Readings

Isaiah 35:1-10 – The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom; like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing. The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it, the majesty of Carmel and Sharon. They shall see the glory of the LORD, the majesty of our God. Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees. Say to those who are of a fearful heart, ‘Be strong, do not fear! Here is your God. He will come with vengeance, with terrible recompense. He will come and save you.’ Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; then the lame shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy. For waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert; the burning sand shall become a pool, and the thirsty ground springs of water; the haunt of jackals shall become a swamp, the grass shall become reeds and rushes. A highway shall be there, and it shall be called the Holy Way; the unclean shall not travel on it, but it shall be for God’s people; no traveller, not even fools, shall go astray. No lion shall be there, nor shall any ravenous beast come up on it; they shall not be found there, but the redeemed shall walk there. And the ransomed of the LORD shall return, and come to Zion with singing; everlasting joy shall be upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.

Matthew 11:2-11 – When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples and said to Jesus, ‘Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?’ Jesus answered them, ‘Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offence at me.’ As they went away, Jesus began to speak to the crowds about John: ‘What did you go out into the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the wind? What then did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes? Look, those who wear soft robes are in royal palaces. What then did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet. This is the one about whom it is written, “See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way before you.” Truly I tell you, among those born of women no one has arisen greater than John the Baptist; yet the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he.’

Sermon

In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

In my sermon last week as we considered the beginning of John the Baptist’s public ministry, I commented that Advent is a season that invites us to sit in the tension of two things that are seemingly opposed to one another. Because Advent is a season of waiting, but not the passive waiting of killing time that the word might suggest. Rather it is an active waiting of hope — waiting with eyes open, with hearts alert, with lives turned towards God’s future. And today’s readings place us right in the middle of that tension: between promise and fulfilment, between longing and uncertainty, between faith and doubt.

Our Gospel reading opens in a place we might not expect during Advent. Not in Bethlehem, not with angels or shepherds, but in a prison. John the Baptist — the fiery prophet, the desert preacher, the one who proclaimed with such certainty that the Messiah was at hand — now sits behind bars. And from that place, John sends a question to Jesus that is as simple as it is unsettling:

“Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?”

This is not the voice of a casual enquirer. This is the voice of someone who has staked his whole life on the answer. John had proclaimed judgement and fire, the axe laid to the root of the trees, the coming wrath of God. And now he hears reports of Jesus — healing the sick, eating with sinners, showing mercy — and it does not quite match what he expected.

Advent allows space for this question. It gives us permission to ask it ourselves. Are you really the one, Lord? Are you really at work in this world? Are you really coming to set things right?

Jesus does not answer John with a simple yes or no. Instead, he points to what is happening:

“Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.”

In other words, look — look at the signs of God’s kingdom breaking in.

And as we hear those words, we are taken straight back to our reading from Isaiah. The prophet speaks to a people who are weary, displaced, uncertain of their future. And into that situation comes a vision of astonishing hope:

“The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom.”

This is not just about individual healing, but about the renewal of all creation. The landscape itself is transformed. Water breaks forth in the wilderness. Streams flow in the desert. What was lifeless becomes abundant with life.

Isaiah’s vision is not sentimental optimism. It is hope spoken into devastation. It is God saying that barrenness is not the final word, that exile will not last forever, that joy will come where sorrow has settled in.

And crucially, Isaiah speaks of a highway — “the Holy Way” — a path on which the redeemed will walk. A way home. A way forward. A way that leads to singing, to joy, to the end of sighing and sorrow.

When Jesus points to the signs of healing and restoration, he is saying: this vision is beginning to be fulfilled. Not in the way people expected. Not all at once. But truly, deeply, and unmistakably.

And yet, even as the signs are present, John remains in prison. The kingdom comes, but the chains are not immediately broken. The desert blooms, but there are still dry places. The blind see, but the world is not yet whole.

This is an Advent truth.

We live between promise and fulfilment. We know the Messiah has come, and yet we still pray, “Come, Lord Jesus.” We glimpse God’s kingdom, and yet we feel its absence keenly. We hear good news, and yet we also know grief, injustice, and fear.

Jesus ends his message to John with a gentle but searching line: “Blessed is anyone who takes no offence at me.”

Blessed is the one who does not stumble when God’s ways do not match their expectations. Blessed is the one who trusts even when the story unfolds differently than hoped.

Then Jesus turns to the crowd and speaks about John himself. He honours him, not despite his question, but alongside it. John is not diminished by his doubt. He is praised as a prophet — more than a prophet — the one who prepared the way.

This is important. Doubt does not disqualify faith. Questioning does not cancel calling. John’s question is not a failure; it is a sign of faith seeking understanding.

Advent faith is not about having everything neatly resolved. It is about holding on to hope even when the answer is not yet clear.

For us, in this season, these readings ask us where we are looking for God’s coming. Are we expecting spectacle, or are we paying attention to signs of quiet transformation? Are we looking only for dramatic rescue, or can we see God at work in small acts of healing, mercy, and justice? Is a big London rally claiming to put Christ back into Christmas necessary? Or has Christ been faithfully, quietly at work in our communities all this time?

Isaiah speaks of strengthening weak hands and firming feeble knees. Of saying to those who are fearful, “Be strong, do not fear! Here is your God.” That is a word not only for ancient Israel, but for us. For a world anxious about the future. For communities feeling stretched and weary. For individuals carrying silent burdens into church this morning.

Advent does not deny the reality of fear, but it insists that fear does not have the final word.

The good news brought to the poor — which Jesus highlights — is not just material, but spiritual. It is the announcement that God sees, God knows, and God has come near. That the kingdom is not reserved for the powerful or the confident, but given to those who are open enough to receive it.

And that brings us back to the image of the highway in Isaiah. The Holy Way is not a path for the perfect, but for the redeemed. It is a way marked not by our strength, but by God’s faithfulness.

As we continue our Advent journey, we walk that road together. We carry questions, like John. We carry hopes, like Isaiah’s people. We carry longing — for peace, for healing, for justice, for joy.

And we do so trusting that the one who has come, and who will come again, is already at work among us. In small signs and great ones. In deserts beginning to bloom. In lives quietly being restored. In a Saviour who meets doubt not with condemnation, but with invitation.

So may this Advent be a season in which our eyes are opened to what God is doing. May our hands be strengthened to serve. May our hearts be steady in hope. And may we be among those who are blessed — not because we have no questions, but because we trust the one who comes to meet us on the way.

Amen.