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“A shoot will grow up from the stump of Jesse; a branch will sprout from his roots.”
— Isaiah 11:1, CEB.

When I was growing up, there was one simple rule in our home: no guests were allowed if the house was messy. Which always made life interesting when someone called and said, “Hey, we’re in the neighborhood, mind if we stop by?”

Even today, that kind of call still makes my heart race. Because suddenly, I see the house differently: the dishes I’ve ignored, the laundry waiting to be folded, the clutter in the corners. Nothing has changed since five minutes before the call, yet their coming changes how I see my space.

Now imagine it’s someone you truly love, a friend you’ve missed, a family member you cherish. You don’t tidy up because you’re afraid of them or trying to earn their affection. You prepare because you value the relationship. That is Advent.

Christ is not drawing near to inspect your housekeeping. Christ comes because he loves you. His coming helps us see the inner rooms of our lives, the cluttered corners, the postponed decisions, the habits and fears we’ve grown used to. Repentance is simply making room for the One we want to welcome.

Isaiah looked at a field of stumps and dared to imagine new life. John the Baptist looked at people worn down by empty religion and dared to imagine new beginnings. And when God looks at us—this congregation, this community, this world—God imagines a future filled with the knowledge of the Lord as waters cover the sea.

Advent insists that such a future begins wherever a human heart whispers yes. Yes to clearing space. Yes to turning from what diminishes life. Yes to trusting that Christ can grow something beautiful out of what we thought was beyond repair.

This is why we need John the Baptist every Advent. He refuses to let us settle for a decorative Christmas when God desires a transformed world. He refuses to let us believe that the way things are is the way things must be. Beneath his sharp words is the soft heartbeat of grace: “Prepare Him room.”

Not because God is hesitant, but because God longs to dwell fully within us.

So, friends, what will your yes be this Advent? A prayer you’ve postponed? A conversation you’ve avoided? A forgiveness you’ve withheld? A habit you’re ready to release? A hope you’re finally willing to trust? 

Wherever your yes lies waiting, that is precisely where Christ is preparing to enter.

Because heaven does not come with force, heaven comes with a yes. A yes spoken in creation. A yes sung by Isaiah and shouted by John. A yes made flesh in Jesus Christ.

Advent asks only this: Will you make room? Will you turn? Will you trust? Will you say yes? 

For when our yes meets God’s yes, new creation begins—in us, among us, and through us.