Readings for Advent II: Malachi 3:1-4 I Luke 1:68-79 I Philippians 1:3-11 I Luke 3:1-6
Sunday will be the Second Sunday of Advent. It will be the day when Christians light the candle of peace in the Advent wreath. Usually I imagine it contemplatively – tea steaming on the table, the light in the room dimmed, people snuggling into their blankets. Peace is warm, comfortable and pleasant. But this year an unanswered question nags at me: what is the peace that a Christian awaits? What does peace mean to us? Is it my undisturbed comfort? Is it my insistent attempt to defend my own world order? Or is it perhaps something deeper – God’s peace? And, if it really is God’s peace, can it be likened to my prolonged, dreamy doze in the midday of life?
To find an answer to these questions, let us first turn to two events that illustrate how peace has been understood throughout history.
The ancient version of “peace at home”
The first event is at the end of the 4th century, when the Roman emperor Theodosius the First issued the Edict of Thessalonica, proclaiming Christianity the state religion. This decision required all inhabitants of the Roman Empire to accept the Nicene Creed, while at the same time prohibiting other religious cults. Christianity, which had initially been a small and persecuted path of faith, suddenly became a religion protected by state power. Many theologians believe that this step changed the very essence of Christianity, transforming it from a living faith into an institutionalized system that was used to create a unified and controllable imperial structure. A unified religion served as a means of maintaining harmony and order in society.
The second episode is at Christmas in the year 800, when Pope Leo III crowned Charlemagne as Roman emperor. It was said in the city that this event was not merely a symbolic ceremony – it was a mutually beneficial deal, during which religion and power were joined even more closely. Leo III, receiving Charlemagne’s military and political support, strengthened the church’s influence and his own authority in Rome. Charlemagne, in turn, consolidated his power and gained a title that made him a God-blessed emperor. Thus the state’s peace became God’s peace, and the stroke of the sword – a stroke willed by God himself.
These two historical events – the Edict of Thessalonica and the coronation of Charlemagne – reflect attempts to create “peace” by human power. But peace that is based on power and control always comes at a price. It often means compromises, imposed unity and fear. But is this really the peace that Christians await? Is it the peace that God will bring? And are we ready to accept that his peace may be completely different from what we are used to imagining?
The Advent prophecies
Now let us turn to the Advent texts. On the Second Sunday of Advent, Malachi prophesies to us: “Suddenly the Lord will come to his temple.” (Mal 3:1) Not slowly, not predictably – suddenly! And then he asks: “Who can endure the day of his coming, who can stand when he appears? God’s coming is like a fire that cleanses away the dross.” (Mal 3:2)
These are uncomfortable words that do not lull, but shake. They remind us that God’s presence cannot be controlled. God does not enter our tidy rooms to sit down quietly and watch us lounging on our sofas. But neither are we, human beings, the fire that cleanses the world of dross. It is God’s own coming that smokes and uncovers – exposes the world’s chaos, false peace and lack of truth.
Then two scripture passages from the Gospel of Luke follow. In the first, Zechariah prophesies that we will receive the knowledge of salvation through the forgiveness of sins. The morning star will look upon us from on high, to shine on those who dwell in darkness and the shadow of death, and to turn our feet onto the path of peace. (Lk 1:77-79)
After that, John the Baptist shakes us up: “Prepare the way for the Lord! Make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, and every hill and mound shall be made low; the crooked shall be made straight and the rough into a smooth road, and all flesh shall see God’s salvation!” (Lk 3:4-5)
At first it may seem complicated, but in essence Zechariah’s words are simple: our peace begins with reconciliation with God. Not with edicts, not with strokes of the sword, not with the institutionalization of religion, but with the setting right of our relationship with God. But John warns us: God’s coming reveals all the ruts and twists, every mound that does not let him come to us.
Does the world want this?
Let us look at the story of Jesus. From the moment Jesus is born in the story, nothing goes the peaceful way. Nothing. The ruler begins to be afraid and to murder children, the crowd becomes restless, even the disciples do not understand what is happening. The more openly Jesus acts, the greater the tension becomes. But not because Jesus comes with a sword and destruction. Quite the opposite – he comes with God’s peace, but the world begins to rage. It pulls out its excavators and tanks, trumpets and slings. It clings to a peace that is war, because it desperately resists the changes that God brings.
And then the question arises: am I ready to accept that God’s coming may also create mud in my garden – not because he brings me suffering, but because the world reacts with unrest to his truth? Am I ready to stand in this mud, knowing that it is not the end, but only the beginning of the road?
Paul’s joy
I open Paul’s letter to the Philippians. He writes from prison. The letter is full of joy, conviction and inspiration. “How is this possible? You are in prison and in suffering!” I ask myself.
But Paul has an insight that we often fail to notice: God’s peace gives joy even when everything around seems to be collapsing. This peace does not depend on whether circumstances arrange themselves in our favor. Quite the opposite – it is a peace that is rooted in the conviction that we are never alone; that God is present and faithful. Always.
And this conviction is not just an emotional feeling. It is based on a promise. God has made a covenant with us about renewal, salvation and hope. It is the assurance that God is leading us to a place where his presence will be complete and everything will be made new. Do we believe this promise? Yes, do we truly believe?
The call of the candle of peace
In conclusion, my candle of peace this year is not about comfort and a life without storms. For me it symbolizes faith and hope that God is at work even in the midst of the storm. It is a sign that the peace we seek does not come from ourselves, but from him, who is faithful and holy.
Therefore, on this Second Sunday of Advent, I want to say to myself and to you: let us not be afraid of change. It can be part of the road that leads to God. Let us not be afraid of the world’s raging – it may be a sign that God is at work.
And let us not forget that the peace we truly seek is greater than anything the world can offer, because it is based on a promise: “I will make everything new.” (Is 43:19)
But what are we to do? Let us heed the words of John the Baptist: let us go and prepare the way for the Lord. Let us make his paths level. So that the peace he brings may enter our lives, until we sing again:
When the Lord brought back the captives to Zion, it seemed to us that we were dreaming!
Then our mouths were filled with laughter and our tongues with shouts of joy, then it was said among the nations: behold, great things the Lord does for these! Great things the Lord did for us, and we rejoiced!
Restore us, Lord, like streams in the Negev – those who sow with tears will reap with shouts of joy!
Weeping, he goes out, carrying the seed bag to the field; rejoicing, he will come, bringing back sheaves of grain! (Psalm 126)
Līga Puriņa, theology student
(image: Arta Skuja “Light from Light” II)