Homilies

Live as though you have arrived

Sermon for the First Sunday of Advent “Our feet are standing within your gates, O Jerusalem.” – Psalm 122:2

Holy Spirit take my words and speak to each of us according to our needs.

Today we step into a new church year. As advent begins it invites us to pause, breathe, and look both backward and forward at the same time. And into that moment comes this line from Psalm 122: “Our feet are standing within your gates, O Jerusalem.” It’s a phrase full of anticipation, almost like someone taking a deep breath before entering a long-awaited place. You can hear the excitement in it. “We’ve arrived. We’re here. At last, our feet are on holy ground.”

But of course, when we read this psalm, we’re not literally in Jerusalem. We’re here, with all our ordinary concerns: the lists that need writing, the shopping that needs doing, the aches and pains in the colder weather that remind us we’re not as young as we once were. Yet Advent dares to say: You can still stand as if you are already within the gates of God’s holy city. You can live in the now with the hope of what will be.

That tension, between what is and what we long for, is exactly what Advent is about. Advent begins not with rushing but with waiting. These days most people don’t particularly like waiting. We want things done. We want answers quickly. We want God to intervene decisively and obviously. But Advent contradicts that and says: waiting can be holy. Waiting can shape us. Waiting can teach us to hope.

The pilgrims who sang Psalm 122 were on their way up to Jerusalem for worship. The city represented everything they longed for; peace, the presence of God, unity, justice, a place where life made sense. And as they approached, they would sing: “Our feet are standing within your gates.” Even if they were only just arriving, their imaginations and their hearts had already entered.

In Advent, we’re a bit like those pilgrims. We’re waiting for the birth of Christ, a birth we already know has happened but also we’re waiting for Christ’s coming again, for the world to be made whole, for God’s kingdom to be complete. And even though we’re still on the road, even though the world around us doesn’t yet look like the peace-filled, God-centred Jerusalem we long for, we dare to say: our feet (and our hearts) are already there. In Christ, God has already stepped into our world, and we live in that promise.

We often speak at Christmas of “Emmanuel”—God with us. Not far away, not theoretical, but here, in the messy reality of our world and our lives. Advent reminds us that before Christmas morning came nine months of waiting, pondering, preparing. God chose to come among us not with heavenly fanfare but through the slow, fragile, very human experience of pregnancy and birth.

That tells us something important: God is not afraid of the long, slow, unfolding of things. God is not impatient with our humanity. And God’s love is not something dropped on us fully formed; it grows in us, among us, and like a baby who needs patience, time and care.

Perhaps, if God entered the world that way, then maybe we, too, should allow His love to grow and develop in us gradually. Maybe the world changes not in big leaps but in small, faithful steps. Maybe Advent’s quiet message is: Don’t overlook the small beginnings. God came to us as an infant.

Psalm 122 goes on to speak of Jerusalem as a place of peace: “Pray for the peace of Jerusalem… Peace be within your walls.” Peace is one of the great Advent themes. We long for peace; in the world, in our communities, and in our own hearts.

But it should be noticed that the psalm does not simply describe peace; it prays for peace. Meaning that peace is something sought, something practised, something hoped for even before it seems to be here.

Advent peace is not the peace of everything being perfect. It is the peace of Christ walking with us in the imperfect. And that brings us back to Emmanuel. Jesus does not wait for us to reach the gates of the heavenly Jerusalem before He meets us. He meets us on the road. In our confusions, in our struggles, in our hopes and longing—Christ is already here. The birth we await at Christmas is not just an event in a story; it is a reminder of a deeper truth: God is near. Always.

So what does it mean to “stand within the gates” even while we’re still making the journey? How can we live now in the way we would if our feet were already in God’s holy city?

Let me offer a few reflections.

Live with anticipation rather than fear.

Jerusalem in the psalm is a place of fulfilment. The pilgrims are excited, not anxious. Advent encourages us to live with hope, although not because the world is easy, but because God has promised to be with us.

When challenges come, we might ask: “What could God be doing here? How might Christ be in this situation?” Hopeful anticipation changes our posture from bracing ourselves for hardships to opening ourselves to peace.

Practise peace in small ways.

Since Jerusalem symbolises peace, to stand within its gates is to become people of peace. That can begin very simply: choosing gentler words in a tense moment, offering forgiveness, checking in on someone lonely, resisting the urge to rush past people because we’re busy. Small acts of peace when done consistently can build a life shaped by the Prince of Peace himself.

Welcome Christ in ordinary moments.

If God comes as a child, in a manger, then the holy might often be hidden in the ordinary waiting to be found. Living as though our feet are in Jerusalem means treating everyday encounters as possible places where Christ may meet us: in the neighbour who needs time, in the child who needs patience, in the family member who frustrates us, in the stranger we usually overlook. The holy city is not only “out there”; it may be right in front of us.

See the world through God’s promised future.

Jerusalem represents not just a place but a future, a world made whole, where God’s love reigns without rival. To stand within its gates is to view life not just as it is but as it will be in God’s kingdom. That perspective helps us persevere. When we see injustice, we work for justice because we know God’s future is one of justice. When we see suffering, we bring compassion because we trust God’s healing. When we see division, we strive for unity because we believe God’s kingdom is a kingdom of reconciliation.

Keep walking the path of discipleship.

Pilgrims don’t just appear at the gates. They walk. They stumble. They get tired. But they keep going. Advent calls us to keep moving toward Christ, step by step. A few minutes of daily prayer. A little more Scripture. A small act of kindness. A moment of quiet trust. These steps may seem simple, but over time they lead us deeper into God’s presence through holy habits.

Finally, Advent is not only about what God has done or will do but it is fully about what God is doing through us now. If our feet stand within the gates of the new Jerusalem, then we carry that hope back into our world. We become signs of the kingdom.

People should be able to glimpse in us a little of what we long to see in God’s future: love, peace, kindness, courage, joy. We don’t have to be perfect; we only have to be faithful. God takes our ordinary attempts and uses them in extraordinary ways.

The birth of Christ, anticipated throughout Advent, reminds us that God’s love comes unexpectedly, quietly, in humble places and God’s love comes through us, through our communities, through ordinary acts of grace to ordinary people.

So on this first Sunday of Advent, when the nights are long and the world sometimes feels uncertain, we to remember the pilgrims’ song: “Our feet are standing within your gates, O Jerusalem.” We are not yet in the fullness of God’s kingdom, but in Christ, the gates are already open, and our steps are already guided by His light.

So as we wait for Christmas; waiting in hope, in longing, in anticipation, may we live as people who already stand in the presence of God. May we bear Christ’s peace. May we share God’s love. And may we look forward with joy to the One who comes to dwell with us once again, now and always. Amen.

The Curious Mind of A Curious Curate