnation, in his death, in his resurrection, in his ascension. Advent calls us to count the cost of discipleship, of following King Jesus. Advent comes, like John the Baptist, and calls out to us: Repent, for the kingdom of God has come. Let go of everything that is not Jesus, then take hold of him in faith with both hands and follow him into God’s new creation. Let him set you to rights so that you can be part of this new age in which he—through the gospel, through the gospel, through the Spirit—is setting the world itself to rights.
The Gospel this morning stands as a signpost to the kingdom. St. Matthew shows us Jesus the Messiah, Jesus the King, and he gives us a glimpse of his kingdom. Look at Matthew 21:1-6.
When they came near to Jerusalem, and arrived at Bethphage on the Mount of Olives, Jesus sent two of the disciples on ahead. “Go into the village in front of you, and immediately you will find a donkey tied up, and a foal with it. Untie them and bring them to me. And if anyone says anything to you, say, “The Lord needs them needs them and he’ll send them back straightaway.”
This happened so that the prophet’s words might be fulfilled:
“Tell this to Zion’s daughter:
Look now! Your king is coming to you;
Humble and mounted on a donkey,
And on a colt, a donkey’s foal.”
So the disciples went and did as Jesus had told them. They brought the donkey and its foal, and put their coats on them, and Jesus sat on them.
Matthew draws on the scriptures and on Israel’s story to give depth to what he writes. Specifically, here, he draws on Zechariah’s prophecies that look forward to the Messiah and to the day when the Lord would come in judgement on Israel’s enemies. When Matthew says that Jesus came to the Mount of Olives, this isn’t just a casual geographical reference. Jesus’ ministry was full of acted out prophecies and here he chooses this spot knowing that it was the spot, according to Zechariah, where the Lord would stand when he brought judgement. And Matthew draws on Zechariah again to explain Jesus’ strange command to the disciples to fetch a donkey. This was not how kings made their triumphal processions. At least, not ordinary kings. They were carried by their servants or they rode on horseback or in a chariot. But Zechariah, hundreds of years before, had highlighted the humble nature of the coming Messiah. He was the one who would ride to his coronation on the back of a humble donkey.
So Matthew makes it abundantly clear who Jesus is. He is the Messiah whom the people had hoped for. But he also highlights the nature of Jesus’ rule. The people expected a king who would come to overthrow the Herodians and the Romans with violence. Matthew reminds them, by showing how Jesus fulfilled Zechariah’s prophecies, that Jesus will take his throne by a very different sort of path. Yes, he is the judge. Yes, he will deliver Israel. Yes, he will set his people and this broken world to rights. But it’s not going to happen the way people thought, at least not yet.
As the crowds gather to line Jesus’ way into Jerusalem, Matthew continues to draw on Israel’s story. Look at verses 8-11:
The great crowd spread their coats on the road. Others cut branches from the trees and scattered them on the road. The crowds who went ahead of him and those who were following behind shouted out, “Hosanna to the son of David! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord! Hosanna in the highest!” And when he came into Jerusalem, the whole city was stirred up. “Who is this?” they asked. And the crowds said, “This is the prophet, Jesus, from Nazareth in Galilee.”
The crowds surround Jesus and sing royal hymns. They hail him as the “son of David”. Here was the Messiah, the Lord’s king. And in telling the story, Matthew again draws on two events in Israel’s story that the people would have known well. First, as he tells how the crowd was spreading their coats on the ground, it would have been hard for his Jewish readers to miss the reference to King Jehu’s anointing. In 2 Kings 9 we read about Jehoram. He was King of Israel, the son of the wicked King Ahab. And in Jehoram, the apple had not fallen far from the tree. He was as wicked as his father, so the prophet Elisha ordered that Jehu, instead, was to be anointed King in his place. He announced that Jehu would bring the Lord’s judgement on the wicked house of Ahab. As Jehu was anointed by the prophet, the men who were gathered cast their coats on the ground before him and blew a trumpet. Matthew uses the imagery not only to make sure we know that Jesus is the Lord’s anointed King, but also to hint that Jesus is also the King who will bring the Lord’s judgement on the wicked.
But the other grand image that Matthew draws on here and that leads into the next scene is that of Judas Maccabeus. 2 Maccabees 10:7 describes the people hailing Judas as king by laying wreathes and palm branches at his feet. Judas had not only defeated Israel’s enemies, but he had purified the temple from its defilement by the Greeks. Judas’ kingdom inspired hope, but it did not last. And now Matthew shows us Jesus, following in Judas’ footsteps to the temple. This time it’s different. This time is for real. Look at verses 12-13
And Jesus came into the temple and drove out all who were buying and selling in the temple. He overturned the tables of the money-changers and the seats of those who sold doves. “This is what the scriptures say,” he said to them, “‘My house shall be called a house of prayer,’ but you make it a den of robbers.”
Jesus’ purification of the temple had at least as much to do with rebuking the people for what the temple had become ideologically as it did with the buy and selling. The selling of animals for sacrifice was a necessary part of what the temple was and, since the temple used its own currency, someone had to be there to make change. The more serious issues was that the temple had become a symbol of the violent revolution—a revolution like the one Judas Maccabeus had led—that had become the hope of the people. But that’s not how God’s kingdom would come. That wasn’t what Jesus was about.
What was really important about this was that Jesus’ disruption of the temple put a temporary stop to the sacrifices that day. This was another acted-out prophecy that brought to a culmination all of his declarations of forgiveness and healing that had bypassed the temple, the sacrificial system, and the priesthood. This was Jesus’ announcement that the temple’s days were numbered. God was about to do something not only new, but better. Jesus points here to a coming new covenant in which he would take on the role of the temple himself, in which he would be the mediator between God and human beings, he would be the one in whom forgiveness of sins would be found, he would be the one to bring God and man, heaven and earth back together.
So the Gospel today shows us this vignette from Jesus’ ministry, showing us that in his first advent, Jesus was revealed to be the King whom God had promised to his people. It also hints at the fact that, while Jesus has inaugurated something new, even now, two thousand years later, we await its final consummation. We still wait for Jesus’ second advent. And this leads us into our Epistle. Let’s look at Romans 13, beginning at verse 8:
Don’t owe anything to anyone, except the debt of mutual love, for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law. For the commandments, “You shall not commit adultery, You shall not murder, You shall not steal, You shall not covet,” and any other commandment, are summed up in this saying: “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” Love does no wrong to a neighbor; so love is the fulfilment of the law. (Romans 13:8-10)
A shockwave went out across the world that first Easter morning when Jesus burst from his tomb. The work of new creation was begun that day. And yet, except for Jesus’ followers, no one else seems to have noticed. It’s often remarkable to me these days, that even though the gospel conquered an empire and transformed Western Civilisation, that even in a post-Christians age, our world is still shaped by ideas like grace and mercy that were foreign to those pre-gospel civilisations, most people seem oblivious to it all. The present age rumbles along, its rulers go on ruling, and people carry on with their business. The old gods remain, even if we aren’t so crass as to build temples with statues of them. We may not worship Caesar or Aphrodite or Mammon, but we still worship money and sex and political power. St. Paul knew that it’s surprisingly easy for even Jesus’ own people to forget that the kingdom is breaking in and the old powers have been stripped. It’s easy for us to fall back into the ways and priorities of the present age and to give half-hearted allegiance to Jesus. That had been Israel’s problem all along. Brothers and Sisters, it should not be ours. Jesus has filled us with his own Spirit. The law that was once external and written on stone has now been inscribed on our hearts and our hearts have been turned to God. As Israel had the Exodus behind them and an annual Passover celebration to remind them who they were and the glories that the Lord had done for them, we have the cross and the empty tomb behind us and the Lord’s Supper to remind us—and as Jeremiah prophesied for us last Sunday, the Exodus pales in comparison to the glory revealed at the cross. Problem solved! Or so you’d think. But we still need nearly constant reminders, we need to recall Jesus, his death and resurrection, we need God’s word and we need his grace. And so Paul reminds us that, as Jesus’ people, it is essential to live the law of love that the Spirit has inscribed on our hearts.
Paul puts all of this in terms of the torah and, specifically, the second table of the Ten Commandments: Don’t commit adultery, don’t steal, don’t covet—just don’t wrong your neighbour. To love is to fulfil that law. Paul uses the Greek word agape, which describes the sort of love that gives of oneself as it puts others first. This is the love that Jesus showed us on the cross as he took on himself the sins of the very people who had rejected and despised him. This is the love that defines the kingdom and that the Spirit has poured into our hearts. Be in debt to no one, Paul writes, except to know that for the sake of Jesus and his kingdom, you owe everyone you meet a debt of love. Imagine how effective the Church would be if we truly lived this way, coupled with being faithful proclaimers of the good news about Jesus.
Instead, though, we’re too often like the man who knows he’s going to be late for work, but keeps hitting “snooze” on his alarm clock, rolling over, and going back to sleep. Paul goes on:
This is all the more important, because you know what time it is. The hour has come for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we first believed. The night is nearly over; the day is at hand. (Romans 13:11-12)
Paul knew that Jesus would return. Jesus had promised that the Lord would come in judgement on an unrepentant Jerusalem within a generation. I think, too, that Paul saw another horizon beyond the destruction of Jerusalem. After the Lord judged unrepentant Israel and vindicated his faithful people, a time would follow in which the gentiles would come streaming in, having seen the faithfulness of Israel’s God. While the other apostles were carrying the gospel to their fellow Jews, Paul had received a calling to carry it to the gentiles—so that they would hear the good news about Jesus, so that in that good news they would know the faithfulness of Israel’s God, and ultimately that they would come to the God of Israel to give him glory. The time was coming for the King’s return in judgement, first on the Jews, and eventually on the gentiles. He would finish what he had started. The present evil age and its false gods and false kings would be done away with and God’s new creation would be born. Jesus’ first advent was the alarm going off. Jesus had announced a coming judgement, but in his life, death, and resurrection had established a means of reconciliation with God. That day the first rays of the sun had begun to peek over the mountaintops. And now, Paul’s saying, the full day will soon be upon us. So get out of bed and get dressed for work!
And then he shifts the metaphor. From “Get out of bed you sleepy-head” he takes a more serious tone. It’s one thing to sleep in when you should be getting ready for work. It’s a far worse thing to be out carousing all night when you know you’ve got work to do in the morning. He goes on:
The night is nearly over; the day is at hand. So let us cast off the works of darkness and put on the armour of light. Let us walk properly as in the daytime, not in orgies and drunkenness, not in sexual immorality and sensuality, not in quarreling and jealousy. Instead, put on the Lord Jesus, the Messiah, and make no allowance for the flesh, to gratify its lusts. (Romans 13:12-14)
Laziness is bad and there are too many lazy Christians, but even worse are people who know they should be living for Jesus and the age to come, but are instead living for the present wicked age and its false gods and kings. Paul makes a list of the wicked things people do under cover of darkness: they indulge their appetites, they get drunk, they get involved in all sorts of sexual sins. But Paul doesn’t stop there. Because most Christians don’t do those sorts of things, so Paul goes on with the list, from orgies and drunkenness to quarrelling and jealousy. I think Paul puts it this way, because we’re rightly horrified by those “really bad” sins, but then he follows up with sins that are all too common amongst Christians. He puts these “respectable sins” in the same category with those unthinkable sins. It’s another wake-up call. Some churches have self-destructed because of sexual immorality. Many of us came from one of those churches. But far more are torn apart by things like quarrelling and jealousy. Christians get angry with each other, their relationships break down, sometimes churches even split. These are the works of darkness and they’re just as bad and just as unbecoming the people of God as drunken orgies are. Going back to the first part of the Epistle, people who love their neighbours don’t fight and don’t become jealous any more than they get involved in sexual immorality.
Instead, as befits living in the day, we put on the “armour of light”. Paul hints at the fact that living as people of the day when we’re surrounded by people of the darkness is going to be a struggle and, some days, a downright battle. We put on the armour of light. What is that? Paul goes on to put it in terms of putting on the Lord Jesus, the Messiah. But then what does that mean? Paul uses this put on/put off metaphor a lot in his epistles and the gist of it is that we need to remember that we belong to the Lord and that he has made us new.
Think of the Israelites. Pharaoh had claimed them as his slaves, but the Lord had freed them. But it wasn’t freedom for freedom’s sake. The Lord freed Israel from Pharaoh’s cruel bondage so that the people could serve him. They went from belonging to a cruel king to belonging to the King—a king who loves his people. The Lord would live in the midst of his people, that was his promise. And, for their part, the people would live as befits people who belong to and fellowship with the Lord—that was the torah and the tabernacle.
Brothers and Sisters, the same goes for us as Christians. Through Jesus, the Lord has delivered us from our bondage to sin and death and has made us his own. We once were in bondage to the darkness, but now have the privilege and joy of serving the light. Paul writes in 1 Corinthians 6:9-11:
Don’t you know that the unjust will not inherit God’s kingdom? Don’t be deceived! Neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor sodomites, nor thieves, nor the greedy, nor dunkards, nor revilers, nor robbers—none of these—will inherit the kingdom of God. That is, of course, what some of you were! But you were washed clean; you were made holy; you were put back to rights—in the name of the Lord Jesus, the Messiah and in the Spirit of our God.
Brothers and Sisters, as Jesus changes everything, he has changed us. We’re not just the people who live camped around the tabernacle, like Old Testament Israel. We’ve been united with Jesus, who is himself the tabernacle, Emanuel, God with us. He’s redeemed us from our bondage to sin and made us holy. And he’s made us, his very people, a temple into which he pours God’s own Spirit. It is astounding what Jesus has done for us, but somehow we’re still prone to forgetting. We hear the alarm sounding, we see the sun peeking through the curtains, and we roll over and go back to sleep. We do that because we’ve forgotten the joy of our salvation. We do that, because we’ve failed to steep ourselves in God’s word. We do that because we’ve neglected the fellowship and worship of the saints. We do that because we’ve forgotten that God has made us stewards of his grace and of his good news. We do that, because we’ve failed to think on and to meditate on the amazing and gracious love God has shown us in Jesus.
Brothers and Sisters, the Lord knew we sometimes we would forget these things. That’s why he’s given us means of grace to “stir us up” as we prayed in last week’s collect. He’s given us each other. Friends, the Church is a place where we confront each other in our sins and exhort each other to love and good works. He’s given us his word to prick our consciences when we go astray, to remind us of God’s faithfulness when we’re struggling to trust, and to show us the incredible depths of his love when we’re tempted to take a ho-hum approach to our faith. He’s given us the sacraments. In our baptism he has washed us clean and plunged us into his Spirit. In that water he made each of us his own, just as he made Israel his own when she passed through the Red Sea. And in the Lord’s Supper he gives us a means of participating in the very events—in the death and resurrection of Jesus—that mark our exodus from the bondage of sin and death.
Friends, be prepared. Knowing that that King has come and that he will come again, avail yourselves this Advent of the means of grace. Whether you’ve been carousing as if it were night, or you’ve been sleeping in while the alarm beeps away, or even if you’ve been busy about the work of the kingdom, steep yourselves in God’s word, be reminded of the sinfulness of sin and of the love and the grace and the faithfulness of God towards us sinners. Meditate on the cross and on the empty tomb. Remember the baptismal water through which you once passed and find assurance that you belong to Jesus and that he has called you to the life of his kingdom. And, finally, come to his Table. Here is not only the manna in the wilderness for a hungry people. Here is the bread and wine by which we participate in the death and resurrection of the King and find our identity as the people of God.
Let’s pray: Almighty God, give us grace to cast away the works of darkness, and put on the armour of light, now in the time of this mortal life in which your Son Jesus Christ came to visit us in great humility; that in the last day, when he shall come again in his glorious majesty to judge both the living and the dead, we may rise to the life immortal; through him who lives and reigns with you and the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.