I don’t know about you, but I try to ease into Advent gently. Soft lights, maybe a warm caramel apple cider in hand, something simple that reminds me to slow down. I crave that peaceful transition into the Christmas season—just enough space to breathe after a long year.

And then—right on cue—John the Baptist shows up.

Not with a candle or a devotional, but stomping in like that friend who walks into your perfectly decorated living room and says, “Love it… now move it. We’re renovating.”

The Unexpected Prophet of Advent

John the Baptist is not the Advent guest most of us asked for. He’s loud, abrupt, lives in the wilderness, and eats locusts. He’s never given off the energy of someone planning to curl up with a cozy blanket and reflect on the true meaning of the season.

Yet Advent insists we start with him. Why?

Maybe because even though we want gentle comfort, God knows we also need holy disruption. The path to real hope—the kind that survives December and everything after—often begins with clearing some space. God loves us too much to leave us looking festive on the outside while feeling overwhelmed or weary on the inside.

When God’s Timing Doesn’t Match Our Expectations

Most of us come into December craving peace and predictability. We want at least one part of life that doesn’t ask us to rearrange the furniture of our souls. But Advent has other plans.

Instead of starting with silent nights and gentle lullabies, we get a wilderness prophet who seems almost intentionally out of sync with everything we think the season should be. While the world puts up twinkling lights, John shows up with camel hair and a message that sounds less like a Christmas card and more like a construction notice: “Repent. Prepare. Make room.”

John reveals something we’d rather avoid—there are cluttered, crowded parts of our lives where God’s new life has no room to take root.

The Gift of Sacred Space

Here’s what the Advent readings teach us: God isn’t asking us to make room out of fear, but because something beautiful is already beginning to grow.

Consider the arc of Scripture this season:

Isaiah speaks of hope from unlikely places. He begins with a stump—cut down and seemingly finished. Yet right there, he declares, “A shoot shall rise.” New life springing up where nobody expected it.

John preaches preparation in the wilderness. His message—”Prepare the way of the Lord”—is meant to clear space so new life can take root. He’s not an angry inspector but a gardener clearing dead growth so roots can deepen.

Paul reminds us that community sustains hope. The rootedness we find in Christ and with each other allows us to abound in hope, even when life feels barren.

When we read these passages together, repentance becomes less about judgment and more about holy renovation. God clears away what chokes us so hope can breathe again.

Where Is God Making Room in Your Life?

This is where Advent gets personal. Where might God be clearing space in your life right now?

Perhaps old grief resurfaces this time of year. Holiday pressure wears you thin. Behind cheerful decorations hides loneliness you can’t quite name. Family conflicts drain your emotional reserves. Or there’s simply the exhaustion from trying to hold it all together.

Where do you feel like a tree stump right now—cut down, tired, unsure? Where has your spiritual growth stalled, not because God has abandoned you, but because life has become too crowded?

What if John’s cry in the wilderness is actually God’s invitation to breathe again?

The Promise Beneath the Surface

Here’s the good news woven throughout the Advent season: the stump will not have the last word.

In God’s economy, stumps aren’t endings—they’re beginnings. Advent teaches us to trust the hidden work happening beneath the surface, even when we can’t see it yet.

John prepares the way because Jesus is on the way. Christ is the green shoot pushing through hardened soil, rising not only in Bethlehem two thousand years ago but in every place where hope is trying to take root in us again today.

This is why we need John at the start of Advent. Not to shame us, but to tap us on the shoulder and say, “Something new is trying to grow here. Let’s make a little room.”

Your Advent Invitation

So wherever you feel cut down or worn thin this season, hear the promise: God is not finished with you.

New life is already stirring. Something small, something tender, something holy is growing in the cleared spaces of your heart. The shoot shall rise. And by God’s grace, so will you.

This Advent, instead of rushing past the discomfort of John’s message, lean into it. Ask God to show you what needs clearing. Trust that the renovation happening in your soul isn’t punishment—it’s preparation for the beautiful thing God wants to birth in you.

The wilderness prophet may not fit the holiday mood, but he fits God’s timing perfectly. And that makes all the difference.

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If this message resonated with you, share it with someone who needs to hear that God is still at work, even in the barren places. Let’s remind each other this Advent that stumps become shoots, and hope is already on the way.