Gaudete – The Third Sunday of Advent

Isaiah 40:1-8

December 11, 2022

One of my favorite scenes of The Simpsons is from the episode “Bart the Murderer.” Bart is in jail, pumping iron, when two guards usher in the family pastor to visit Bart. “Rev. Lovejoy!” Bart exclaims. “You’ve come to comfort me?” “Yes, Bart,” he says, then sits next to him, and pats him on the shoulder, saying, “There, there. There, there.”

Rev. Lovejoy has no real comfort to give. The prophet Jeremiah accused the clergy of his day of the same thing. “They have … healed the hurt of My people slightly, saying, ‘Peace, peace!’ When there is no peace” [6:14].

A few months ago my son had a seizure. In the ER he was non-responsive. He wasn’t breathing. He had to be intubated. It seemed like the end. And that’s when a hospital chaplain showed up. He asked if we wanted him to pray. He seemed a nice fellow, but my veneer of Minnesota Nice was gone by this point. So I said to him, “That depends. Are you going to pray in the name of Jesus?” His response was, “Is that the threshold?”

I can’t get that question out of my head. He was there to be nice, but I didn’t need nice. I didn’t want nice. I wanted my James breathing and awake. Don’t pray a generic prayer. Don’t pat me on the shoulder and say, “There, there.” Give me Jesus. He heals the sick and raises the dead. And if He doesn’t now, on my timetable, tell me that He will. Beg Him to keep His promise.

That’s all prelude to this point: The words “comfort, comfort” at the beginning of Isaiah 40 are not nice words. They’re not the kind of thing we say to comfort someone. Our words of comfort are intended to convey we care, but we can’t actually do anything about it. Our words of sympathy lack impactfulness. Howard Jones said “No One Is to Blame,” but he was wrong. Death is real. We are to blame. Jesus is the threshold.

So you can’t start in the fortieth chapter of Isaiah. The preceding 39 chapters address an impending catastrophe. A thousand baby boys lying breathless. Jerusalem will be conquered by the Assyrians. God’s people will be slaughtered and enslaved. God Himself allows it, because they are to blame. Isaiah ch. 1 lays charges against God’s people: “Hear, O heavens, and give ear, O earth! For the LORD has spoken: ‘I have nourished and brought up children, and they have rebelled against Me’ … Alas, sinful nation, a people laden with iniquity, a brood of evildoers, children who are corrupters…. Your country is desolate, your cities are burned with fire.” Why? Because they didn’t care about justice. So the Lord tells them to stop worshiping; He will not hear their prayers.

So when we get to chapter 40, which is today’s OT reading, we’re not getting nice words from an affable, lenient sort of God. It’s the end of a 200-year time out.

“Comfort my people … speak tenderly to Jerusalem … that her warfare is ended, that her iniquity is pardoned, that she has received from the Lord’s hand double for all her sins.”

God’s words are spoken to rebels, to commandment-breakers.

Where are they? “In the wilderness,” “In the desert.” That’s a description of the world as it really as, not as we pretend it to be. Twinkling lights create an illusion of peace and joy, but it’s the joy of morphine given to a dying patient.

The wilderness, the desert, is man’s condition outside of Eden. We cannot keep ourselves alive.

In this wilderness there are mountains and valleys. These represent the powerful and the oppressed. The powerful are like mountains: they’re puffed up and get all the glory. The valley is full of people who are down, who are depressed and trampled upon. The twenty-third Psalm defines it for us: “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death…”.

And it seems like the mountains, the powerful people, always get away with it. Psalm 73 is a lament for how corrupt the world is. The Psalmist is losing confidence in God, because, he says, “I was envious of the boastful, when I saw the prosperity of the wicked. They are not in trouble as other men, nor are they plagued like other men…. The ungodly … are always at ease; they increase in riches. Surely I have cleansed my heart in vain,” meaning, it was useless to go to church and be a Christian.

“When I thought how to understand this, it was too painful for me—until I went into the sanctuary of God; then I understood their end.” The church’s liturgy, both OT and New, connects us to the end, the end result, when God puts everything to rights. Every valley (the humble) shall be lifted up, and every mountain (the proud) shall be made low.

The situation of this world, God is telling us through Isaiah, can be compared to grass and flowers. They bloom and are beautiful, but they don’t last. Judgment is coming.

All flesh is grass,

and all its beauty is like the flower of the field.

7  The grass withers, the flower fades

when the breath of the Lord blows on it;

surely the people are grass.

8  The grass withers, the flower fades,

but the word of our God will stand forever.

The word flower can also be translated “shining thing.” Think about how many fake shining things there are, especially this time of year. We think we must have these shiny objects. But they do not satisfy. They do not last.

One thing lasts: The word of our God will stand forever. This sounds like “the Bible,” but it’s more than that. The Bible is the inspired, inerrant Word of God, but we should understand this specifically as referring to the promises. God’s promises will last; He keeps them. The promises of the world are lies. They leave you empty-handed.

God’s Word abides forever. His promises are reliable. The promises are absolution and resurrection.

Because God’s Word abides forever, so shall you who receive His Word. “Moses, pointing to the Torah, says, ‘This is not an idle word for you, it is your life’ (Deut. 32:47).” Your “life is frail and finite, but God’s word stands for ever” [D.H. Johnson]. Don’t seek life apart from the Author of it.

So when you’re puffed up like a mountain, seeking happiness in shiny objects, remember the mountains will be brought low. Repent.

When you’re down in the valley, filled with despair, remember the Jesus who comes to lift you up. Rejoice.

Jesus is the threshold. When Isaiah gets to ch. 53, he tells of the Messiah: “Surely He has borne our griefs and carried our sorrows…. He was wounded for our transgressions, He was bruised for our iniquities.” There is no comfort apart from Jesus. In death, our comfort is His death. In sin, our comfort is His righteousness.

So rejoice in the Lord always. Accept no ersatz comforts. They’re fake. The resurrection of Jesus is the comfort. That’s the threshold.  +INJ+