Rusty George: Picture this.
It's the fourth century.
You walk into a church in Spain, there's nothing on the calendar labeled Advent,
no wreaths with candles, no countdown calendars, no target run for decorations.
Christmas as we know it barely exists, but something stirring.
Church leaders are asking this profound question, how do we prepare for something
as significant as God becoming human?
That song, it gets me every year.
You know why?
Because for a lot of people, Christmas isn't the most wonderful
time of the year for a lot of people.
It's actually the worst.
That question those early church leaders asked 1700 years ago, it
still matters, especially when your December feels more like a series
of sprints than a sacred season.
Let's be honest, the world in 2025 feels anxious.
Over 280 million people worldwide are dealing with depression right now.
Anxiety is off the charts, especially for young adults.
I read a stat that said suicidal ideation has doubled in some
population since the pandemic.
Political polarization has fractured communities.
We've got this us versus them thing going on.
That just undermines our trust in each other and in our society's institutions.
And maybe you're feeling it right now.
Maybe your job is crushing you.
Maybe your family's a mess.
Maybe you're scrolling through social media wondering why everyone else's life
looks perfect and yours feels messy.
Isaiah nine two speaks directly into this.
The people walking in darkness have seen a great light on those
living in the land of deep darkness.
A light has dawned now, when Isaiah wrote this, around 700 bc Israel
wasn't going through a rough patch.
They were experiencing the gloom of Assyrian oppression.
Moral decay, spiritual despair, the regions of Zebulon and Naftali,
basically Galilee were the first territories devastated by invasion.
These places were dismissed, despised, forgotten.
And here's what gets me about this phrase, deep darkness.
The word in Hebrew is TAs.
It's the same word used in Psalm 23.
The valley of the shadow of death.
These people weren't just passing through darkness.
They had made it their home.
Does that sound like where you're living at the moment?
But here's what Isaiah does.
That's so brilliant.
He writes this prophecy in the past tense.
He describes future events as if they've already happened.
It's called the Prophetic Perfect.
God wasn't offering a, maybe he was declaring.
Your future hope in the Messiah.
It's already done.
The Victory's already won.
You just have to see it by faith.
That's the setup, that's the tension.
God says light is coming and people are like, when?
How?
So let's rewind way back Old Testament times.
In the Old Testament, waiting wasn't passive.
It was an active posture of trust in the middle of
uncertainty, suffering, and exile.
Isaiah writing during Israel's darkest hours when exile and Babylon seem
permanent and hopeless scarce, he tells this despairing people, those who wait
upon the Lord, will renew their strength.
This wasn't greeting card language.
This was a divine lifeline.
The Jews expected the Messiah to be a powerful military and political
leader, a rescuing king who'd kicked the Romans out and restore Israel's glory.
Isaiah's prophecy about wonderful counselor, mighty God, prince of peace.
They weren't thinking about a baby in a manger.
They were thinking triumphant, ruler, restoring an empire.
But if you're familiar with the story, you know that something
completely different happens.
Jesus shows up, Galilean prophet, he gets crucified by Rome, and the Christian
movement faces this unprecedented crisis.
Wait a minute, our Messiah came, but not like we expected.
He didn't restore the kingdom.
He didn't drive out the Romans.
He died.
But then something extraordinary happens.
They're saying he rose.
And almost immediately early Christians found themselves waiting again.
But this time with a revolutionary twist.
The first generation of believers thought the second coming was imminent.
Jesus told them he was returning in Acts one as the resurrected,
Jesus ascends to heaven.
His disciples asked, are you finally restoring the kingdom?
Jesus says, you will receive power when the Holy Spirit comes upon
you, and you will be my witnesses.
No date, no timeline.
Just wait.
The early church lived in what scholars call realized eschatology.
The kingdom was both already here, Jesus resurrection and the
Holy Spirit and not yet complete.
Paul wrote to the Thessalonians, expecting Christ return within his own lifetime.
Peter declared the end of all things is near, but by the second
century, Jesus hadn't returned.
Decades, had passed.
Eyewitnesses were dying.
This created what scholars called the delay of the Perusia crisis, a fundamental
challenge to the Christian identity.
Most churches eventually settled into this middle position.
Christ will return eventually, but we should settle in for the long haul.
that's when they realized if you're waiting indefinitely for someone, you need
structured practices to sustain that hope.
By the late fourth century, Christmas emerged as a feast day, and the
church needed a season to prepare.
The word advent comes from Latin Adventist coming, happening or arrival.
It is the same root word that we have for adventure.
It translates the Greek perusia, which refers both to Christ's birth
and his promised second coming.
Here's what's fascinating.
Early advent had a double focus.
The first weeks reflected on Jesus' return in glory.
Chastening hearts confessing sins the last week's.
Turn to his birth and the manger.
We've kind of lost that.
So here's where we land.
Why does Advent still matter in 2025?
Because Advent is about three perspectives.
Christ's birth in Bethlehem the past, his reception in our hearts today in
the present, his promised return to make all things right in the future.
This is the already and not yet tension that defines Christian hope.
That scene gets me every time because sometimes the only way to
get outta that dark place and hope again is to cry out to God for help.
Listen, Jesus light cuts through darkness and ways no self-improvement plan can.
Isaiah wasn't describing a candle flickering in a cave.
He was prophesying sunrise.
The kind of blazing, undeniable light that drives out every shadow.
Christ didn't come to help us cope with darkness a little better.
He came to obliterate it, for us in a time of climate, anxiety,
political fragmentation, pandemic, aftermath, this practice of
bounded waiting and grounded hope.
It's not escapism, it's resistance.
So what do we do?
Acknowledge darkness.
Honestly, advent doesn't ask us to pretend everything's fine.
It invites us to face the brokenness in society, in our families, and
our souls, and lean into what NT Wright calls an almost cosmic ache.
Number two, practice active waiting.
This isn't passive resignation.
It's expectant preparation.
How can we make room for Christ by serving others?
Third light Advent Candles weekly create tangible practices, especially for kids to
train hearts, to watch and wait for Jesus.
Advent still matters because darkness still matters as long as
people walk in the shadow of death.
Depression, broken relationships, fear the promise of light breaking through
matters desperately, and Jesus still matters more than ever because he is
the light the world cannot overcome.
Not a flickering candle, a blazing sunrise.
This advent as you prepare for Christmas.
Remember, you're not just remembering a baby born 2000 years ago.
You're proclaiming that light of the world has come, is here now by his Holy Spirit
and will return to make all things new.
This season begins not with abundance, but with candlelight
and darkness, a single flame.
As the weeks progress, more candles are lit, bit by bit more light breaks through.
By Christmas, we arrive at the white candle of Christ's presence and we've
been slowly educated through our bodies, our community, our stories, our prayers
into the knowledge that light does overcome darkness, that Christ does come,
and that we can live in hope next week.
Hope in the waiting until then, keep it simple.