Beginning With the End in Mind

The book of Ecclesiastes reminds us that “There’s a season for everything and a time for every matter under the heavens” (Ecclesiastes 3:1, CEB). When we think about seasons, we tend to imagine a clear sequence: beginning, middle, and end. But Advent invites us into something far more mysterious. It bends the timeline. It disrupts our sense of order. It refuses to let us simply start with shepherds and angels and a manger.

Instead, Advent begins at the end.

Before we ever hear about Bethlehem, we are taken backwards into the voices of the prophets and forward into the apocalyptic visions of a world renewed. The prophets call us to look beyond what we can see, to imagine a new reality, justice where injustice reigns, peace where conflict persists, restoration where brokenness feels permanent. And the apocalyptic texts point us toward a reality not yet fully revealed, a world healed, creation made whole, Christ coming again in glory.

At first glance, this may seem like a minor liturgical detail. But in truth, it is a profound gift. Advent begins with the end in mind because it wants to remind us why the child Christ comes. The birth of Jesus is not just a sweet story; it is God’s decisive movement toward a world in desperate need of healing. The manger matters because the world matters. The Incarnation matters because redemption matters.

God does not redeem us from afar. God steps into the messiness of our story, not as a distant observer but as a vulnerable child, a teacher, a healer, a Savior who knows our pain from the inside. In Jesus, God takes on our flesh, our limitations, our joys, and our sorrows. God becomes fully human so that humanity might be restored. The manger is the beginning of a rescue mission that culminates in the cross and the empty tomb. That’s God’s way of saying there is no place too dark, no wound too deep, no world too broken for grace to enter and heal.

Advent holds these two horizons together, the ancient longing of Israel and the future hope of the Church. We are invited to sit in the tension of the “already” and the “not yet,” trusting that the God who spoke through the prophets is still speaking, still calling, still creating possibilities beyond our imagination.

This is why the season can feel both comforting and unsettling. Advent refuses to let us drift into sentimentality. It insists that the world is not yet as God intends and that we cannot simply skip to the celebration without acknowledging the longing. It calls us to hope with our eyes open, to watch, wait, and prepare not only for the Christ child, but for the Christ who will come again.

So on this second Sunday of Advent, we lean into this holy tension. We listen to Isaiah’s dreams and John the Baptist’s cry. We look honestly at the world as it is, and we dare to believe in the world as it will and can be. We hold onto the promise that God is not finished with creation or with us. And we prepare our hearts not just to welcome a baby, but to welcome a new reality.

Advent begins with the end in mind. Because the end, that is, God’s promised future, is the reason Jesus comes in the first place.

Pastor Jefferson