Second Sunday of Advent, Year A
Isaiah 11:1-10; Psalm 72; Romans 15:4-9; Matthew 3:1-12
When God Grows in Our Ruins
Friends,
imagine a field of tree stumps after a forest has been cut down: silent, lifeless, finished. That is how Israel felt—cut down by exile, failure, and sin. Into that landscape Isaiah speaks: “A shoot shall sprout from the stump of Jesse.” From what looks utterly dead, God brings a fragile green shoot, a new beginning that no one expects.
Many people in our pews today feel like that stump: a marriage that feels finished, a vocation that feels stalled, a heart that has gone cold. Advent proclaims that God’s story for us does not end in the stump. In the very place we feel most cut down, God can begin something small, hidden, and new.
Isaiah then dares to describe the world under this Spirit-filled Messiah: wolf with lamb, leopard with kid, cow and bear together, a child playing near the cobra’s den. It is a poetic way of saying: where this King reigns, old hostilities lose their power. The strong no longer feed on the weak; the frightened no longer live in hiding.
Look at our world: wars, corruption, polarized politics, families not speaking to each other. It seems naïve to speak of wolves and lambs together. Yet Advent refuses cynicism. It insists that this peace is not our achievement but God’s gift—when we allow the Spirit of wisdom, understanding, and courage to shape our lives and our choices.
And then the Gospel shocks us: into our pretty Advent decorations walks John the Baptist—wild, severe, inconvenient. While we hang lights and plan meals, he stands in the wilderness and shouts: “Repent! Prepare the way of the Lord!” He is God’s alarm clock in human form.
John is not attacking joy; he is protecting it. He knows that if nothing in our hearts changes, Christmas will come and go like background music. We will have lights on our houses but darkness in our souls. So, he calls even the religious elites—Pharisees and Sadducees—to real conversion, to bear “fruit worthy of repentance,” not to hide behind religious labels or pious appearances.
John’s words are strong: “The axe is laid to the root of the trees… every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down.” This is not about scaring us into despair; it is about cutting through illusion. Advent conversion is not vague guilt or seasonal sentiment. It is a decision: to let God’s axe cut at the roots of what is destroying us and others—pride, addiction, dishonesty, grudges, violence in words or deeds.
And notice: John himself points beyond his own power. “I baptize you with water… but one who is more powerful than I is coming… He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.” We do not convert ourselves by sheer willpower; Christ comes with a fire that purifies and a Spirit that remakes us from the inside.
So, Advent places two images before us: a tender shoot of new life and a consuming fire of the Spirit. The Child of Bethlehem will come in poverty and vulnerability, yet He is also the Judge who winnows wheat from chaff. To welcome Him is to welcome both His gentleness and His truth.
If we want the peace of Isaiah’s vision, we must accept the surgery of John’s preaching. The Lord wants to grow something new out of our ruins—but that means letting go of the sins, habits, and resentments that keep the stump hard and closed. The same Jesus who comes as a Child at Christmas is the One who wants to be Lord over our choices in January and July, over our wallets, our screens, our conversations, our grudges.
Three Takeaways:
- Name your “stump”, ask for a shoot
This week, dare to name before God one area of your life that feels cut down or hopeless—your “stump of Jesse.” In prayer, explicitly ask: “Lord, let a shoot of new life grow here.” Then watch for one small, concrete sign of hope, and cooperate with it. - Let the axe touch one root
Ask the Holy Spirit to show you one root sin or pattern that needs to go: a hidden addiction, a relationship poisoned by bitterness, a habit of gossip, a double life. Choose one concrete step of repentance—go to confession, seek help, change a routine, make a hard apology—so that this Advent is marked by real fruit, not vague feelings. - Be a sign of impossible peace
Isaiah’s vision is not just future poetry; it starts with us. Choose one “wolf–lamb” relationship in your world—a family conflict, a colleague you avoid, a person or group you speak harshly about. Do one act this week that moves in the direction of reconciliation: a phone call, a message, a sincere prayer for the person, a decision to stop speaking ill of them. Let God’s peace begin in the circle you live in.
May this Second Sunday of Advent wake us up, soften our stumps, and set our hearts on fire—so that when Christ comes, He finds not just wreaths on our doors, but a path cleared, a heart opened, and a life already turning toward His peace.
Have a splendid day!
