Second Sunday of Advent

Peace that sprouts from the roots
​Rev. Jennifer Masada - St. Augustine’s Episcopal Church - Kapa’au, Hawai'i
December 7, 2025 - Second Sunday of Advent, Year A
Isaiah 11:1-10; Romans 15:4-13; Matthew 3:1-12; Psalm 72:1-7, 18-19

E pule kākou,
Ever-present God who arrives on earth through us, open us to your peace. Light the way to help us confront our own inner reactions to the world that we might work with you to create the lasting peace of the future. Amen.

Last week, we began our Advent journey with the same words Isaiah offered thousands of years ago: Come, let us walk in the light. The light we long for is already rising within us, reshaping our minds, and guiding our steps. The hope of Advent calls us to see that God is already here, flowing through our ordinary daily actions of kindness, inclusion, compassion, and love. 

Lighting our second candle this morning, we widen the Advent circle to include peace. At the surface level, we sometimes think of “peace” as a state of being, like a feeling of inner quietness. The state of the world also comes to mind, where peace is the absence of conflict or war. 

This season of Advent calls us to a peace more profound than temporary calm. The peace we hear about in today’s readings is a peace that goes all the way down to the roots. 

Speaking to the people of Jerusalem in a time of corruption and upheaval, Isaiah delivered a message of hope for the people’s restored relationship with God and a future golden age of peace.

He says, “A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse,
and a branch shall grow out of his roots.” Isaiah is referring to the weakened family line of Jesse, which appears to have all but died out. But there is hope, he says! The family line will grow, and peace will be restored!

This is not shiny, instant peace. This is peace that grows out of places that have been damaged. A stump is what’s left after something has fallen—after loss, after collapse, after all our plans have been disrupted. And right there, in the middle of despair, Isaiah tells us there is still life hidden in the roots. Peace is not pretending the tree never fell. Peace is discovering that even in the stump something green is pushing its way toward the light. 

Isaiah’s vision goes on to describe a world where the wolf lives with the lamb, the leopard lies down with the kid, and “they will not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain.” It’s such a beloved image that sometimes we treat it like a children’s picture book—sweet and unrealistic. But Isaiah is naming something very real: the deep transformation of hostility, fear, and violence. The old instincts—prey and predator, strong and weak, oppressor and oppressed—are being rewired. Spirit is inviting us to do a root-level renovation, to change what we think is “just the way things are.”

To begin to imagine that kind of peace, we can step beyond the stories we’ve been told and the stories we tell ourselves. Stories like: “Nothing ever really changes.” Or, “That’s just who I am.” Or, “That’s just how they are.” Or, “This is just how the world works.” Those stories can become so familiar that they feel like truth. But Advent invites us to ask: What if God is already growing a new story out of old roots?
Advent invites us to pause long enough to ask:

• Which stories have I inherited without ever questioning them?
• Which stories have shaped my understanding of who I am, or who others must be?
• Are these stories rooted in God’s vision of love? Or do they hold me back from peace?

We are not powerless in the face of the world’s challenges or systems that seem immovable. Spirit stirs compassion, courage, and imagination within us. This is not meant to burden us, but to move us toward the small acts that shape the world we inhabit.

And then we meet John the Baptist, standing in the wilderness with his wild clarity. His words are sharp, but his message is ultimately a loving invitation to dig deep and do the real root work. In the story, religious leaders publicly accuse John of power moves against their spiritual authority. But privately, these same leaders listen to his sermons and come to be baptized by him. John calls them out on their hypocrisy. Speaking truth to power, he calls them a "brood of vipers" and says, "Bear fruit worthy of repentance." He urges these leaders to do good work in the world rather than resting on the good work of generations past.

John is not giving us permission to condemn others. He’s asking us to examine our own lives. Without this inner clarity, our attempts to “speak truth” can easily slide into hurtful judgment. We all know how quickly a frustrated word or a snap decision can cause harm to relationships that matter to us. Advent peace begins with pausing, listening, and letting God help us understand what is truly going on beneath the surface.

Advent says: Pay attention to what is rising in you. Not every impulse is holy, of course. We still have to discern. But some of those quiet stirrings—our longings for more justice, more honesty, more courage, more compassion—may be the new green shoots out of the old stump.

At the same time, we’re living in a world where conflict and battle energies are very loud. We see it globally. We feel it in our communities, our families, and in our own nervous systems. That, too, shows up in today’s readings. John faces religious leaders who are wrapped up in systems that are not future-proof for God’s realm. Later in the story, Herod will embody the violent fear that tries to crush anything new that threatens the old order. What Isaiah and John agree on is this: What cannot serve God’s future cannot stay in charge forever. Systems that devour the poor are not future-proof. Habits that choke our compassion are not future-proof. Stories that keep us trapped in shame or superiority are not future-proof.

So how do we participate in this work without collapsing in despair or burning out in anger? This is where I want to bring it down to something very simple and very human. Let’s try, a few times a day, to pause just for a minute or two. Take a slow breath. Ask quietly: How am I, really? What’s moving in me right now—fear, anger, hope, tenderness? Is this reaction I’m feeling rooted in love or in old hurt?
​
Advent is the season when the Holy Spirit lovingly exposes these things—not to condemn us, but to free us. Spirit meets us where we are to say, “This pattern can’t go where I’m taking you. Let’s do some root work. Let’s make room for peace.”
This Advent, may we stay awake to the green shoots God is growing in our lives. May we cultivate clarity. May we protect our relationships. And may we discover that peace is already growing—slowly, steadily, and beautifully—from the roots.

​If you would like to use text from this or any sermon posted on this web site, please ensure proper attribution to the author.