"Advent is not sentimental. It is sacramental!" Advent 1 2025

30. November 2025

Advent 1

Mt 21:1-11

Then the multitudes who went before and those who followed cried out, saying: “Hosanna to the Son of David! ‘Blessed is He who comes in the name of the LORD!’ Hosanna in the highest!” And when He had come into Jerusalem, all the city was moved, saying, “Who is this?” So the multitudes said, “This is Jesus, the prophet from Nazareth of Galilee” (Mt 21:9–11).

This is the Word of the Lord that came to me, so that you may believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of God, and that by believing, you may have life in His + Name. AMEN.

The first Sunday in Advent has always cut against the grain of our sentimental instincts. We want a gentle warm-up to Christmas: a soft glow, some harmless nostalgia, a gradual easing into the season. While the world tries to stir up “holiday cheer,” the Church walks straight into November’s gloom and December’s frost and begins with a season the world would never choose: Advent.

Nature itself preaches Advent before the Church does. The sun pulls away from us. The daylight collapses. The trees stand like gravestones. The fields turn gray—the land of the living and the dead blend together. Autumn’s dying beauty becomes a mirror of our own mortality. And every honest man and woman knows the ancient prayer: “In the midst of life, we are in death. Where shall we flee but to You, O Lord?”

The Church hears that cry and answers by placing Palm Sunday—not Christmas—at the doorway of the new year. We begin with Christ entering His city to die. Because until you understand why He rides into Jerusalem, you will never understand why He is born in Bethlehem. Advent refuses to lie about human nature. Advent refuses sentiment. Advent refuses the world’s attempts to numb the conscience. Advent says plainly: We live in darkness, and only Christ can bring the light.

St. Matthew tells us that Jesus sends two disciples to fetch a donkey and her colt. He tells them exactly where to go and what to say: “The Lord needs them.” There is no hesitation, no uncertainty. The King is not caught in the crowd’s enthusiasm; He commands the moment. He orders the animals. He fulfills the prophets. He directs His path because the hour has come for the Lamb to be slain.

And you must hear this clearly: Jesus does not come to fit into your expectations. He comes to shatter them. He is not entering Jerusalem to bask in the applause. He is entering to be lifted up on the cross. He is the King of Zechariah’s prophecy: humble, mounted on a donkey, going toward His throne of suffering.

There is an Old Testament parade behind Him—Abraham leading Isaac to Moriah, David dancing before the ark, Solomon seated on the royal mule. It all pours into this hour. But this King is greater. He will not offer an animal. He will offer Himself. He does not bring a sacrifice. He is the sacrifice.

The crowds cheer, of course. Crowds love a king who seems useful. They love a miracle worker. They love a political hope. They love a religious mascot. But crowds rarely love a Savior who dies for their sins, because a Savior who dies for sins must also name those sins. A Savior on a cross is a threat to every false righteousness.

And this is where Advent and Palm Sunday Christianity fail. It admires Jesus but will not follow Him. It applauds Him but does not repent. It wants enthusiasm without obedience, inspiration without conversion, miracles without crucifixion. The crowds cheer as long as God seems useful. They stop cheering when He contradicts them.

We are no different. We want a Jesus who affirms our choices, blesses our plans, and approves our desires. We want a Jesus who fixes our problems but leaves our idols alone. We want a King—but on our terms. But the King who enters Jerusalem gives you no such luxury. He comes to rule you by saving you. And He saves you by dying for you.

This is why Advent begins here. The King rides toward His death, and He rides for you. He knows exactly what you are. He knows the sins you hide. He knows the guilt that haunts you. He knows the pride that blinds you. He knows the fear that grips you. He knows your illusions of control, your false securities, your stubborn unbelief. He knows—and He rides toward the cross anyway.

Your King goes to Jerusalem not to judge you, but to let the judgment fall on Him. He takes your sin. He takes your shame. He takes your death. He takes your curse. He takes your place.

The crowd does not understand this. They admire Him for a moment. They shout “Hosanna,” then disappear. You know the story: the cheers die down, the branches dry up, and the crowds go home. But Jesus is not fooled by applause. Admiration is not faith. Admiration costs nothing. Faith costs everything.

Advent is not about admiration. Advent is about repentance and faith. Advent tears down your pride so Christ can raise you up. Thus, the Church sings “Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord” every Sunday for a reason. The King who once entered Jerusalem continues to enter His Church, not on a donkey now, but under bread and wine. Not toward Calvary now, but to give you the Body and Blood once offered there. His Palm Sunday coming, His crucifixion, His coming on the clouds of heaven—all of it is contained in bread and wine. This is why Advent is not sentimental. It is sacramental.

Christ does not come to stir your emotions or decorate your December. He comes to forgive your sins. He comes to cleanse your conscience. He comes to break your death and give you His life. He comes into your mouth, into your body, into your grave-bound flesh.

Every time you kneel at this rail, Bethlehem, Jerusalem, and the Last Day meet. He who comes in humility is here. He who comes in mercy is here. He who will come in glory is here.

And that leads us to the final truth Advent presses into your ears: He is coming again. Not on a donkey. Not in hidden humility. But on the clouds of heaven with angels and fire. The Scripture warns, “The Son of Man comes at an hour you do not expect.” Those who ignored Him will see Him. Those who admired Him but never trusted Him will face Him. And the only safe place to meet the Judge is in the arms of the Savior who rode into Jerusalem to die for you.

So Advent calls you to repent—not out of fear, but out of hope. To lay down the sins that enslave you. To abandon the idols that cannot save you. To stop cheering God only when He does things your way. To receive the King who comes to save you on His terms.

He comes to you now in His Word. He comes to you now in His Sacrament. He comes to you now with forgiveness and life. He comes to you now so that when He comes finally in glory, you will not shrink in terror, but lift up your head and rejoice. “Behold, your King comes to you.” Not to negotiate. Not to bargain. Not to take suggestions. He comes to rule by forgiving, to conquer by dying, to reign by rising, and to save by giving everything He is.

He is the King you would not have chosen. He is the King you absolutely need. He is the King who refuses to abandon you. Blessed is He who comes in the name of the Lord. Amen.

Rev. Christopher R. Gillespie
St. John Ev. Lutheran Church & School - Sherman Center
Random Lake, Wisconsin