King Ahaz and the Prophet Isaiah

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In the previous post we spent a good deal of time introducing King Ahaz – he was not the best of kings. That was being nice. He was awful. He was judged to be comparable in wickedness to all the wretched kings of Judah and Israel.  In this context it is easy to see why the prophet Isaiah views Ahaz as one who lacks faith and trust in God, and in this way the king becomes a symbol of the people of God, who in the face of the Assyrian threats are becoming a people who also lack faith and trust in God.  The king and the people depended upon the legacy of the Davidic dynasty as the sign of their “covenant” with God. Their ideology professed a sublime confidence God would protect his chosen king and city…no matter what. This can be seen in  Psalm 46:1–4:

God is our refuge and our strength,
an ever-present help in distress.
Therefore we fear not, though the earth be shaken
and mountains plunge into the depths of the sea . . . .
The Lord of hosts is with us;
our stronghold is the God of Jacob.

Such a profession is easily made when there is no immediate danger. Faced with an actual invasion, however, “the heart of the king and the heart of the people trembled, as the trees of the forest tremble in the wind” (Isa 7:2).  

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The First Readings in the 3rd Week of Advent

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The Catholic first readings for daily Mass for Dec 15 – 19, 2025 (in the third week of Advent) are taken from Numbers 24, Zephaniah 3, Genesis 49, Jeremiah 23, and Judges 13. At first glance it seems kinda random and taken plucked from here and there, but there is a logic and wonderful story when you connect the dots. And while it seems random, in fact, the readings are very deliberately chosen.

Each reading has some element of prophecy within the particular narrative but the readings are not random prophetic texts. Together they tell a cohesive story of salvation history, a story that deepens Advent’s focus as Christmas approaches. What unites them is this theme: God’s promise of a saving ruler is spoken gradually through blessing, prophecy, lineage, shepherd imagery, and miraculous birth. And often given in moments of weakness or threat. Here is a “roadmap” for the coming readings of this week.

The larger arc of Advent readings can be thought of as the first and second halves. In the first half of Advent, the readings focus on repentance and vigilance with stories of John the Baptist. As we move into the second half, in the third week, the focus shifts to God’s promise taking shape in history. Within that “second half” context, the first readings of this third week of Advent move from stories that set expectations, to making those expectations concrete in accounts of lineage, and then moving to the moment when expectations are fulfilled. In a way the first readings tells a mini–salvation history

  • A distant, mysterious promise
  • A promise spoken over Israel
  • A promise tied to a royal line
  • A promise of a righteous king
  • A promise of a child born by God’s initiative

Monday, December 15: Numbers 24:2–7, 15–17a – “A star shall advance from Jacob”

In this scene Balaam is a pagan diviner, hired to curse Israel. Instead, God forces him to bless Israel and prophesy its future. The message is that God’s saving plan cannot be stopped or manipulated. Balaam speaks of the promise of a ruler (“star,” “scepter”). The Messiah is promised before Israel even has a king and the promise is announced from “outside the family” leaving no doubt of God’s sovereignty. God’s unfolding plan is older and larger than human politics. Salvation is already on the horizon; even when God’s people are unaware. A distant and mysterious promise.

Tuesday, December 16: Zephaniah 3:14–18a – “The Lord, your God, is in your midst”

Zephaniah preaches during a time of corruption and coming judgment. Zephaniah’s prophecy of judgment on Judah and Jerusalem emphasizes, perhaps more than any other prophecy, the devastation and death that divine judgment will bring. Described as the day of the Lord, the day of judgment is pictured as a time of darkness, of anguish and distress, of destruction and plunder of cities, and of threat to all life, human and animal alike. And yet, the book ends in joy: “For I will give you renown and praise, among all the peoples of the earth, when I bring about your restoration before your very eyes, says the LORD.” (Zep 3:20) 

Zephanian makes clear that God does not rule from afar; He dwells with His people. In the end God’s promises are everlasting and so Jerusalem is told to rejoice because God has removed judgment. In Advent, this prophetic reading carries the promise that God will always be relational and personal. When the promised One comes on the day of the Lord, God is not just sending a ruler; He is coming to be with His people. The promise will become joy, nearness, and presence. A promise spoken over Israel.

Wednesday, December 17: Genesis 49:2, 8–10 – “The scepter shall never depart from Judah”

Jacob, son of Isaac, grandson of Abraham, now passed on the blessings of the Lord to his sons at the end of his life. But it is Judah who receives the royal blessing. The promise is now anchored to a specific tribe. The promised ruler’s coming is narrowing. It is no longer vague; it is genealogical. Here is Advent the message is God works through family lines, history, and human weakness. The Messiah will come from Judah, not by accident, but by promise. ​​The promise enters bloodline and history. A promise tied to a royal line.

Thursday, December 18: Jeremiah 23:5–8 – “I will raise up a righteous shoot to David”

From the sons of Jacob we moved ahead, past the days of Moses, Joshua, the Judges, and to the last days of the Kings of Judah, who by-in-large have failed disastrously. Jerusalem is heading toward exile. And yet even in these darkest of days, God promises a new Davidic king, unlike the corrupt shepherds. This king will reign with justice and righteousness. Here is Advent the message is that God does not abandon His promises even when leaders fail and the people stray from the faith. The One promised, the Messiah, is not just a king by title, but a true shepherd. A promise of a righteous king.

Friday, December 19: Judges 13:2–7, 24–25a – the birth of Samson foretold

Moving back on the timeline to the age of the Judges (after Moses and before the Kings), Israel is oppressed by the Philistines. A barren woman conceives through divine intervention; this reading prepares us for the birth annunciations of John the Baptist and Jesus. Samson is set apart from birth for his role as one of the Judges. Despite the comic book portrayal as hero, Samson is hardly a messiah, but the pattern is revealed. God begins salvation through a miraculous birth and God saves through unexpected births. The message is that God acts when human strength fails. A promise of a child born by God’s initiative

And that is the big picture of this week’s first readings.

O Come, O Come, Emmanuel

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Our gospel is the traditional reading for the 4th Sunday of Advent (year A) and thus, in addition to its biblical context, this reading also carries a seasonal meaning.

A Seasonal Context: The Fourth Sunday of Advent always tells part of the story that just precedes the birth of Christ. These familiar episodes set the stage for one of the Bible’s best-known passages, the story of Christmas. This reading, as well as the gospels for the 4th Sunday in Advent in the other years, aligns well with the readings of the seven days of Advent that immediately precede Christmas.  Not only do the readings for the daily Masses just before Christmas include the beginnings of the Gospel infancy narratives (Matthew 1 on Dec. 17-18; Luke 1 on Dec. 19-24), but we again get to hear the traditional “O Antiphons,” at Mass.

Most familiar these days from the popular hymn, “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel,” the “O Antiphons” are more than a thousand years old.  Curiously, the first verse of the familiar hymn is actually the last of the traditional “O Antiphons” while the other verses of the hymn (in the order printed in most hymnals) correspond to the Antiphons for Dec. 17 to 22:

Dec. 17: O Sapientia / O Wisdom from Evening Prayer 
Verse 2: O Come, Thou Wisdom, from on high from the popular hymn

Dec. 18: O Adonai / O Sacred Lord of ancient Israel
Verse 3: O Come, O Come, Thou Lord of might

Dec. 19: O Radix Jesse / O Flower of Jesse’s stem
Verse 4: O Come, Thou Rod of Jesse’s stem

Dec. 20: O Clavis David / O Key of David
Verse 5: O Come, Thou Key of David, come

Dec. 21: O Oriens / O Radiant Dawn
Verse 6: O Come, Thou Dayspring from on high

Dec. 22: O Rex Gentium / O King of all the nations
Verse 7: O Come, Desire of nations…

Dec. 23: O Emmanuel / O Emmanuel
Verse 1: O Come, O Come, Emmanuel

The gospel readings for the 4th Sunday, the gospels for those weekday readings, and the “O Antiphons” all begin to answer the question of Advent: who is coming? Our gospel reading for the 4th Sunday of Advent (Year A) provides it contribution to the larger answer: Jesus Christ (v.18), son of Mary (v.18), adopted son of Joseph (v20), son of David (v.20), named Jesus (v.21), the one who will save his people from their sins (v.21), and Emmanuel…God with us (v.22).

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Why we rejoice

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I have always been interested in the art, the craft of titling books. When scanning for my next book to read I am often drawn in by the title. I can remember coming across Norman McLean’s novel, A River Runs Through It. There was something about the title that intrigued me. So, I picked it up off the shelf and read the first few sentences: 

“In our family there was no clear line between religion and fly fishing; grace was in the air, and grace came by art and art did not come easy. My father was a Presbyterian minister and a fly fisherman. He taught us the grace of the woods and the grace of the river. He taught us that a man could be a sinner and a fisherman, and that the two were not incompatible.” 

I was hooked.

This summer I saw promotions and advertisements for a streaming series, “The Summer I Turned Pretty.” I suspected it was a young adult romance novel – not exactly a book for me – but I thought that was the kind of title that was intriguing and sure to have captured the intended audience. 

I thought to myself, “Self…maybe you should write a book, “The Winter I Turned Old.” I am sure there is an audience out there. Don’t worry I am not having a life crisis. It is probably just the experience of all the little aches and pains, shorter days, longer nights and colder weather. This Florida native is suffering the cruelest of circumstances: I have even started wearing long pants.

As we approach the shortest day of our year, as the light of day is consumed by the edges of night, the grip of winter tightens, and collars are turned up against the chill air, it is then that these bones feel their age, and the minor inconveniences of aches and pains remind me of my mortality. Yet there is a great reading that comes our way and is to be recommended: the readings of Gaudete Sunday.

I was “hooked” by the opening lines of the first reading from Isaiah: “The desert and the parched land will exult; the steppe will rejoice and bloom. They will bloom with abundant flowers, and rejoice with joyful song.”  Isaiah certainly has a way with words.

This December I have been preaching on the Book of Isaiah, one of the great prophets of Israel and Judah. Every weekday of Advent so far, unless there was a solemnity or feast day, the first reading has been from Isaiah. Today our first reading was Isaiah 35 and it is a great reading with wonderful images of renewal, restoration, hope and reasons to rejoice because of the promises of the Lord.

Do you need those promises today? Maybe today is a good day,  but we all have those times in our lives when we need to know that God’s promises are for us. We need those promises to lift us up that we might rejoice in the Lord always.

Jerusalem and Judah had those times when they needed to be reassured that the Lord was with them and for them. The chapters leading up to our first reading describes a time when Jerusalem and all of Judah was under the threat of one most powerful nation of that time. The Assyrian Empire was expanding southward, already having conquered the 10 northern tribes. In the south, people felt helpless, afraid, and uncertain whether God would save them. The political and religious leadership was a disaster. As a result Jerusalem seemed vulnerable and the people were disheartened and spiritually weak. Chapters 28–34 a running admonishment, warnings against foreign alliances instead of trusting in God, and rebukes for spiritual blindness of leaders and people alike. 

The crisis is quite real and existential. Assyrian invasion and victory means exile, destruction, and the end of the nation. Isaiah 34 is a chapter full of judgment, destruction, and despair. The land is pictured as scorched and empty. It is an image of how the people feel: abandoned, disheartened, and unsure of God’s presence. Into this atmosphere of anxiety and judgment comes the promise of chapter 35

“The desert and the parched land will exult; the steppe will rejoice and bloom. They will bloom with abundant flowers, and rejoice with joyful song” (Isa 35: 1-2)

Into that darkness, Isaiah says: “Strengthen the hands that are feeble…Say to those whose hearts are frightened: Be strong, fear not!” Why? Because God is coming, not only to judge, but to save, to heal, to restore, to bring His people home. This is the heart of Gaudete Sunday. This is at the center of God’s promises of a Savior – and the proper response is to rejoice.

We rejoice because God brings life out of the deserts of our lives. Every one of us knows what a “desert” feels like:

  • A season of prayer that feels dry
  • A relationship that has grown tepid
  • A grief that just seems relentless
  • A worry that burdens our thoughts and keeps us up nights
  • A sin we have struggled to uproot
  • A disappointment that is slowly hardening our hearts

These are the real deserts of human life. Isaiah is not being poetic for the sake of poetry. He is speaking to real human loneliness, fear, and exhaustion. 

Isaiah reminds us that the desert is not our destiny. God can irrigate what seems dry, renew what seems dead, and bring joy where there has only been sorrow. Advent reminds us that God is always beginning something new.

We rejoice because God is already at work even when we cannot see it. Gardens don’t bloom overnight and neither do deserts. New growth slowly arises, quietly and often unnoticed. In the same way, God’s grace often works quietly and invisibly:

  • A small shift in our conscience
  • A softening of the heart
  • A desire to pray
  • A willingness to forgive
  • A new patience with someone difficult
  • A sudden moment of clarity
  • An unexpected sense of peace

These are signs that God is already making the desert bloom. We rejoice not because we have everything figured out, but because God is acting even in the places we cannot yet see. And we especially rejoice because God comes to heal, not to condemn. 

Gaudete Sunday is an invitation to recognize the God who heals. Isaiah proclaims: “the eyes of the blind be opened, the ears of the deaf be cleared; then will the lame leap like a stag, then the tongue of the mute will sing.” God does not come into our lives with a running list of our failures. He comes like a physician who knows exactly where we are wounded and brings the healing and cure we have long needed, clarity of thought, strength to get up and move ahead, and a pathway home. 

We rejoice because God is leading us home. The reading ends with a beautiful line: The “ransomed will return and enter Zion singing, crowned with everlasting joy; they will meet with joy and gladness, sorrow and mourning will flee” This is the promise at the center of Advent: that the God who comes to us at Christmas and the God who will come again in glory is the same God who is even now leading us, step by step, toward the fullness of life. No matter where we have wandered, no matter what has grown dry or is broken, God’s desire is to lead us home.

And, big picture, we rejoice because God is faithful to His promises. So… 

  • Rejoice, not because life is perfect, but because God is making all things new.
  • Rejoice, not because the desert is gone, but because God is making the garden bloom.
  • Rejoice, not because the journey is over, but because God is walking it with you.
  • Rejoice, because God remembers, heals, strengthens, and restores

“Rejoice in the Lord always; again I say, rejoice”

Amen.

Image credit: Prophet Isaiah, Mosaic, Right of Lunette, South Wall of Presbytery, Basilica of San Vitale | PD-US | scripture image from Canva CC-0

 “Whose birth are we preparing for, anyway?”

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The gospel for the 3rd Sunday in Advent is a transition point of Salvation History and easily is lost in our modern movement to Christmas. But here in this reading, John the Baptist stands at the threshold as the last and greatest herald of the Old Covenant, but not a participant in the new era of grace inaugurated by Christ. Jesus’ disciples, by following Him, are entering into something new as the Kingdom breaks into history.

Jesus is asking the disciples to themselves as participants in a divine kingdom, not merely hearers of prophecy. But participants in a kingdom where earthly standards (lineage, authority, power and position) are overturned. In the new kingdom greatness will be measured by grace, humility, and closeness to Christ. It is the start of a subtle preparation for the paradox of the Cross when the greatest of all appears in lowliness and suffering.

Jesus, in his way, says to the disciples, “don’t be discouraged by John’s imprisonment or question whether God’s plan is unfolding. Rather, be mindful of the privilege and responsibility of living in the age of grace.

In the context of Advent, this gospel helps establish the identity of Jesus – something especially key during the Advent Season. “Whose birth are we preparing for, anyway?”  And this is as important a question for us in our day as it was in the life and time of John the Baptist.

Then as now I suspect Jesus would still not fit our messianic expectations, would fail to conform to our popular messianic expectations. Why? Then as now, and in keeping with Gospel tradition, our expectations of Jesus are probably mostly correct but almost certainly incomplete. We should not think ourselves immune from “hometown expectations.” In contrast to what Jesus did and said, many contemporary people harbor false or incomplete expectations about Christ that need correcting.

A friar priest, a friend of mine, holds that if one hasn’t been offended by the gospel that is Jesus, it is likely that one has an incomplete understanding of the gospel.  A Jesus who is always comforting and never afflicting is an incomplete Jesus.

Image credit: Christ Presenting the Keys to Saint Peter, c. 1636-40, by Nicholas Poussin, Public Domain

Gaudete Sunday – Isaiah 35 in Context

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The first reading for Gaudete Sunday is taken from Isaiah 35: “The desert and the parched land will exult; the steppe will rejoice and bloom. They will bloom with abundant flowers, and rejoice with joyful song.” It is a message of radiant hope, but this chapter does not arise in a peaceful moment. Its beauty comes precisely because it follows a very dark and threatening context.

Isaiah 34 is a chapter of devastation and judgment carrying one of the most severe judgment oracles in the entire book. It describes:

  • God’s judgment upon Edom, a symbol of all nations hostile to God.
  • Land turned into a burning pitch.
  • Streams turned into tar.
  • A wilderness inhabited only by wild animals and demons.
  • A world of chaos, desolation, and hopelessness.

Isaiah 34 begins with: “Draw near, O nations, to hear… He will hand them over to slaughter.” It ends with a picture of a land emptied and cursed. Isaiah 34 is the image of the world ruined by sin, human violence, and divine judgment.

Isaiah 35 is the surprise of reversal: hope rising from devastation. Against the backdrop of that scorched, cursed wasteland, Isaiah suddenly proclaims: “The desert and the parched land will exult; the steppe will rejoice and bloom.” This is not sentimental poetry. It is a proclamation that God’s mercy has the final word, not desolation. The land that looked dead will come back to life. People who felt abandoned will be restored. Judgment is not the end; renewal is. God transforms the desert created by human sin into a garden created by divine grace.

The historical setting is that Jerusalem and all of Judah is under the threat of Assyrian domination. Chapters 28–39 reflect the time when the Assyrian Empire is expanding southward, already having conquered the 10 northern tribes. In the south, people feel helpless, afraid, and uncertain whether God will save them. The political and religious leadership has a track record of leadership failure. As a result Jerusalem seems vulnerable and the people are disheartened and spiritually weak. Chapters 28–33 are a series of oracles of woe, warnings against foreign alliances instead of trusting in God, and rebukes for spiritual blindness of leaders and people alike. 

The crisis is quite real and existential. Assyrian invasion and victory means exile, destruction, and the end of the nation. Into this atmosphere of anxiety and judgment comes the promise of chapter 35 which mirrors the structure often seen in Isaiah: pending judgment but with the promise of hope and delivery. Isaiah 35 is a deliberate contrast to the darkness that precedes it.

Because it follows a vision of utter ruin, Isaiah 35 is proclaiming:

  • God can bring joy from sorrow.
  • God can create life where everything seems dead.
  • No desert—literal or spiritual—is beyond God’s power to transform.
  • Exile and fear will not have the last word.
  • The journey home (35:8–10) is guaranteed by God’s own mercy.

Isaiah 35 is both a climax of hope after chapters of threat, and a transition toward the great consolation of Isaiah 40: “Comfort, give comfort to my people.” Against the backdrop of despair, God announces an unexpected future filled with joy, healing, return, and redemption. That is why Isaiah 35 is chosen for the Third Sunday of Advent, Gaudete Sunday: because in the middle of the darkness and weariness of life, God makes the desert bloom.

Image credit: Prophet Isaiah, Mosaic, Right of Lunette, South Wall of Presbytery, Basilica of San Vitale | PD-US | scripture image from Canva CC-0

Those born among women

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“Amen, I say to you, among those born of women there has been none greater than John the Baptist; yet the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he.” (Mt 11:11) This is an extraordinary statement balancing praise and paradox

In common Jewish belief there had been no prophecy in Israel since the last of the Old Testament prophets, Malachi. The coming of a new prophet was eagerly awaited, and Jesus agrees that John was such. Yet he was more than a prophet, for he was the precursor of the one who would bring in the new and final age. The Old Testament quotation is a combination of Malachi 3:1; Exodus 23:20 with the significant change that the “before me” of Malachi becomes “before you.” The messenger now precedes not God, as in the original, but Jesus.

“Born of women” is a Semitic idiom meaning any human being — all mortal humans. and Jesus has just declared John the greatest of all humans up to that point — greater than Abraham, Moses, David, or the prophets. He is the culmination of the prophets — “the voice crying in the wilderness” (Isa 40:3), the forerunner of the Messiah, bridging Old and New. He personally identifies the Lamb of God (Jn 1:29). He embodies austere holiness and prophetic courage, dying for truth and righteousness. In short: John is the final prophet of the Old Covenant, the greatest light before the dawning of the Messianic era.

And then there is the paradox. How can someone “greater than all” be “less than the least” in the kingdom? John belongs to the Old Covenant order. Yes, he announces the Kingdom, but does not yet live within it. He dies before Jesus’ passion, death, and resurrection — the saving events that inaugurate the new covenant and the kingdom of heaven in its fullness. Therefore, even the “least” person who shares in Christ’s redemptive grace possesses something John could only anticipate: participation in the divine life through the Spirit. Because of the greatness of the kingdom’s age, all of the kingdom’s citizens will in some sense be greater even than John. 

Image credit: Christ Presenting the Keys to Saint Peter, c. 1636-40, by Nicholas Poussin, Public Domain

Jesus’ View of John

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“John wore clothing made of camel’s hair and had a leather belt around his waist. His food was locusts and wild honey. At that time Jerusalem, all Judea, and the whole region around the Jordan were going out to him” (John 3:4-5)

John’s preaching had created a sensation, and the movement into the wilderness had been a remarkable phenomenon. Jesus now examines its motives, to show the real significance of John. The series of three questions and answers suggests motives progressively closer to a true understanding of John. A reed shaken by the wind is a metaphor for a weak, pliable person; John was not such a person, and the implied answer is ‘Of course not’. It was John’s rugged independence which attracted a following. Nor was he dressed in fine clothing; far from it. It was as a man conspicuously separate from the royal palace. (There may be an ironic reference to his present residence in a ‘royal palace’—as a prisoner of conscience in Herod’s fortress) His rough clothing in fact points to his real role, as a prophet, and the crowds would gladly have accepted this description of John. But even that is not enough.

Tucked into the discussion of John the Baptist is an intriguing composite OT quotation. The disciples of John have returned to their imprisoned master with Jesus’ answer to their question about his identity. Jesus takes this occasion to comment on John to the crowds (11:7–19). He dispels the notion that John was a weak or pampered figure (11:7–8), declaring instead that he was a genuine prophet, “and more than a prophet” (11:9). In language reminiscent of earlier testimony concerning John (see 3:3), Jesus explains, “This is the one about whom it is written (a standard way of referring to Hebrew Scripture),

‘Behold, I am sending my messenger ahead of you; (Exodus 23:20)

he will prepare your way before you.’ (Malachi 3:1)

In context, Exod. 23:20 refers to God sending his angel to guard the Israelites, as they proceed from Mount Sinai, to prepare the way for them to take possession of the promised land. But in both Greek and Hebrew, the same words can mean either “angel” or “messenger” (and angels typically function as messengers), so an application to a human messenger in a different context follows naturally. 

The language of Exod. 23:20 recurs in Mal. 3:1. Malachi’s prophecy may in fact deliberately allude to the Exodus text. This time, however, the messenger seems to refer to a human being who will prepare the way for the Lord to come suddenly to his temple, a messenger who in Mal. 4:5 is equated with Elijah and described as one who “will turn the fathers’ hearts toward their children” (4:6), an example of the reconciliation that results from the kind of repentance for which John the Baptist had been calling. 

Image credit: Christ Presenting the Keys to Saint Peter, c. 1636-40, by Nicholas Poussin, Public Domain

The Mission Being Revealed

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The evidence to which Jesus points is not immediately conclusive, as it does not chime in with the popular (and probably John’s) idea of the Messiah’s work. But his words are an unmistakable allusion to passages in Isaiah which describe God’s saving work (Isa. 35:5–6; cf. 29:18), and the mission of his anointed servant (Isa. 61:1). Six specifics are enumerated: 

  • the healing of blindness (cf. 9:27–28; 12:22; 20:30; 21:14), 
  • lameness (cf. 15:30–31; 21:14), 
  • leprosy (cf. 8:20), 
  • deafness (cf. 9:32–33; 12:22; 15:30–31); 
  • the raising of the dead (cf. 9:18; 10:8); and 
  • evangelism to the poor (cf. 4:14–17, 23; 5:3; Luke 4:18). 

If these did not form part of the general expectation, and of John the Baptist’s, they should have. In Jesus’ own understanding of his mission, Isaiah 61:1–2 looms large. The relief of suffering, literally fulfilled in his healing miracles, reaches its climax in good news to the poor, the godly minority described in the beatitudes of chapter 5 (the ‘ănāwim). If this is too gentle a mission for John’s Messianic hopes, he has missed the biblical pattern on which Jesus’ mission is founded.

Jesus seems to understand the difference in messianic expectations and the true nature of the kingdom and so hopes that none take offence (v.6). This is the same verb (skandalízō) as in 5:29–30, ‘be tripped up by’. Many were ‘put off’ by Jesus, when his style of ministry failed to tally with their expectations, and even offended against accepted conventions. ‘Good news to the poor’ was an offence to the establishment, while a mission of the relief of suffering and the restoration of sinners would be at best irrelevant to those who fought for national liberation. It took spiritual discernment not to be ‘put off’ by Jesus, and such perception was enviable. And blessed is the one who takes no offense at me – while it applies directly to John’s state of uncertainty, this beatitude is also a key to the theme of this section of the Gospel, which will introduce many who found Jesus hard to take.

Image credit: Christ Presenting the Keys to Saint Peter, c. 1636-40, by Nicholas Poussin, Public Domain

Advent Landscaping

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Isaiah certainly has away with words. In the first reading for today’s Mass, Isaiah describes mountains being leveled, valleys being filled, and rough places being made smooth. It is a complete revision to the topography of the wilderness. Even in its earth-bound description, it is cosmic in its scale. Can you imagine the earth moving equipment and explosives needed to reshape this wilderness landscape?

But then again, Isaiah is not primarily talking about landscape. He is talking about the human heart. “Prepare the way of the Lord…make straight a highway…for our God.” He is admonishing us to remove anything that keeps us from seeing God’s glory. Isaiah is announcing that when God comes, nothing, not mountains, not valleys, not rugged passes, should stand between the human heart and God’s presence. Advent is the season when we hear this call anew and is our signal to let grace reshape our inner terrain.

What might all this mean for us during Advent?

“Every valley shall be filled in.” We speak of the highs and lows of life; of the hills and valleys along the way. A valley is a place where we feel spiritually or emotionally low. The place where we encounter discouragement – and often silently or alone. Perhaps it is a fear that prayers are unanswered, a sense we are failing or have failed, or a point we give up and no longer believe that change is possible. To that Isaiah proclaims: God wants to fill those valleys with hope.

Isaiah told the people of Judah and Jerusalem long ago, when the barbarians were at the walls, when the leaders had compromised faith and covenant, when hope was a dying ember that theirs was the God of Hope. The God who comforts His people lifts up the discouraged so as to remind us that He has not abandoned us, that His promises still stand, and that His coming is nearer than we think.

“Every mountain and hill shall be made low.” In our age we speak of mountains of money or we hold mountains as impenetrable fortresses where we are kept safe. But in Old Testament scripture, mountains often represent pride, self-reliance, or stubbornness—anything that rises up and blocks our view of God. Here Isaiah likely has in mind “mountains of pride.” Isaiah says these mountains must come down. Not because God wants to diminish us, but because pride blocks our sight. We cannot see the glory of the Lord when our own achievements or opinions tower in the foreground.

During Advent we might ask is our “mountain of pride” blocking our view of God or serving as a barrier to His voice? What part of our life do we insist, “I know best,” even when God is nudging us in another direction? Pride is just one mountain. Advent is a time to recognize and name your particular mountain and begin the landscaping project.

“The rugged land shall be made a plain.” Rugged, uneven ground makes walking difficult. It interrupts our pace and gait making it easy to stumble and fall. I suggest that these represent the patterns of sin, the habits we excuse, or the choices that keep tripping us up.

Advent is a season when God invites us to let grace smooth out what has become rough in us. The Sacrament of Reconciliation is one of God’s great tools for leveling uneven paths so that His coming is not hindered by obstacles we refuse to let go.

“Then the glory of the LORD shall be revealed.” Isaiah’s whole point is this: When the obstacles are removed, we see God. The glory of the Lord is not something God hides; it is something we fail to see when the terrain of our heart is cluttered or distorted. Advent reminds us God is coming. Clear the way so you can recognize Him when He arrives. Be attentive because God’s coming is not only a future event. He comes to us today in Scripture, in the Sacraments, in moments of grace, in the quiet voice of conscience. But we only perceive Him clearly when our interior landscape is open and straight and uncluttered.

Advent is not simply a countdown to Christmas. It is a spiritual landscaping project. So today, in this Eucharist, let us ask for the grace to let Him fill our valleys, lower our mountains, and smooth our rugged paths. Then we will see, not just with our eyes, but with our hearts, the glory of the Lord who comes to save us.

Image credit: Prophet Isaiah, Mosaic, Right of Lunette, South Wall of Presbytery, Basilica of San Vitale | PD-US | Pexels