No Kings

Transcript

Good morning, family. This morning we are beginning a new sermon series for Advent. Four sermons that will expand over the next three Sundays and then our final sermon that we’ll complete on Christmas Eve at our Christmas Eve service. For those of you who are unfamiliar with what Advent is, Advent simply means arrival. It’s a season where the church slows down to remember the first arrival of Jesus in Bethlehem and to renew our longing for his second coming in glory. And this year we’re remembering Advent with a sermon series called The Coming King, From Promise to Praise. In this series, we’ll trace the story of the king who was promised, the king who came lowly, the king who was born, and the king who now reigns forever. We chose this theme because it’s essentially the Advent journey. It moves from a promise spoken in the Old Testament

to a baby born in Bethlehem to a savior who reigns today and a king we will one day see face to face. And so family, my encouragement to you is as we begin this series and we enter into Advent, I do want you to remember that we’re not simply preparing for a holiday. We’re preparing our hearts. We’re renewing our hope and we’re aiming our longing towards the one true king. And so with that in mind, let’s begin where our Advent sermon series begins with the promise God made to King David. And so if you’d be so kind as to turn with me in your Bibles to 2 Samuel chapter 7. We’re going to be looking at verses 12 through 16. 2 Samuel 7 verses 12 through 16. When your days are fulfilled and you lie down with your fathers, I will raise up your offspring after you who shall come from your body

and I will establish his kingdom. He shall build a house for my name and I will establish the throne of his kingdom forever. I will be to him a father and he shall be to me a son. When he commits iniquity, I will discipline him with the rod of men, with the stripes of the sons of men. But my steadfast love will not depart from him as I took it from Saul whom I put away from before you. And your house and your kingdom shall be made sure forever before me. Your throne shall be established forever. Family, this is the word of the Lord. Thanks be to God. Would you pray with me? Our God and our king, we thank you for your word. We thank you that you have not left us on our own to figure out this world, but you’ve given us your word, you’ve given us the spirit,

The World’s Longing

you’ve given us the son. And so we pray this morning that your spirit would open up our eyes and our hearts so that we might see the son clearly. We thank you that you are a faithful promise keeper, faithful to your word, faithful to us. So meet us this morning, we pray, in Christ’s name, amen. You don’t have to be a Christian to feel it. Our world is longing, longing for something stable, for something good, for something transcendent, longing for justice, longing for peace, longing for a world better than the one we currently exist in. You can see that longing everywhere, especially as it moves from anticipation to anger. Spend even five minutes on social media and you’ll hear longing expressed not only in the rage of our world, not only in the protests demanding change, but in the ache underneath all of those cries.

People aren’t just angry with our world, they’re longing for something different. They’re aching for change. And if you follow that longing all the way down, it always tends to lead to a person. Someone who can not only point us in the right direction, but someone who can actually make things right in a world that seems so wrong. In other words, our ache is ultimately an ache for better leadership. And this is part of why we’re living in such a politically polarized moment. Both the political right and the political left are convinced that their leader, their movement, their ideology is the one thing standing between order and collapse. Each side believes the other side is the obstacle to human flourishing. And both sides keep double downing on the hope that the right leader will finally fix what’s broken. We want not only a better direction for our world,

we want a better authority to make it happen. But here’s the problem. With every leader we elect, with every new administration we try, with every fresh start to put our hope in, no matter how successful it might appear on the surface, the world stays broken. And that repeated disappointment creates a cycle. More longing, more searching, more hoping for a leader who finally gets it right, and then more anger because it’s not working again. And so we’ve moved from anticipation to anger and then finally into a kind of state of apathy. So instead of responding to failed leadership by continuing to seek better leadership, our culture has responded by rejecting leadership altogether. We don’t just distrust leaders, we distrust the idea of leadership. We’re suspicious not only of people in authority, but of the concept of authority itself. We’ve moved from longing for good leadership to assuming good leadership doesn’t exist.

And scripture tells us that this isn’t simply a modern issue. This is human nature, marred by sin, put on full display for all of humanity. We take the very concept of good, righteous authority and flatten it beneath a reflexive suspicion of any authority, not just the bad ones, all of them. And that suspicion of authority seeps into everything, not just our politics. It seeps into our workplaces, into our schools, our family structures, and even in our churches. What that produces is a deep cultural confusion. The very thing we desperately long for has become the very thing we instinctively reject. You can hear it in the language of the moment. You can see it in the slogans of our culture’s protest. I mean, there’s literally a movement built around this phrase, It’s a reaction birthed from suspicion and shaped by disappointment. And it functions almost like a confession:

we don’t trust authority anymore. It’s the fallout of personal frustrations, the weight of failed leaders, the wreckage of failed institutions, the ache of failed expectations. And underneath it all is a complete collapse in confidence when it comes to human authority. Here’s the crazy thing, and this is where the Bible helps us name what we can’t quite articulate. The problem isn’t our desire for leadership, the problem is that no human authority can carry the weight of our longing. Now listen, do I think shouting no kings while living in a democratic republic is absolutely ridiculous? Yes. It makes no sense to me. But, if you look deeper underneath that slogan, you’ll see that it isn’t we don’t want any authority, but we want a different kind of authority. Which means even in our culture’s rejection of authority, we’re still longing for it. So we’re not craving the absence of leadership,

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A Better King

we’re aching for the presence of a better leader. And as messy and as misguided as our cultural moment can be, here’s the shocking part. Scripture diagnosed this ache long before our generation found language for it. The Bible understands this instinct far better than we do, because when you open up the scriptures, you don’t find a long list of good leaders, or noble kings who fixed the world. You find a long painful story of kings who broke it. Our suspicion towards authority, our exhaustion with leaders, our cynicism with power, none of that is new. Our world has always been longing for a better king. Long before David stepped onto the scene, the Bible was already filled with failed kings and failed kingdoms. In fact, if you trace the biblical story from the very beginning, you can follow this pattern like a cracked thread running through every era.

In Genesis, humanity was meant to rule under God’s kingship as royal image bearers. We were created to be vice-regents, sub-kings on earth, not sovereigns, but rulers on behalf of our greater king. We weren’t made to be ultimately sovereign, but we were made and appointed to carry out His kingly rule. But instead of ruling wisely, we chose to be our own kings and rebelled against God’s sovereign rule and fell. And then nations rose in ignorance, grasping for power, building towers in their pride, and every tower crumbled under its own authoritarian ambition. Then came the days of judges. Israel was in the promised land, but chaos was king because there was no king in Israel, and everyone did what was right in their own eyes. And when Israel tried to crown their own kings with their own choosing, their choices imploded in violence and idolatry. Eventually, the people demanded from God

a king like the nations, trading the rule of God for the rule of men. And God warns them plainly, you think a king will save you? Human kings will take, they will tax, they will oppress, and they will disappoint. And history proves God right. But God gives them what they demand, and then enters Saul, Israel’s first anointed king, and his kingdom is torn from him as quickly as it began. And by the time David steps onto the scene, the people aren’t just longing for a king, they’re longing for a king who won’t fail. And David, Israel’s brightest star, even he cannot do what they hoped for. He could defeat giants, but not his own desires. He could unify a nation, but not his own household. He could write psalms of worship and still commit scandalous sin. Even Israel’s best king proved to be a failed king,

and it’s right there, at the height of David’s success, a few chapters before his most devastating failures, when he looks the most promising, when Israel whispers, maybe this is the one, maybe this is the king who will finally fix what’s broken in our world, that God speaks. Through the prophet Nathan, God says, David, you cannot build my kingdom. You cannot secure your destiny. You cannot sustain your throne. So I will. God is making a point Israel can’t afford to miss, and a point our culture can’t afford to miss. No earthly king can establish an eternal kingdom. No political king can fix our broken world. No powerful king can conquer our real enemies. No human king can carry the weight of being the perfect eternal king. Family, our passage this morning is the hinge of biblical kingship. The moment God promises the king, no king could ever produce.

And from that moment forward, Israel’s history becomes a long procession of failed kings proving this to be true. Every king promised something. Every king broke something. Every king failed somewhere. And after each collapse, the people must have wondered, has God’s promise of an eternal king died? Has God’s word to David failed? But God’s word never dies. And so the promise never collapses. Because centuries later, one quiet night in Nazareth, an angel visits a young woman and reaches all the way back to this promise in 2 Samuel 7 and says this concerning her child. The Lord God will give him the throne of his father David, and of his kingdom there will be no end. Do you see the connection, family? Advent is the moment the promise becomes a person. Where the king finally arrives. Not the next king in a broken line of failed kings,

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Four Scenes

but the last king. The true king. The forever king. The king of kings. This is at its core where Advent begins and what Advent celebrates. The promise God made to David, finding its fulfillment in the coming of our eternal king. And so this morning I want us to look closely at this promise that God makes to David and see it in its fullness with the hope that seeing it clearly will help us to worship rightly as we begin Advent. And so to help us along, we’ll look at this text this morning in four scenes. The king, the house, the son, and the kingdom. Okay? So let’s begin in verse 12 with the first scene, the king. When your days are fulfilled and you lie down with your fathers, I will raise up for your offspring after you who shall come from your body and I will establish his kingdom.

So when God begins this promise, this covenant with David, the very thing he does, the first thing he does is place David’s life and David’s limits front and center. Despite how cryptic this verse might sound, the language here is actually gentle, even tender. It’s not a harsh when you die, but a gentle when you reach the end of your days, when you are laid to rest with your ancestors. It’s the Bible’s way of reminding even Israel’s greatest king, your strength has limits. Your life will end. Your reign will stop. Your strength will finally fail you, but God’s plan and God’s promises will not. This is the theological weight of this promise or what we might call the Davidic covenant. God builds his kingdom after David’s gone, not through David’s ingenuity, not through his power, through his wisdom or through his efforts, not through any of that.

In the original language, the phrase I will rise up means to cause someone to arise, to bring into prominence, to lift up a person into a royal position. In other words, God is saying, ‘David, the future king will not come from your brilliance or your dominance, but from my promise.’ This is the first thing we need to understand about this eternal king. God does not wait for human greatness. God does not depend on human stability. God does not anchor his promise to human power. God works through human limits, and this truth cuts against both the ancient world and our world today. In the ancient world, kingdoms would rise and fall on the strength of their king. In our world, we’re still tempted to believe that political kings, cultural philosophers, or social leaders with all of their power and wisdom and influence can fix what’s broken.

We keep hoping that someone will emerge to make our world right, but they always disappoint. But verse 12 reminds us, no human king, no human leader, no human authority can establish the kingdom we actually need. David reaches the height of human kingship. There was no greater king than David, humanly speaking, and that’s exactly when God speaks and says, you’re not the one, as my kids would say, you’re not the guy. And you can’t build the kingdom. You can’t produce that king. Advent begins right here with a God who steps into the story and says, your limits don’t limit me. David’s days end, but my promise doesn’t. David goes to sleep with his fathers, but God rises to act. And that’s why this first scene sets the tone for the entire Advent season to show us that the coming king is not the result of human effort.

It is the gift of divine grace. The king God establishes is not a king we can create or elect, but a king God gives. Scene two, the house. Verse 13. Before we step into verse 13 to unpack the house, I think it’s important to understand the context concerning this whole conversation. At the beginning of 2 Samuel 7, David, King David, has settled into his reign. His enemies are subdued and he is living in a palace made of cedar. And he looks around and he realized, I’m living in a house fit for a king. But the ark of God is still in a tent. And so David, out of sincere devotion, decides he wants to build a permanent house for God, a temple, a dwelling place for the Lord in Israel. That’s his intentions. That’s his plan. And so on the surface, it seems really noble.

But with that context in mind, here God’s response to David’s desire to build a house for God. Verse 13. He shall build a house for my name and I will establish the throne of his kingdom forever. So, here the scene shifts its imagery from a king to a house. From a man who sits on the throne to a place where God will dwell among his people. David says, ‘I’m going to build you a house.’ God says, ‘No, the king I raise up will build my house.’ In other words, God is not asking David to do anything to build a house for him. God is promising to build something through his king. And if you look closely at verse 13, the structure of this sentence carries some massive weight and it offers some interesting clarity. In the middle of that verse, in the original language, there are two emphatic pronouns

placed right in the middle. So it could be better translated, ‘He and not you will build the house, and I and not he will establish the throne.’ You understand what’s being said there? So, David will not be the builder. David will not secure the throne. God himself will raise up the builder and God himself will secure the kingdom. This is the heartbeat of the scene. The house belongs to God. The builder is God’s king and the throne stands because God himself establishes it. And that word house actually carries a beautiful double meaning in this passage. It does refer to a temple, a physical place for God’s presence, but it also refers to a dynasty, a royal lineage God himself will sustain. And verse 13 blends them together. A king who builds God’s house and a God who secures the king’s throne forever. So at the immediate level

or what you might call the near horizon, this builder points to King Solomon because he’s David’s son who will rise up as king immediately after David dies. Solomon is the one who will lay the stones and dedicate this temple, this house. And in that sense, in the near horizon, he fulfills the promise in part. But it becomes obvious that Solomon cannot carry the full weight of this verse because though he can build a house of stone, he can’t build a kingdom that lasts forever. He can raise walls, but he can’t raise eternal worship. He can place the ark, but he can’t place God’s people in an everlasting covenant. His house doesn’t carry the word forever. So this verse bends our eyes beyond Solomon, beyond architecture, beyond craftsmanship, beyond the first temple to the far horizon toward the true son of David. The one we’ve been reading about

in the Gospel of John. The servant king who stands in the temple centuries later and says, destroy this temple and in three days I will rise it up. The religious leaders thought he was speaking about the stones around him. But John tells us he was speaking about his own body. Because he is the true temple. He is the place where God and humanity meet. He is the final and full dwelling of the presence of God. He is the one who builds not a house of stone, but a people indwelt with the Holy Spirit. The very thing we’ve been exploring over the last two Sundays in John’s Gospel. In Matthew 16, 18, this promised king stands before his disciples and says, I tell you, you are Peter and on this rock I will build my church and the gates of hell shall not prevail against it.

Do you hear the echo? Not you will build it Peter, I will build it. The king God promised has come and he has declared that the true house of God is not a temple made with hands, but a people formed by his word, purchased by his blood and secured by his reign. No earthly king could do that. It would be impossible for Solomon. Which is why the second half of verse 13 carries so much weight. I will establish the throne of his kingdom forever. The house God builds is inseparable from the king God gives. The temple and the throne rise together in a person. This person is the king who builds the true house of God, not brick by brick, but heart by heart. This person is the dwelling place of God made flesh, the true temple where heaven and earth meet. This person is the one

whose throne stands forever, unshaken by time, untouched by sin, unchallenged by rivals, and undefeated by death. So Advent doesn’t just celebrate the birth of a king, it celebrates the arrival of the true eternal king and the dwelling place of God among men. The house God builds is ultimately a person. And so to the reader, that raises the obvious question. Who is this son? And what will this son accomplish? Well, the answer is echoed in the next scene. The son, verses 14 and 15. Listen to God’s words to David in verse 14 and 15.

I will be to him a father and he shall be to me a son. When he commits iniquity, I will discipline him with the rod of men, with the stripes of the sons of men. But my steadfast love will not depart from him as I took it from Saul, whom I put away from before you.

— 2 Samuel 7

(ESV)

So what is God saying here? Well, God’s words here are directly concerning Solomon. But not just Solomon, but all the kings that will follow after David. And at first glance, these words, at least in the few first words, it sounds somewhat sentimental. I will be to him a father and he will be to me a son. But to be clear, this is not simply sentiment. This here is royal covenant language. This is God assigning identity to Solomon and to Solomon’s sons. In the ancient world, a son carried four things. The father’s honor, the father’s authority, the father’s inheritance, and the father’s representation. So when God says of David’s future king Solomon, he shall be to me a son, he is giving Solomon a unique status of that of a child. He is saying, this son, he will rule as my representative. He will carry my authority.

He will inherit my promise, not yours, David. This is God saying, David, my relationship with your son Solomon won’t be simply political. It will be personal. It will be paternal, meaning I will father his throne. I will father this dynasty. I will protect and push my promise through the line of King Solomon. But this immediately creates some tension because look at the second half of verse 14. When he commits iniquity, I will discipline him with the rod of men, with the stripes of the sons of men. The first thing I want you to notice from this verse is that God is saying it’s not if, but when these sons fail. Okay? What this means is that God is under no illusion about David’s descendants. Solomon and the sons of Solomon will sin. And God knows exactly what’s coming. Solomon will begin with incredible wisdom and will end in idolatry.

Rehoboam will split the kingdom. Ahaz will sacrifice his own son. Manasseh will fill Jerusalem with blood. And what this shows us is that every son in this long line of kings will fail. Every single one of them. Just like the kings of the nations around them. Like Adam, the first failed son. And yet, in the very next breath, God says, but my steadfast love will not depart from him. That but is the miracle and mercy of this covenant. God binds himself to sinful sons without withdrawing his covenant love even when they rebel. He will discipline, but he will not abandon. He will correct, but he will not cancel. Though earthly kings fail, earthly dynasties rise and fall, and earthly sons inherit sins from their fathers, God says of ‘David, your line will not be discarded, your dynasty will not be revoked, and my promise to you

will not be undone, even by human sin. And that should make us ask the question the Old Testament keeps pressing on us. If every son from David’s line fails, who is the son who will be king that God is referring to? This perfect and eternal king who will not fail, who will not collapse under temptation, who will never commit iniquity, who will never need discipline, who will rule without compromise, who can carry an eternal throne. Well, the New Testament makes it completely clear. Hebrews 1.5 reaches back to this very verse and says, For to which of the angels did God ever say, you are my son, today I have begotten you, or, again, I will be to him a father, and he shall be to me a son. You see that? What the writer of Hebrews makes plain as he reaches back to 2 Samuel 7

is that the promise is fulfilled not in Solomon or in the sons of Solomon, not in Hezekiah, not in Josiah, not in any of the earthly failed kings, but in Jesus. He is the true son, the faithful son, the obedient son, the holy son, the only son who fully reflects the Father and embodies the covenant perfectly. Every king before him bore the title son and failed, but none could carry the identity of the true son, but Jesus can. Jesus does. Jesus is this son that the covenant has always been waiting for. This is the heart of Advent. God gives the son David could never raise. God gives the son Israel could never produce. God gives the son the world could never deserve. The forever king is the forever son. Amen. And the reason he came, the reason the promise survives Solomon’s failures and survives Ahaz’s apostasy

and survives Manasseh’s bloodshed and survives exile, survives centuries of silence is because God attached His entire covenant to His own steadfast love, not human performance, not human power. If God’s steadfast love could depart, Advent would be impossible. The throne would have died in Jerusalem long before Bethlehem, but it didn’t. It couldn’t, and it won’t because this covenant rests not on human kings, but on the Father who guarantees the promise and the son who fulfills it. And this brings us to the final scene, the kingdom in verse 16. And your house and your kingdom shall be made sure forever before me. Your throne shall be established forever. Did you notice that God repeats the word forever three times in this single verse? It’s almost as if He wants David to hear this promise echo beyond his own lifetime, beyond his sons, beyond the borders of Israel,

beyond the rise and fall of empires, beyond the limits of every human leader. God says a house, a kingdom, and a throne will all be secured by the word forever. And each of these carries its own weight. When He says the house, He means the family line of the promised king, a dynasty God Himself will preserve. When He says the kingdom, He means the sphere of God’s rule through His chosen king. And when He says the throne, He means the king’s rightful authority to lead, to rule, and to care for God’s people. All of this, God says, every part of it, I myself will make sure, will secure it forever. And that sounds crazy because nothing in Israel’s history ever looked like forever. The royal line fractured all the way down. The kingdom was divided. The temple burns. Judah is dragged into exile and the throne sits empty.

I mean, if you were to stop reading the Old Testament at exile, you would have assumed that this promise died. And that’s precisely the point of this verse. The covenant does not endure because the lowercase kings endured. The covenant endures because God’s king endures. This means this promise is not fragile. It’s not conditional. It’s not vulnerable to human collapse. It’s anchored in the unchanging character of God who cannot lie and who cannot break His word. And the prophets understood this. When the throne was empty, they didn’t, you know, go and look at the covenant and say, well, it’s over. You know, they didn’t revisit it or revise it and say, well, no, the covenant was simply a spiritual metaphor for the Christian life. No, they leaned harder into it. They reached back to this very promise and proclaimed a king who was still coming. This is why Isaiah 9, 7 says,

a king is coming whose government and peace will have no end. This is why Jeremiah 23, 5 says, This is why Ezekiel 37, 25 says, When these prophecies were spoken, the throne was empty. The covenant was still very much alive. When this was spoken, the kingdom had collapsed, but the promise was unshakable. The dynasty was gone, but the king was still coming. And that promise comes into clear focus when the angel Gabriel appears to Mary in Luke’s gospel, reaching all the way back to 2 Samuel 7 and says,

Did you notice that Mary hears the same three words David heard? Throne, kingdom, forever. At long last, the king arrives. A king born in Bethlehem, a king whose house is unshakable, whose kingdom cannot be destroyed, whose throne is established forever. And family, as glorious as this reality is, Bethlehem is only the beginning because the baby the shepherds worshipped is the same king the nations will one day behold in blazing glory. The first advent reveals a king in humility. The second advent reveals the same king in glorious majesty. The one wrapped in swaddling cloths will return robed in radiant splendor. The one laid in a feeding trough will sit upon the throne of the universe. The cradle and the crown belong to the same person. The child born in weakness is the returning king who’s coming in power. And if you trace this promise forward, from David to Bethlehem

to the cross to the empty tomb, scripture shows you exactly where this story and this kingdom is headed. The promise made in 2 Samuel 7 doesn’t just begin in the Gospels, it culminates in the book of Revelation. Revelation takes the quiet promise, whispered to David, and shows us its final blazing fulfillment. The throne that seemed lost in exile, the kingdom that seemed buried in history, rises again at the end of the age in cosmic glory. In fact, John pulls back the veil and shows us the king who was promised. Revelation 5, 5, and 6, we see the Lion of Judah, David’s royal son, standing at the center of heaven’s throne. Revelation 5, 12, we see the Lamb who is worshipped by all creation as they declare, worthy is the Lamb who was slain. Revelation 19, 15, and 16, we see the one who rules the nation

with the rod of iron, whose name is King of Kings and Lord of Lords. Revelation 5, 9, and 10, we see the one who makes his people a kingdom and priests of every tribe and every tongue. Revelation 21, 1 through 4, we see the one whose kingdom fills a new heaven and new earth. And Revelation 22, 3, we see the one seated on the everlasting throne ruling forever. The promise given to David finds its fulfillment, its eternal crescendo in the return of Jesus Christ. Bethlehem began the fulfillment. Revelation fulfills it. And Advent stands in the middle between the already of his first coming and the not yet of his second. So we celebrate Advent because the forever kingdom has already begun. Not yet in full, but already in real present power. And we see it today. Every time someone is born again, this kingdom advances.

What This Means

Every time the word is preached, the kingdom grows. Every time we gather as a church together, the kingdom becomes visible to a watching world. Every time Christ reigns in our hearts, the kingdom is experienced. Family, we are living inside the unfolding of a promise God made to David 3,000 years ago. Because the coming king has come. And the kingdom he secures is forever. Amen? Amen. Now, family, I know you might be wondering, that’s wonderful, that’s beautiful. But what does all of that mean for me right now? It’s one thing to trace the promise through 1,000 years of Scripture. It’s another thing to understand how those promises steady my soul this morning. If all we did was admire an ancient covenant or appreciate this kind of theological pattern, we would miss the beating heart of why this matters right now. Family, Advent isn’t simply about what God did centuries ago.

It’s about what this promised king is doing right now. In your fears, in your daily decisions, in your uncertainties, in your suffering, and in your longing for stability. And so before we close this morning, let me just try to bring this into the center of our lives to show you why having a perfect, eternal, promised king is good news for you this morning and for your soul. Listen, when God’s promise was fulfilled in a perfect, eternal king, he’s not just entertaining us with theology, he’s meeting the deepest ache of the human heart, the thing that we’re all longing for. A perfect king means you can finally have someone whose motives are always pure, who never fails his promises, and never fails our expectations, where there’s no hidden agendas buried deep in deception, no self-preservation at the expense of his people, no corruption that would spill over

into our hearts, and no power plays that seek to harm. An eternal king means his rule can’t be undone by death, technology, elections, coups, scandals, or cultural shifts. If Jesus is the eternal king, the one whose authority cannot be threatened, overturned, weakened, or voted away, then that truth reaches right into the places where we fear we’re losing control. Because if we’re honest, so much of our anxiety comes from trying to manage a world we’re not strong enough to hold. We lie awake imagining all the ways that life can fall apart. Our health, our finances, our children, our relationships, our city, our future. But an eternal king means this. Your life is not governed by chaos or accident. Your story is not at the mercy of chance. Your future is not hanging by a thread. A king with all authority means you don’t have to be in control

because he is. And this changes how we live. It means we can walk through uncertain seasons without being undone by those seasons. We can face tomorrow without imagining worst case scenarios. We can endure suffering knowing that no pain is wasted and no tear is unseen. We can obey with obedience even if it’s costly because our king sees and rewards and keeps his people. We can love boldly and serve freely and give generously because our security isn’t on what we hold on to in this life, but on the one who holds on to us. And if Christ reigns forever and Scripture says we will reign with Him, then even when the world feels upside down, we can live with confidence that the world cannot explain. The headlines may scream instability. The nations may rage. The city may seem like it’s falling apart. The earth may groan.

But our king is not pacing the throne room wondering what to do next. He reigns. And because this king reigns, we rest. This is why having a perfect eternal king is not just doctrinally important. It is the oxygen our soul breathes in a world that feels increasingly uncontrollable. An eternal king gives us peace in our panic, perspective under pressure, courage in our calling, confidence in our suffering, and hope for our waiting. Because if the king who reigns forever is for us, then nothing that comes against us can overturn his rule or derail his promises in our life. And the stability of your life isn’t tied to your performance but to God’s promises. And what this means is that you don’t have to be your own king. You don’t have to try and build your own kingdom. You don’t have to be your own savior. You can’t.

You don’t have to carry what only Christ can carry. And this matters every single day, folks. Not just during Advent. When you face uncertainty, your king is steady. When anxiety is tightened around your chest, your king is near. When the world feels chaotic, your king is still reigning. When sin whispers to you condemnation, your king speaks forgiveness. And listen, when you fail him, he does not remove his love or revoke his covenant. His steadfast love does not depart from you. He disciplines, but he does not depart. He corrects, but he does not cancel. This is why Jesus being a perfect, eternal, promised king is good news. Because your life is too heavy to carry alone. And human kings and earthly politicians are too weak to save you or our broken world. Christ is strong when we are weak. Faithful when we’re fickle. And eternal when we are temporary.

And righteous when we are compromised. And Advent whispers over your life, be at peace. Your king has come. And your king is coming still. He is the king our hearts are longing for. And he is exactly the king we need. This is the beauty of Advent. The king we need is the king God gives. And friend, if you’re here this morning, and you don’t know this king, and you’ve spent your life trying to be your own king, Advent is your invitation to rest in the work of Jesus. In a world that screams no kings, God gently holds out the only true king who will never exploit you, never disappoint you, never leave you, and never fail you. Every human authority takes. Jesus gives. Every human authority demands. Jesus saves. He is the king who entered the world through a manger, but left it through a bloody cross

and rose victorious so that sinners like us can be forgiven, welcomed, and made citizens of his eternal kingdom. David’s sons deserve discipline for their sins. But Jesus, David’s greater son, took the discipline we deserve for our sin upon his own shoulders. The rod of judgment fell on him so that the love of God could fall on you. His cross is your pardon. His resurrection is your entrance into the kingdom. His reign is your hope, both now and forever. So hear the call of Advent this morning. Come to the king. Bow to the king. Turn away from your old life and turn to the king. Trust in this king. Surrender to the king who surrendered himself for you. Not out of fear, but out of hope. Not because he forces you, but because he forgives you. Not because you’ve earned anything, but because he invites you freely into it by his grace.

And if you have questions about what it means to follow this king Jesus, come and talk to anyone. After the service, we would love to talk to you about what it means to follow Jesus. We would love to help you understand and bow the knee to this king Jesus. Amen? Let’s pray. Our Father in God, and our glorious king, we do thank you that you are a reigning king, exercising all authority, controlling the universe by the power of your word, and yet you are present among us. You love us and you know us intimately. I pray, oh God, that this idea, this promise, this covenant would not be lost in all the sentimentalism of Christmas, but it would be the fuel of our worship that you are the great promise keeper and that you have sent us the king we need to bring us to the world

that you have created for us. Let that be ever before our eyes as we celebrate and worship the king. We pray these things in Christ’s name. Amen.