December 7, 2025, Year A, The Second Sunday in Advent

Matthew 3:1-12, Psalm 72:1-15, Romans 15:1-13

Good morning. On this Second Sunday of Advent the church does not lead us first to the stable, but to the riverbank. We are not invited to gaze at a silent, sweet baby wrapped in swaddling clothes. Instead, the lectionary drags us out into the blistering sun of the Judean wilderness to stand before a wild-eyed prophet dressed in camel’s hair, leather belt cinched tight, beard dirty with locusts parts and wild honey, and voice raw from crying aloud the single word that still echoes across twenty centuries: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand!” (Matthew 3:2, ESV). Please turn with me to Matthew 3:1-12. It is found on page _____________ of your pew Bibles.

His name is John—John the Baptist, the last and greatest of the prophets, the hinge between the ages, the forerunner appointed by God to make ready a people prepared for the Lord. And the Holy Spirit who moved Matthew to write these words intends for John’s message to strike us with the same unsettling force today, in the final weeks of 2025, that it struck the crowds who streamed out of Jerusalem and Judea to hear him.

Let’s start in verse 1: “In those days John the Baptist came preaching in the wilderness of Judea” (Matthew 3:1, ESV). Why the wilderness? Why not the marble courts of the temple, or the bustling synagogues of the cities, or the seats of power in Jerusalem? Because the wilderness has always been God’s chosen classroom for stripping away illusions. It was in the wilderness that Israel learned she could not live by bread alone but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of the Lord (Deuteronomy 8:3). It was in the wilderness that Elijah fled from Jezebel and heard the whisper of God after wind, earthquake, and fire had passed (1 Kings 19:11-13). It was in the wilderness that the golden calf was ground to powder and the tablets of the covenant were renewed. The wilderness is where Jesus chose obedience to God rather than the Evil One (Matthew 4:1-17). The wilderness is where every false refuge collapses and the soul is left naked before the living God.

John does not accommodate himself to our desire for comfortable religion. He does not set up a tent in the temple precincts and wait politely for people to come. He stations himself in a place of desolation and compels the entire region to leave their securities behind—the cities, the farms, the pedigrees, the reputations and to walk miles into a wasteland where the only voice breaking the silence is the voice God himself has authorized through John. That is always how Advent begins: not with sentiment, but with exposure; not with tinsel, but with truth; not with cozy reassurance, but with the blazing demand that every mountain of pride be leveled and every valley of despair be filled, because the King is coming, and his way must be made straight.

The heart of John’s preaching is captured in one explosive sentence in verse 2: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand” (Matthew 3:2, ESV). The verb “is at hand” (Greek ēggiken) is perfect tense: the kingdom has drawn near and remains near; it has invaded history in the person of Jesus Christ and it continues to press in upon us every single day until the final trumpet sounds. This is not a distant hope deferred; it is a present reality that demands a present response. When the kingdom of heaven draws near, every rival kingdom is exposed as a lie—the kingdom of self, the kingdom of money, the kingdom of pleasure, the kingdom of political power, the kingdom of religious respectability. All of them are revealed to be built on sand the moment the true King steps onto the stage.

And the only appropriate response to a kingdom that has drawn near is repentance, not mere regret, not fleeting remorse, not a New Year’s resolution that will be forgotten by February, but a radical reorientation of the entire person: mind, heart, will, affections, direction. John does not say, “Feel bad about your sins.” He says, “Turn around.” The road you are on leads to destruction. The King is coming down a different road. Abandon the one and run to the other.

The crowds understood. Matthew tells us in verses 5-6 that “Jerusalem and all Judea and all the region about the Jordan were going out to him, and they were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins” (Matthew 3:5-6, ESV). Tax collectors, soldiers, prostitutes, ordinary fishermen they came, acknowledged their guilt, and submitted to a baptism that symbolized death to the old life and the desperate hope of cleansing. But, when many of the Pharisees and Sadducees the religious elite, the guardians of orthodoxy, the men with impeccable theological credentials came to observe the baptisms, John did not moderate his tone. He did not offer them aVIP section. He met them with the fiercest words in the entire passage in verses 7-10: “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bear fruit in keeping with repentance. And do not presume to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our father,’ for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children for Abraham. Even now the axe is laid to the root of the trees. Every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire” (Matthew 3:7-10, ESV).

This is chilling. The most scathing condemnation is not directed at open sinners but at religious insiders who are trusting in something other than the naked mercy of God. The Pharisees and Sadducees were not pagans. They were not immoral by the standards of the day. They fasted twice a week, tithed mint and dill and cumin, kept the Sabbath with meticulous care. And yet John calls them a nest of poisonous snakes slithering toward the baptismal waters to escape judgment while their hearts remain unchanged.

Why such fury? Because they presumed. They presumed that covenant membership (or associating with church membership, or merely saying one is a believer) was an automatic shield against wrath. They presumed that because Abraham was their father, God was forever obligated to them no matter how unjust, how proud, how merciless they became. John will have none of it. “Do not presume to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our father’” (Matthew 3:9, ESV). Privilege is not salvation. Heritage is not holiness. Ritual is not righteousness. God’s patience has a boundary, and the boundary has been reached. The axe is already glints at the root not the branches, the root. Judgment is not superficial pruning; it is radical, comprehensive, final. The only question that matters is this: Is our life bearing fruit that proves our repentance is real?

Advent refuses to let us coast on yesterday’s spiritual experiences. Advent refuses to let us hide behind church membership, or baptismal certificates, or family trees filled with ministers, or decades of faithful tithing, or orthodox doctrine proudly defended on social media. The voice crying in the wilderness still thunders: “Bear fruit in keeping with repentance, or the fire will have its say.”

John is breathtakingly clear about his own subordinate role in verses 11-12: “I baptize you with water for repentance, but he who is coming after me is mightier than I, whose sandals I am not worthy to carry. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor and gather his wheat into the barn, but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire” (Matthew 3:11-12, ESV).

Two baptisms belong exclusively to Jesus. The first is the baptism with the Holy Spirit, the promise of the new covenant in which God says, “I will put my Spirit within you, and cause you to walk in my statutes” (Ezekiel 36:27, ESV). This is regeneration, renewal, the indwelling presence that makes faith and obedience possible and even joyful. The second is the baptism with fire the judgment that will consume everything that refuses to bow the knee to the King.

The same Jesus who pours out the Spirit also swings the winnowing fork. The same advent that brings life to the repentant brings terror to the impenitent. There is no middle category, no spiritual Switzerland. You are either wheat destined for the Master’s barn or chaff destined for unquenchable fire. And the evidence is fruit.

That is why Advent is serious business. Christmas is not finally about a harmless baby; it is about a sovereign King who will tolerate no rivals. He is coming to reign, to save, to judge, and to make all things new.

But how, then, do we live in the tension between terrifying judgment and astonishing grace? How do we bear fruit when our failures stare us in the face every day? The apostle Paul gives us the answer in Romans 15. In verses 1-3, we read: “We who are strong have an obligation to bear with the failings of the weak, and not to please ourselves. Let each of us please his neighbor for his good, to build him up. For Christ did not please himself, but as it is written, ‘The reproaches of those who reproached you fell on me’” (Romans 15:1-3, ESV).

The fruit that proves the genuineness of our repentance is not flawless morality; it is cruciform love love that stoops, love that bears with the weak, love that absorbs reproach rather than hurling it back, love that builds up rather than tears down. And Paul immediately shows that this patient, inclusive, cross-shaped love was always God’s plan from the beginning. Paul goes on in verses 8-12, “For I tell you that Christ became a servant to the circumcised to show God’s truthfulness, in order to confirm the promises given to the patriarchs, and in order that the Gentiles might glorify God for his mercy. As it is written, ‘Therefore I will praise you among the Gentiles, and sing to your name.’ And again it is said, ‘Rejoice, O Gentiles, with his people.’ And again, ‘Praise the Lord, all you Gentiles, and let all the peoples extol him.’ And again Isaiah says, ‘The root of Jesse will come, even he who arises to rule the Gentiles; in him will the Gentiles hope’” (Romans 15:8-12, ESV).

Do you see? The Root of Jesse, the very King whom John heralds, is the hope of the entire world. The fire of judgment and the fire of the Spirit are not at odds; they serve the same glorious purpose: the gathering of a redeemed humanity from every tribe and language and people and nation into one worshiping family forever. And Paul seals the section with the greatest Advent benediction in all of Scripture in verse 13: “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope” (Romans 15:13, ESV).

Repentance is not sustained by terror alone. It is sustained by hope the certain expectation that the coming King will complete the salvation he began, that he will wipe away every tear, that he will make justice roll down like waters and righteousness like an ever-flowing stream.

Psalm 72 gives us the portrait of the very King for whom John prepares the way: “Give the king your justice, O God, and your righteousness to the royal son! May he judge your people with righteousness, and your poor with justice! Let the mountains bear prosperity for the people, and the hills, in righteousness! May he defend the cause of the poor of the people, give deliverance to the children of the needy, and crush the oppressor! May they fear you while the sun endures, and as long as the moon, throughout all generations! May he be like rain that falls on the mown grass, like showers that water the earth! In his days may the righteous flourish, and peace abound, till the moon be no more!” (Psalm 72:1-7, ESV).

This is no tribal deity. This is no partisan strongman. This is the King who makes the cause of the poor his own cause, who considers the blood of the needy precious, who redeems them from violence: “For he delivers the needy when they call, the poor and him who has no helper. He has pity on the weak and the needy, and saves the lives of the needy. From oppression and violence he redeems their life, and precious is their blood in his sight” (Psalm 72:12-15, ESV).

This is the King who makes repentance not only necessary but joyful. We do not turn from sin because we dread a cosmic tyrant. We turn because we have glimpsed a better King whose justice is soaked in mercy, whose power is wielded on behalf of the powerless, whose coming means life for the crushed and flourishing for the forgotten.

So what does it mean for us, on this second Sunday of Advent in the year of our Lord 2025, to prepare the way of this King?

It means, first, that we hear the wilderness voice again and refuse to silence it. Repentance is not a one-time event; it is the daily posture of a people who know the King is coming. Where is the Spirit exposing pride, greed, lust, bitterness, indifference, cowardice, or self-righteousness in us today? Do not negotiate with it. Do not excuse it. Confess it, forsake it, flee to Christ.

It means, second, that we renounce every false ground of confidence. Not our heritage. Not our sacraments. Not our orthodoxy. Not our activism. Not our morality. Only the blood and righteousness of Jesus Christ will stand when the winnowing fork is in his hand.

It means, third, that we bear visible fruit in keeping with repentance: love that bears with the weak instead of despising them, generosity that defends the poor, truth spoken in love, forgiveness offered seventy times seven, lives that function as previews of the age to come.

It means, fourth, that we live as people of audacious hope. The God of hope desires this very morning to fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you abound in hope even while the world seems to unravel.

It means, fifth, that we become voices ourselves. In our homes, workplaces, schools, social media feeds, city councils, and nations we cry out without apology, “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world” (John 1:30, ESV)! There is still mercy for everyone who will repent. There is still hope for every nation. There is still a King coming to set all things right.

In a few moments we will come to the Lord’s Table. Here, the Coming One meets us in the present tense. Here the fire of judgment has already fallen on him instead of us. Here the Holy Spirit is poured out in preview of the final day. Here Jew and Gentile, rich and poor, strong and weak are made one body. Here the needy are fed with the bread of life and the cup of the new covenant.

So come, all you who are weary of pretending everything is fine. Come, all you who are secretly terrified of the wrath to come. Come, all you who have nothing to offer but broken, contrite hearts. The kingdom of heaven is at hand. The King is mightier than John, mightier than sin, mightier than death itself. His winnowing fork is in his hand, yes but his nail-pierced hands are stretched out in welcome.

Repent. Believe the gospel. Abound in hope. Bear fruit worthy of the kingdom. Worship the Lamb who was slain and who lives forever.

For as Paul says in Romans in verse 13, “may the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that by the power of the Holy Spirit you may abound in hope” (Romans 15:13, ESV) until the day dawns and the morning star rises and the King comes in glory to make his blessings flow far as the curse is found.

Let us pray…