Isaiah announces a new branch from what seems irreparably cut down—a king anointed with the Spirit to judge with righteousness, restore what sin destroyed, and bring a peace that remakes home; this promise means that places of defeat in life are not the final word and new life can spring where deadness once reigned. [36:04]
Isaiah 11:1-9 (CSB)
A shoot will spring up from the stump of Jesse, a branch from his roots will bear fruit. The Spirit of the LORD will rest on him— the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and strength, the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the LORD— and he will delight in the fear of the LORD. He will not judge by what his eyes see, or decide by what his ears hear, but with righteousness he will judge the poor, and decide with equity for the oppressed of the earth. He will strike the earth with the rod of his mouth; with the breath of his lips he will slay the wicked. Righteousness will be the belt around his waist, and faithfulness will be the belt around his hips. The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the young goat, the calf and the young lion will feed together, and a little child will lead them. The cow and the bear will graze together, their young will lie down together, and the lion will eat straw like the ox. The nursing child will play near the cobra's den, and the weaned child will put his hand on the viper's den. They will not harm or destroy on my holy mountain, because the earth will be full of the knowledge of the LORD as the waters cover the sea.
Reflection: What is one area of your life that feels cut down and beyond repair? Tonight, write it down, pray asking God to begin new growth there, and choose one concrete step you will take this week that trusts his renewing work (for example: a conversation, a small act of reconciliation, or a new spiritual habit).
Even when life feels uncanny and exile persists—when home is a place that looks familiar but feels foreign—Scripture reminds that God himself is the dwelling place from everlasting to everlasting; the ache for true home points to the one who alone can receive the wanderer and anchor the heart in unshakable belonging. [34:10]
Psalm 90:1-2 (CSB)
Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all generations. Before the mountains were born or you brought forth the earth and the world, from everlasting to everlasting you are God.
Reflection: When restlessness rises today, will you pause, read Psalm 90:1-2 aloud, then set aside one hour this week to silence screens and distractions and simply sit before God, asking him to be your dwelling place and noting what he brings to mind during that hour?
The promised king comes not in splendor but in humility—God with us in fragile flesh—so that the restless heart might be reconciled; this child, the Prince of Peace, ushers in a reign where true peace begins to break through the chaos and points the weary homeward toward God. [41:46]
Isaiah 9:6 (CSB)
For a child will be born to us, a son will be given to us; and the government will rest on his shoulders. He will be named Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Eternal Father, Prince of Peace.
Reflection: Who in your life today needs the peace only Christ gives? Choose one person—perhaps a strained relationship—and either offer a brief message asking to pray for peace for them or ask someone to pray with you for that relationship within the next 24 hours.
The Savior arrives not from a throne but from a feeding trough—choosing vulnerability, homelessness, and weakness to draw near to human exile and to carry it through the cross so sinners can be brought home; the manger is the first sign that God will not distance himself but will enter our mess to redeem it. [38:39]
Luke 2:7 (CSB)
and she gave birth to her firstborn son. She wrapped him in cloths and laid him in a manger, because there was no place for them in the guest room.
Reflection: Who is one person this week who feels homeless, lonely, or overlooked in your neighborhood or community? Make a concrete plan now to bring them a meal, a note, or an invitation to your home within the next seven days—and set the day and time before you finish today.
Jesus does not hand out directions from afar; he becomes the way by entering the pit with us, bearing our exile on the cross, and rising to open the door home—through baptism and the supper he already marks and feeds his people as belonging to his family until the day of fullest homecoming. [38:39]
John 14:6 (CSB)
Jesus told him, "I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me."
Reflection: What is one area of your life you've been trying to navigate alone instead of following Jesus as the way? Name that area aloud, confess your reliance on yourself, pray specifically "Jesus, be my way in [that area]," and tell a trusted friend today so they can pray with you tomorrow.
Advent begins with a confession that our hearts are restless and our lives feel scattered. The pace of this season exposes a deeper ache—an ache for home. Not just a place with walls and a tree, but that settled sense that things are right, the striving has stopped, and we are fully seen and loved. Scripture names that ache: exile. From Eden onward, humanity has lived east of our true home, and we feel it in our guilt, our recurring sins, our chronic pains, and our tireless attempts to prove we matter. Even when we return to places that shaped us, it can feel familiar and foreign at the same time—what the philosopher called unheimlichheit. That unsettled feeling is not just stress; it is spiritual displacement.
But Advent refuses to let exile be the final word. God speaks a promise through Isaiah: from the cold stump of Jesse, a shoot will spring—a King filled with the Spirit, wisdom, righteousness, and justice. He will set the world right, so thoroughly that wolves nap beside lambs and children play where danger once lived. That promised King arrives in Bethlehem, not with armies but in a feeding trough, choosing weakness, poverty, and homelessness. He begins in a borrowed stable and ends in a borrowed tomb. Why? To bring us home. He doesn’t shout directions from afar; He descends into our pit, bears the curse of our exile on the cross, and rises to open the door to the Father.
Because of Jesus, home has already begun to break in. In baptism, He names us beloved and pulls us through the doorway of grace. At His table, He feeds us a foretaste of the feast to come—signs that our true home is not a fantasy, but a future already invading the present. The calendar may not slow down, but every moment of rush can become a reminder: this world is not our home, but our home is coming. Christ left His home to join us in exile, and He will return to make all things new. One day, with perfect bodies and perfect voices, we will say without any ache or doubt: at last, I am home.
Isaiah 11:1-9 — 1 Then a shoot will spring from the stump of Jesse, and a branch from his roots will bear fruit. 2 The Spirit of the LORD will rest on him— the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and strength, the spirit of knowledge and reverence for the LORD— 3 and he will delight in the fear of the LORD. He will not judge by what his eyes see, nor make decisions by what his ears hear; 4 but he will judge the poor with righteousness, and decide with fairness for the oppressed of the earth. He will strike the earth with the rod of his mouth; with the breath of his lips he will slay the wicked. 5 Righteousness will be the belt around his waist, and faithfulness the belt around his hips. 6 The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the young goat, the calf and the young lion and the fatling will be together, and a little child will lead them. 7 The cow and the bear will graze; their young will lie down together, and the lion will eat straw like the ox. 8 The infant will play near the cobra’s den, and the toddler will put his hand into the viper’s nest. 9 They will not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain, because the earth will be filled with the knowledge of the LORD as the waters cover the sea.
Every one of us knows the whisper, this isn't how it's supposed to be. And that whisper, that whisper is telling the truth. This broken world, filled with sickness and fear and death and frantic striving, this is not home. As Moses says in Psalm 90, we said it earlier together, Lord, you have been our dwelling place in all, all generations. [00:33:02] (33 seconds) #ThisIsntHome
Because at the center of the Christmas story is a promise, a promise that we are and will be brought home. This slump of humanity will not be grounded to pieces. The pains and the problems of life lived east of Eden will come to an end. The hurry and hustle of life where we are forced to run ourselves ragged, bouncing here and there in an effort to manufacture some sense of meaning to prove that we matter has come to an end. [00:34:45] (30 seconds) #PromiseOfHome
A shoot from a stump, from what looks dead, from what is beyond repair. Friends, this is the Advent promise. God is not finished. He will not leave us cut down. He will not abandon us in exile. Isaiah announces a king, a greater king, a greater David, filled with the Spirit, full of wisdom, of righteousness and justice, a king who would restore what sin destroyed. [00:35:52] (31 seconds) #HopeFromStump
``He arrives exiled from the comfort outside of the city, alienated from anything remotely resembling the glories of heaven. Talk about being far from home. He chooses vulnerability. He chooses weakness. He chooses homelessness. He chooses exile in Egypt. He begins his life in a borrowed stable and will end his life in a borrowed tomb. Why? To bring you home. To bring you home. [00:38:01] (40 seconds) #BornIntoExile
Jesus doesn't just hand us a map and say, figure it out. He says, no, I am the way. He doesn't yell instructions from a distance. He gets into the pit with us. He doesn't demand that we climb our way back, somehow perform our way into His good grace. No, He descends all the way down to carry us up, up on a cross. Christ bears the full curse of our exile, forsaken so that you would never be, condemned so that you would be declared righteous, dead so that you might live. [00:38:42] (40 seconds) #HeDescendedForUs
Jesus doesn't just hand us a map and say, figure it out. He says, no, I am the way. He doesn't yell instructions from a distance. He gets into the pit with us. He doesn't demand that we climb our way back, somehow perform our way into His good grace. No, He descends all the way down to carry us up, up on a cross. Christ bears the full curse of our exile, forsaken so that you would never be, condemned so that you would be declared righteous, dead so that you might live. [00:38:42] (40 seconds) #HeIsTheWay
He experiences the ultimate distance from the Father so that you will never be separated again. And in His resurrection, the door home swings open. In baptism, He pulls you through that door and He says, you are mine. You are my, you belong. You are my beloved son. You are my chosen daughter with whom I am well pleased. I am so happy you are in my family. [00:39:22] (26 seconds) #BaptizedBelonging
In His supper, He feeds you with a foretaste of the feast to come, with His very body and blood given and shed for you for the forgiveness of sins. A reminder even now that the true home is already breaking through. Friends, you are not a wanderer anymore. You are not lost anymore. You are not alone anymore. In Jesus, home has come to you. [00:39:48] (28 seconds) #ForetasteOfHome
And one day, one day soon, you will dwell with Him forever, fully, completely home. In this season, there's no way around the busyness of this time of year. The pace will not slow down. The calendar won't magically empty. But maybe, just maybe, every moment that feels rushed or restless can become a holy reminder. This world is not our home, but our home is coming. [00:40:16] (36 seconds) #HomeIsComing
Every ache for rest, may it point you to the one who gives true rest. Every longing for peace, let it point you to the prince of peace. Every journey you take in these coming weeks, be a reminder of a God who journeyed farther than anyone could have imagined. From heaven to a manger, from a cross to a tomb, from death to life, to bring you home. And He will bring you there. [00:40:51] (33 seconds) #JourneyToRest
So this Advent, when you have that feeling of, you feel far from home, remember Christ left His home for you. Christ joined you in exile. Christ carried you home through His cross and His resurrection. And Christ Himself will return to make all things new. And on that day, on that day, you will finally, with a perfect body and a perfect voice, be able to declare completely and fully, at last, at last, I am home. [00:41:25] (44 seconds) #HeCarriedUsHome
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