​Rev. Shemwell
Matt. 11:2-10
12/17/23

Homily for Gaudete (Third Sunday in Advent)

In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. Gaudete
in Domino semper: iterum dico, gaudete. That’s the Latin text for St. Paul’s words in
his letter to the Philippian church chapter four verse four. In the English it reads:
“Rejoice in the Lord always; and again, I say, rejoice!” Dear brothers and sisters in our
Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, as I mentioned last week, in the historic church year, the
names for many Sundays were taken from the first few Latin words of that day’s
introit. You just heard the Latin statement that opens this morning’s introit which
Micah and I chanted earlier, beginning with the verb: Gaudete – meaning “rejoice!”
And today is called Gaudete Sunday – or Rejoice Sunday, if you will – or simply the
Sunday of Joy. This Sunday is also called Rose-Sunday, hence our liturgical color for
the day. It is rose, by the way, not pink. Have you ever noticed the rose candle amid the
three other violet candles on the advent wreath? Well that rose candle, that one is for
today, for this third Sunday of Advent.
The rose color for this Sunday serves as a sort of lightening or brightening of this
season’s principal darker hue of blue, which is meant to symbolize a time of levity and
joy. The rose symbolizes a break for rejoicing amid the semi-penitential season of
Advent. As it happens, this Sunday is also called Refreshment Sunday. In any case, this
lightening and brightening through the use of paler rose vestments and paraments also
occurs in Lent, but we’ll get into that next year. For now, just know that this Sunday
above all other Sundays in the church year is all about rejoicing. “Rejoice in the Lord
always; and again, I say, rejoice!” Oh and get this: that word, “Gaudete,” or “Rejoice,”
in Paul’s letter, that little word is in the imperative mood, grammatically-speaking.
Thus, it is, in a sense, commanded. We are commanded.

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But why do we rejoice? Why are we commanded to rejoice? Well, let’s start
with our Gospel lesson, shall we? St. Matthew shares with us a narrative this morning,
the story of when John the Baptist, while imprisoned for publicly rebuking Herod, not
long before his unjust beheading, he sends his own disciples to Jesus in order to ask
Him a seemingly heartfelt question: “Are you the one who is to come, or shall we look
for another?” Now I know some people really struggle with this particular text, it
bothers and perturbs them, because it appears on the face of it like John is expressing
some kind of doubt. You know, Jesus came, everything was going well enough, but
then poor John the Baptist got arrested and was awaiting inevitable execution. So some
read this passage as if John is frustrated and communicating through a bit of venting
some understandable human doubt about Jesus and His messianic identity. As if he’s
asking: If you are really the Messiah, then why am I, Your very own kin, in prison
facing dire consequences? What gives, Jesus?
But that could not be further from the truth, dear friends. John the Baptist did not
doubt His Lord. Not one bit. Rather he leapt in his mother’s womb when he heard the
voice of Mary, the mother of God, when he sensed his Savior nearby. John knew from
conception Who his Lord was. John is the one who was sent out alone into the
wilderness, fed on a diet of wild honey and locusts like a madman, to prepare the way
for his Lord, in fulfillment of Malachi’s prophesy. He is the one who boldly
proclaimed: “Behold the Lamb of God Who takes away the sin of the world.” He
baptized his own Lord in the Jordan River, remember? So no, John never doubted. We
have no reason to believe he ever entertained a single doubt, distrust, or hesitation in
his holy heart with respect to His God. He was quite literally facing death for preaching
what he knew to be true about his Lord – and he held fast to it.

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He did not send his followers to Jesus in order to articulate a personal doubt or some
sort of sorrowful disappointment in the Lord, but instead he sent them to teach them
something, to point them to the true light of Christ. He wanted to release them from
following him, a mere man, who was a mere man crying out in the wilderness all for
the sake of making ready the way for a greater, higher, perfect man. John wanted to
guide them instead to the Lord Almighty Himself.
And the answer Christ Jesus gave, for that matter, was not for John, it was for his
disciples to hear and to believe. Jesus understood John’s intention, they were blood
after all. And the Lord’s answer was moreover for the whole world to hear, obviously,
which is why St. Matthew, being inspired by Holy Spirit, documented it for the sake of
posterity, for our sake. Even this near final action of John’s, it was a matter of faith – it
was a matter of him decreasing so that his own Lord and Savior could increase. It was
him humbling himself, humiliating himself, before the One Who was always before
him and eternally preferred. John, even unto death, was faultlessly faithful. From womb
to tomb, he believed. He knew what the Lord had done, what the Lord was doing, and
what the Lord would eventually do. He understood the joy to be had in his God’s
salvation. And he wanted to share that good news with the rest of the world – he
wanted it to be heard by a few, and then written down through inspiration, and then
preached unto the ends of the earth. So even before his shameful death, he selflessly
sent his own disciples to Jesus to hear the truth for themselves, from the Truth’s own
lips, so that they, too, could rejoice in its fullness. That is not doubt, beloved, but the
very definition of faith – that you want others to bear witness to the truth.

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And what was the answer to John’s question: “Are you the one who is to come,
or shall we look for another?” Well, as St. Matthew records, Jesus said in reply: “Go
and tell John the things which you hear and see: The blind see and the lame walk; the
lepers are cleansed and the deaf hear; the dead are raised up and the poor have the
gospel preached to them. And blessed is he who is not offended because of Me.” This
was the Lord’s clear and unequivocal response. Christ, the incarnate God, when
confronted with the question of identity did not appeal to human reason, to abstract,
logical, and sound justifications for Who He is, though He well could have. Neither did
He plainly rebuke John for his question, and nor did He bother to question the sincerity
of John’s own faith, for again, He knew His cousin’s good intention.
Instead, Jesus only pointed to concrete present realities. He directed the attention
of his hearers to the power of the Word of God made manifest in a hurting and
groaning creation. The blind see, the lame walk, lepers are healed, the deaf hear, the
dead are raised, the poor are consoled with the gospel. Jesus directed those disciples of
John not to look within for their salvation, but to look outside themselves. He showed
them the redemption apparent right outside them, in their midst, to be witnessed
through their own five senses. Faith comes through hearing, St. Paul says, and hearing
through the Word of God. Jesus brought John’s disciples to faith in Him by way of
personally witnessing the reality of God’s glory evident all around them in creation. He
gave them faith by giving them a reason to rejoice. Look at what the Lord has done and
continues to do and rejoice! Behold, salvation is at hand. It is here. Look and see for
yourselves. It is indeed evident to all with eyes to see and ears to hear. That was our
Lord’s exceptionally good news for them that day, for those disciples, and so it is for us
this day.

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That message from Jesus wasn’t even remotely for John’s sake. Rather it was for
his disciples to hear, those presumably then-brand-new disciples of Christ. John wanted
to point them to the Christ, and Christ then pointed them immediately to His
miraculous gospel. The message was not for John but for those disciples whom he sent
to the Lord. And so it is for us now, us current disciples, and for the entire world until
the very end of time. This is the message, a message of hope and joy to the cosmos:
Look at what the Lord has done. Look at His Incarnation and miraculous birth, His
teaching, preaching, and healing. Gaze upon His passion, His cross, His death. Behold
His resurrection, His ascension, His promised return.
And now, dear saints, you yourselves look at what He has done just for you in
this place, in the church, within His spiritual body, all these centuries later. Look at
your Holy Baptism, behold the forgiveness freely offered through regular sacramental
absolution, and gaze adoringly upon the heavenly meal He offers you here, from this
altar, a feast of His own body and blood. Your God became flesh to save you, He
became a curse on a cross to deliver you from the curse of the law. He gives you sight
by the power of His Holy Spirit and He grants you faith through hearing His Word. The
spiritually blind now see, while the spiritually deaf now hear. Christ gives you, a
miserable sinner once lame with the onerous weight of meaninglessness, He gives you
a reason to walk, a reason to wake up every day and rejoice. He gives you meaning. He
cleanses you, He heals you, and bestows upon you the preaching of His life-giving
gospel. And one of these days He will raise you from the darkness of your grave in the
consummation of age along with all the faithful departed. This Sunday is the Sunday of
joy, but so is every Sunday when we celebrate the resurrection of our Lord.

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Because His resurrection is our own. It is the endless guarantee of being raised again,
of creation’s final rescue. In our baptism we were buried with Him all so that someday
we might be raised victorious with Him. And so we shall. Every Sunday is a Sunday of
joy, as is every day of the Christian life. Indeed, every passing moment is bound up
with that sanctifying imperative command that was so significant it was given twice by
the holy apostle: Gaudete! And again, rejoice!
John did not doubt, brothers and sisters. He held the faith steadfastly unto death.
He knew Jesus, he died for his Lord, and he will be raised with Him. John fought the
good fight, he finished the race, he kept the faith, and he currently enjoys eternal life.
He kept the faith unto death and so should you. So hold fast to the faith always, no
matter what, for behold what the Lord has already done for you, what He is now doing
for you, and what He will soon do for you. It is not hard to believe when you just open
your eyes to see all God’s miraculous works and His many wondrous deeds. Therefore,
rejoice in the Lord always; and again, I say, rejoice. Rejoice this Sunday, rejoice every
Sabbath and Sunday, rejoice every single moment of your earthly life. That is your
duty, dear flock, and a duty you are so blessed to have. Count your blessings and
rejoice. In the most holy name of our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ. Amen.

​Rev. Shemwell
Various readings
12/10/23

Homily for the Populus Zion (Second Sunday in Advent)
In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen. “Say to
the people of Zion: ‘Behold, your salvation comes.’ The Lord will cause His majestic
voice to be heard and you shall have gladness of heart.” Dear brothers and sisters in
our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, these are the words of this morning’s introit that
Micah and I chanted responsively a bit earlier at the beginning of our service.
Hopefully you recognized them, as they are taken directly from the book of the
prophet Isaiah, chapters sixty-two and thirty, respectively. Historically this Second
Sunday of Advent has been called Populus Zion Sunday, from the Latin phrase for
“the people of Zion.” You see, often times Sundays in the historic church year were
named after the first few Latin words of the day’s introit. And today the introit begins
in Latin: Populus Zion or “the people of Zion” – those to whom Isaiah’s words were
addressed. Now of course, the addressee for God’s Word is always His people, the
people of His Zion. That is true for all our readings this morning, and it is simply true
in general. And God’s message to His people today, on Populus Zion Sunday, is fairly
straightforward: salvation is at hand and the kingdom of God is always near.
While I believe this is accurate for most of the Advent readings in the three-
year lectionary cycle, it is certainly accurate when it comes to the readings in the one-
year lectionary, which we are now following here at Bethlehem – and that is this: that
our Advent readings are all about the Second Coming, the salvation soon at hand, the
kingdom ever close by. Advent is all about Christ’s return, or at the very least, the
first few weeks of Advent are quite clearly about that. And as we’ve been talking
through for a while now, Christ’s return will involve judgment.

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So part of the point of Advent is to motivate and inspire us to remain conscious and
mindful of the fact of that impending judgement. Advent is, after all, a somewhat
penitential season to an extent, kind of like Lent. And so the hope is that through this
slightly penitential liturgical season, God’s people will be reminded to persist in
repentance and to remain altogether ready and faithful unto the end.
But there’s something else I feel needs to be said in this season, especially on
this Sunday, given our introit and our readings. God is coming back, of course. The
God Who is now far off will return. Christ will return. Eternal salvation is coming, as
is the kingdom of God, we’ve made note of that reality a lot recently. But at the same
time, God is already here, right? He is with us now. His kingdom is also on earth, it is
this particular place all around us, and indeed it is us, the one, holy, Christian and
apostolic church, where many are gathered in Lord’s holy name. The God Who is far
off is at the same time always present in our midst and abiding with us. He never
leaves us nor forsakes us. And what is more, when He does come back finally in the
flesh as judge, it will not be a sad or sorrowful judgment for us believers. Instead, it
will be a glorious day, the most glorious day when we will reap the bountiful benefits
of being reckoned eternally righteous before the Father on account of the Son’s
atoning sacrifice.
I mean, after all, think about it: what exactly does Jesus say in St. Luke’s
gospel this morning. He says: “Look at the fig tree and all the trees. When they sprout
their leaves, you can see for yourselves and know that summer is near. Even so, when
you see these things happening, you know that the kingdom of God is near.”

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There will be signs before the end, that is entirely true, but they will be signs that
ultimately portend something good for the faithful, that foretell something beautiful,
that forecast something fecund and fruitful and full of life. Summer is coming. Eternal
summer and unending rescue and redemption, these things are coming. That is not a
somber reality to have to contemplate, but the greatest possible news and good tidings
to ever have the pleasure of hearing. Winter will someday be over for good, and
summer will last forever. All that to say, Advent, while semi-penitential like Lent, it is
not a dismal or gloomy season, not at all – even despite the cold weather and shorter
hours of daylight. Rather, it is instead a season of immense joy and hopeful
expectation for the future, both for Christmas and later on for that endless summer
soon coming with the consummation of the age.
Now as I said, our God is far off in one sense. We know this. He is the God
Who makes the sun to shine and the rains to fall. He holds the whole universe together
by His will and His Word. And thanks be to God that He is far off, way up there,
taking care of everything, taking care of business, so to speak, providing for
everything that exists from on high. But He is moreover right here with us. The God
Who once spoke all things into existence and Who has sustained them for thousands
of years is now everywhere near us – and He has promised in particular to be with us
right here, in His holy church, through His holy Word and through the holy
Sacraments. He is far off, to be sure, and yet so incredibly and unexplainably near.
What is more, salvation is eventually coming on the Last Day, and yet it is
already very much present, in our baptism, in the words of Holy Absolution, in the
Lord’s Supper. Christ is coming again as divine judge at the end of time.

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And yet He is coming in several weeks as well, within our space and time, as a baby
boy born in a manger, while we relive the life of Christ through the church year. And
He is coming this morning in His own body and blood, again very much in space and
time, to be really and truly and physically available for those of us who have need.
God is distant and yet never all that distant. He is above us and yet with us here below
simultaneously.
Now we surely feel His distance when we struggle in this life, we feel His
distance and a seeming separation from Him when we hurt and ache, whenever we
suffer disappointment and loss and tragedy, whenever we fall into sin even. But that
distance and apparent separation is only temporary, as I’ve said before. And really, it
is only a feeling, a passing, fleeting sentiment, not necessarily a reality. It is only the
pain of having to wait for His final return and permanent presence. God is with us
now already, but His presence will only be fuller and unmistakable and without end,
in fact, when He does come again. For on that coming day, there will be no more pain
or problems, no reason to weep or worry, for there will be no more waiting at all.
God is far off and yet He is as near as ever before. And someday very soon, He
we will be even closer than that, however that’s even possible. The distance on that
last day will be undone forever. He will be even closer when He comes to rescue us
and take us home to His kingdom forever, to be with Him and in Him, when He
carries us in His loving arms toward that eternal summer on the horizon, where the fig
trees and all the trees, most notably the tree of life, sprout their leaves without end.
When we will all walk together in the cool of day in paradise once more.

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But I know what some of you are perhaps thinking: all that sounds nice enough,
but pastor, don’t underestimate or understate just how difficult life is right now. The
current wait is not easy, I know. I acknowledge that. God is near, we all recognize that
to be true, we confess it consistently, but sometimes it simply does not feel that way,
does it? We know we are saved, and yet with everything that we have to put up with
this side of the grave, sometimes it is hard to feel or even begin to believe in God’s
proximity, in His tender mercy and closeness. I get it. To be honest with you, that has
been on my mind a great deal this past week.
You see, I usually sit down to write Sunday’s sermon on Tuesday morning, the
day after my day off, at the start of the week. Well this past Monday night, the night
right before sermon-writing-morning, I had a panic attack at home. Maybe it isn’t
obvious to you from the pews, but I do struggle with severe anxiety on occasion, even
in the pulpit sometimes. Always have, ever since I was a kid. It hasn’t been overly bad
these past few years, fortunately. I haven’t had a full-blown panic attack in probably
four years. But Monday night, for whatever reason, I did. It came out of nowhere,
evidently unprovoked. And in that most unwelcome moment, feeling a total loss of
control and an intense fear and trepidation deep in my bones, I did not feel God’s
presence at all. Suffice to say, God did not seem close to me in the least in that
situation. On the contrary, He seemed very, very far off; if I’m being honest, almost as
if He weren’t even there at all. And that only made the panic that much worse.
Thankfully, the attack eventually subsided. I went to sleep. Then woke up the
next day. And that Tuesday morning, before I set about to work on this sermon, I
thought long and hard about what had happened. Why did God let that happen?

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Why did He remove His presence from me temporarily? Or why did He at least let me
feel that way? Why did He withdraw from me from my perspective? Why did He
allow me to be so afraid? What was the purpose and meaning of the anxiety and panic
and angst? And after a while of pondering all this in prayer, I started to get some
slight sense of clarity. You know, in life sometimes, even in the life of a pastor, you
just get into a rhythm. A habit. And over time, one day can start to kind of bleed into
another. I’m not saying you begin to go on autopilot, but maybe a little bit, yeah. You
just go about your business, doing your job, as pastor, husband, father, whatever your
vocations may be. And maybe sometimes you start to do all that in an unthinking way.
Without complete and total awareness. It all just becomes another part of the
humdrum habit and routine rhythm of daily life.
And so I cannot help but think that God allowed me personally to panic in that
moment, to feel His distance in the depth of my soul, on an existential level, in order
to wake me up from the slothful slumber of my own habit and rhythm. In order to
remind me what this time of year is really all about – to remind me what this life is all
about – and to remind me of what this overlong wait for Jesus is all about. In other
words, I think God let me suffer so as to discipline me, to mortify me. And thanks be
to God for that. Yes, thanks be to God that He allows us to feel His distance, even to
the point of sheer panic, so that we might actually appreciate His presence and
nearness. Thanks be to God that He lets us wait for Him, so that one day we might be
able to cherish His eternal arrival, His final advent. Which is all to say, thanks be to
God that He permits us to suffer for now, that in the life to come, we might never have
to and can at last enjoy the peace to be had in His everlasting company.

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We are going to hurt now and again. That’s true enough. Here in space and
time, we are going to continue to lose loved ones, sad to say. We are going to be
heartbroken. We are going to be afraid and petrified from time to time. And if Jesus
Christ doesn’t come back first, we are all going to die someday. That is a fact. We are
not promised an easy way out of the temporal and earthly consequences of our sin.
But we are promised an eternal release on the other side of glory. An eternal escape,
as it were. We are promised never-ending freedom and liberty when this life of grief is
over and done with. We are promised final peace and rest in God Himself. And even
here and now, we are promised that God is always with us, by our side, on our team.
Even when He feels distant and far off, even when we panic and lose sight of Him, He
is nevertheless with us, bearing us up.
Perhaps He occasionally lets us feel alone and separated from Him in order to
teach us something significant. We know that He works all things for the good of
them that love Him, so that must be right. But even when He is disciplining us and
instructing us through hardship and fear and isolation and testing of all sorts, in the
midst of whatever trial, we still have that most perfect promise of all: “I will never
really leave you nor forsake you.” That’s His unbreakable promise to us. Even in the
abyss of our panic and pain, God has us in His arms, pressed to His own loving
bosom. Even when we wonder: Why Lord? Or how long, Lord? How long until you
return already? Even when we speak this periodic doubt to ourselves, or cry it out
loud when we’re alone, He still understands fully. He gets us. And He is right there
with us, even as we question and lack trust in Him. He is right there, reminding us that
there are more souls to be born and to save.

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That there is more work yet to do here below. And that there is more to learn this side
of heaven, even for us, and yes, even by means of the trial and tribulation of waiting
throughout this burdensome life. Christ will come back on His own time and His own
terms, not ours. And there’s a reason for that, too. There’s a reason why God lets
everything that happens happen. And so there has to be some consolation in that fact.
“Say to the people of Zion: ‘Behold, your salvation comes.’” That is the
consolation. You, brothers and sisters, are the people of Zion, those addressed by
God’s words through the mouth of the prophet Isaiah. You are God’s chosen people;
your baptism proves it. So know this as well: your salvation comes, now and
continually and eternally. He comes in a few weeks’ time by the name of Immanuel,
meaning “God with us,” in order to bear our flesh through the virgin-womb, through a
child born of Bethlehem Ephrathah. And while following His life, death, and
resurrection, Jesus ascended above and went back home and left us here below nearly
two thousand years ago, He of course did not leave us without hope. He explicitly
promised to return and receive us unto Himself where He is in His Father’s house.
And He will do just that one of these days. Your salvation will come again, to take
you home, to give you that much-needed rest in bliss.
But even now, this morning, your salvation comes as well. The Holy Spirit is
here in this place, bringing you back to your Holy Baptism through the words of
forgiveness. And here momentarily, your salvation comes in the lowly form of the
bread and wine. Why does He do this? Why does the Counselor and Comforter, the
Paraclete, the Holy Spirit, Whom Christ sent to us, surround us in this place? Why
does Christ Himself continue to feed us with His own body and blood?

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Well, to strengthen our faith, for starters. And to make ready our bodies and souls for
immortality. But also, and equally as important, to remind us that even our far-off
God dwells right here with us always. Salvation comes even during and all throughout
the long wait for the permanence of salvation’s arrival. Our salvation is a gift given
over the course of a lifetime. God is a God of heaven and earth, He dwells above and
right here, far and near. And as I said before, here in this place He is as close as ever.
God comes here to literally dwell inside you. You are never actually alone. He never
leaves you. He never forsakes you. Instead, He goes with you wherever – He enters
into your body and being through the bread and wine, to make you whole. To lift you
up for the long and uncertain wait. To sustain you for the tough lessons of this life, the
hard teachings of patience and Christian virtue, which God Himself allows for your
own good, just as He does for mine.
You, dearly beloved, are the people of Zion. And you have heard God’s
majestic voice this day already. You have heard God speak through the words of
forgiveness articulated by me, His lowliest minister, in His stead and by His
command, for your sake. You have heard God address you personally in His holy
Word. And here soon, you will hear the Lord’s majestic voice once again, when His
own words are uttered in a chant over these common elements of life and its
abundance, when what is so very close at hand, this bread and wine, is consecrated so
that our Lord Who is now far off may soon dwell so nearly. And as was proclaimed
by the psalmist today in our gradual between the readings, our God comes and when
He does, He does not keep silence. That is reiterated throughout Holy Scripture.

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So in light of that wonderful truth, as the prophet Isaiah once counseled and
encouraged, so do I: may your heart thus be gladdened, friends. May your heart be
gladdened by the sweetness of God’s majestic voice, which cannot be silenced! May
you yourself be heartened by the voice of the God of all creation Himself. For behold,
your salvation comes. It is promised with a promise never to be broken. It is coming
now and soon. He is coming now and soon. Today, in a few weeks’ time, and when
that eternal summer at last arrives. And that salvation of yours, it never leaves you. He
never leaves you for a moment. You are never without hope or help. Therefore, take
all comfort in the profound nearness and perfect proximity of your God, even and
especially when you briefly lose sight of it. You are safe, dear saints, you are secure,
don’t worry, don’t panic. For behold, He comes. So everything is going to be okay,
for now and forever. I promise you that. He has promised you that. In the most holy
name of our coming and yet already present Lord, in the name of Jesus. Amen.

​Rev. Shemwell
Jeremiah 23:5-8
Matthew 21:1-9
12/3/23

Homily for the Ad Te Levavi (First Sunday in Advent)
In the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
“Rejoice greatly, O daughter of Zion! Shout, O daughter of Jerusalem! Behold, your
King is coming to you; He is just and having salvation, lowly and riding on a donkey,
a colt, the foal of a donkey.” Thus once spoke the holy prophet Zachariah
approximately five hundred years before the birth of our blessed Messiah. Dear
brothers and sisters in our Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, the liturgical season of
Advent, as you well know, is a season of anticipation. But if you didn’t already know,
the word advent itself comes from the Latin word adventus, meaning “arrival.” The
church year, this new church year so early upon us, begins with this period of
anticipation for Christ’s arrival. It begins today, this first Sunday of the new church
year. And while this time of year in particular is marked by an anticipation for our
Lord’s glorious coming, for His arrival, in truth, all human history has been similarly
marked by this same anticipation for the messianic advent.
Men and women have been waiting for and longingly expecting a savior since
the very beginning. The first man and the first woman were exiled from the garden
with the hope of this precise anticipation. Genesis chapter three verses fourteen and
fifteen: “So the Lord God said to the serpent”—with Adam and Eve in earshot, mind
you!—“‘Because you have deceived My creation, you, serpent, are cursed more than
all the cattle, and more than every beast of the field; on your belly you shall go, and
you shall eat dust all the days of your life. And I will put enmity between you and the
woman, and between your seed and her Seed; He shall crush your head, and you shall
bruise His heel.”

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This profound passage has traditionally been called the protoevangelium – the first
gospel – the incipient promise of bad news to the ancient dragon but exceptionally
good news to our primordial parents that salvation would come, would arrive through
the seed of the woman.
Otherwise put, the King was coming from the very beginning. By the time the
initial inclination toward disobedience entered the willing heart of our father, Adam, a
plan was already had for redemption – a plan for salvation through the Son incarnate,
through God made man, salvation through the woman’s eventual seed. In response to
the woeful fall of all mankind into sin, God in His goodness and mercy gave the
promise of deliverance straightaway. And this immediate promise was repeated again
and again down through the ages. This is the promise that was given to Abraham, and
to Isaac and Jacob, for that matter, that their progeny would include the saving seed.
The same promise was subsequently spoken to God’s people through the lips of
Moses himself: “The Lord your God will raise up for you a Prophet like me from your
midst, from your brethren,” he declared. And despite the consistent failings and
infidelities of God’s chosen people, that promise was safeguarded regardless. They
were forgiven time and again, their sins were removed from them as far as the east is
from the west, mistake after mistake was blotted out, and the promise was renewed in
spite of every last fault, flaw, foible, and shortcoming on the part of the wayward
Israelites. Now the same was true for David, that great and mighty king of theirs, who
was likewise absolved of his many severe sins and was granted through a promise a
place of prominence in his Lord’s own lineage.

3
After all, the righteous branch Who reigns as king and deals wisely, as Jeremiah
prophesied in our reading this morning, came ultimately from the loins of the
delinquent David, who was uncommonly repentant and therefore beloved by God.
And of course, all the prophets of all time prophesied about the coming of the
King and the fulfillment of the ancient promise. Isaiah foretold the virgin birth and the
immeasurable suffering of the incarnate servant. All the way down through Zachariah
and even beyond, the mouths of prophets gave new life to the anticipation of the King
and Savior. And finally, the occasion at last arrived, the anticipation of thousands of
years of hopeful waiting was met with the annunciation to that well-chosen maiden.
The archangel Gabriel gave the blessed news to a peasant virgin girl, a descendent of
David, as foreshadowed. She received it in utter humility, singing her magnificent
Magnificat in reply. Her briefly scandalized betrothed heeded the word of the angel of
the Lord instead of his own doubt and with true bravery he proudly took her as his
wife. Then a baby boy was born in a manger in the little town of Bethlehem, Whom
they called Immanuel, “God with us.” And as St. Matthew tells us at the outset of his
gospel, “all this took place to fulfill what the Lord had spoken by the prophets.”
The promise of salvation made His home in a virgin womb. The King came in
meekness and weakness, His advent was in the frail flesh of men and within the literal
flesh of a very specific woman for nine months, He condescended to contain Himself
in the abode of her fragile uterus. And while He came in lowliness, He came with
promise and eternal purpose though, having everlasting salvation. From the moment
of His birth nine months on, His eyes were set toward Golgotha, to the place of the
skull, also called Calvary.

4
The woman’s seed promised in the garden to crush the head of the serpent had to be
bruised Himself, as was told from the start. To defeat death, to undo the first mistake
and negate the fall from grace, the enfleshed Savior had to endure overwhelming and
extensive hardship in His own body and He had to die the most unjust death. He came
in the flesh to save the flesh itself, but in order to do so, He had to let His own sinless
flesh be tormented and crucified. God became man in order to die for man. The
Incarnation of our Lord was all for the sake of the crucifixion of our Lord. Christmas
always points towards Good Friday. God became a baby boy in order to die a thirty-
three-year-old man, nailed to a cross for the transgressions of the whole world. And so
He was put to death for our iniquities. Every single one of them. He bled out for our
anger, our lust, our greed, our pride, our envy and unbelief. He suffered for the totality
of our sins. He was buried for the perversion of our failures. But on the third day, He
was resurrected whole for the promise of our hope.
And that hope is what this season is really all about. We anticipate the coming
of our Lord at Christmas. We anticipate the joyous opportunity to celebrate the glory
of His Incarnation, His taking on flesh and bone so as to overcome sin, death, and the
devil. But we look beyond that as well. We look forward to that day when He returns
in all His glory, incarnate, in the flesh, to raise our flesh from the sorrowful grave. The
King has already once come, right? So the anticipation is over in some sense. Yet it
another sense, in a more visceral and tenderly present sense, the anticipation only
begins anew. Our Lord came to heal us, and so He has – without any merit or
worthiness on our part.

5
However, this side of heaven and indeed this side of His crucifixion, resurrection, and
ascension above, those of us left here below are still faced with sin, death, and the
devil. The struggle continues for now.
The war was won on the cross two thousand years ago. But we are still
confronted with the fallout, with the consequences of God’s wrath in this earthly
existence. Eternally we are free. And yet here in time we remain bound to the
lingering difficulties of this broken world. Nevertheless, we have immense hope, for
we anticipate with the sureness of faith the final fulfillment of God’s promise of
deliverance. Christ, God made man, once said: “Let not your heart be troubled; you
believe in God, believe also in Me. In My Father’s house are many mansions; if it
were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you. And if I go and
prepare a place for you, I will come again and receive you unto Myself; that where I
am, there you may be also.” Our Lord ascended into the heavens long, long ago.
However, He will come again. He will descend on the clouds just as He once
ascended. And when He arrives, He will deliver us once and for all from this land of
bitterness. The arrival of the incarnate Son with all His angels from the clouds is on
the horizon and it draws ever closer with each passing day. And that, in truth, is what
we anticipate more than anything else this Advent season: the promised Second
Coming of Christ the King.
And while we wait with the patience of God-given faith for that distant day, our
Lord graciously feeds us with the substance of His promise even here and now. He
feeds us with Himself.

6
To strengthen you toward the wait for His final advent on the horizon, our Lord comes
to you presently, in this His sacramental advent, He comes to you currently from the
paten and chalice, in, with, and under the form of the grainy host and the red wine, in
body and blood for the forgiveness of every last one of your sins and for the
sanctifying of your body and soul for life without end. The promise was fulfilled
twenty centuries ago. The seed of Eve was born of Mary, only to lay dead in her
heartbroken arms three decades on for the redemption of the world. And the promise
will be fulfilled again when that Redeemer returns in the flesh to put an end to all
pain, to wipe away all tears, and to make all things new. But the promise is further
fulfilled right here, right now, in this room, between our Lord’s resurrection and our
own, when and where the Son of God dwells bodily in the holy bread and wine, when
and where the Messiah arrives on your own eager tongue, a personal advent for you
individually, to bear you through the many burdens of this life and the overlong wait.
So come now, dear children, the table is soon ready. Behold, your King is
coming this day. Though He arrives lowly in this here bread and wine, He comes
nonetheless as One just and having salvation. He once entered the holy city on a colt,
on the foal of a donkey, and was welcomed triumphantly as royalty deserves. But then
that King was betrayed, arrested, beaten, mocked, scourged, scorned, and executed,
what we sinners ourselves had justly deserved. He selflessly took the wrath we
wrought upon His own weakened body. But now He comes to you once more, lowly
but ever just and having much salvation. He comes to you through the blood that once
cascaded forth in a river of crimson from His pierced side.

7
That blood still fills the chalice at this altar. God’s pain once poured out on the cross
is still poured out at this rail to alleviate your spiritual pain and to quench your thirst
for eternity.
So as He comes to you now, to save you, to strengthen you, to solidify you in
your faith for your eternal fate, welcome Him rightly, receive Him reverently, as the
denizens of that holy city of Jerusalem once did. Sing to Him as they once sang:
“Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of Sabaoth; heaven and earth are full of Thy glory.
Hosanna in the highest. Blessed is He that cometh in the name of the Lord. Hosanna
in the highest.” When we sing this highest hymn of all here in a moment, dear faithful,
sing it like you truly mean it. The ancient promise given at the exile from paradise
was once fulfilled at old Bethlehem in a manger and later outside the city walls of old
Jerusalem on a crucifix. The ancient promise will be fulfilled again in the new
Jerusalem in the consummation of the age. And the ancient promise is right now
fulfilled in the hearts and on the lips of the saints of this new Bethlehem here in East
Tennessee. Therefore, come now and be enlivened by Christ’s advent just for you in
this holy meal. And always keep the hope and anticipation alive in your humble heart,
until He comes again – and soon. In His most holy name. Amen.