The Message of Advent: Love Alone Can’t Save Us

He came.

That’s what Advent means. The word itself means arrival or coming. The church season of Advent is actually about two comings: Jesus’ first coming and his coming back. The first occurred over 2000 years ago. We’re still waiting for the second. Jesus said it would take two comings to turn this thing around. Two comings, and whatever he does in the meantime.

While it may look like this time of the year is about buying, Advent is mostly about waiting. However, it’s not a passive waiting. Jesus gave us work to do, work that should produce some good results and has. But our work is never going to be enough. We can fix some things, but we can't save ourselves. Not even love can save us. I mean, theoretically it could, but there's a problem. I’ll let G.K. Chesterton explain. When the London Times asked notable authors what was wrong with the world, Chesterton replied:

Dear Sir, I am. Yours, G.K. Chesterton.

It’s not just Chesterton; I’m also the problem. And so are you.

That’s why we need a Savior. The gospel, or good news, isn’t just that Christ the Teacher was born, but that Christ the Savior was born. We don’t just need more wisdom; we need rescuing. This rescue, for the God the Christian scriptures describe as a Trinity of Persons, would require all hands on deck. The triune God is absolutely and completely committed to our salvation – "salvation" being a rich "luggage word" that includes all creation being rescued, liberated, forgiven, healed, reconciled, and restored. And more than restored! It's to be made something new and better: a New Creation.

There’s no way we can accomplish all of that on our own.

Here's one obvious example: death. Human love and ingenuity can sometimes delay death, which isn't nothing. But these can’t ultimately prevent death or rescue us from it once it happens.

Many people adopt a casual or even romantic view of death. It relieves anxiety to think of death as merely a transition into a better life, nothing to worry about.

That’s not how the Bible understands death. Death is a power. Death is the enemy.

Death isn't the only problem, of course. There's plenty of other stuff we can’t save ourselves from. But death is the biggest, the most daunting. Death is the Monster that devours us all. At my age, I know it’s coming sooner rather than later.

There’s no denying that there’s quite a bit we can do to improve our lives and the lives of our neighbors. But eventually we reach an impasse. Usually, that impasse is within us. Our limited love can take us only so far. And there are some things not even love can change or heal.

Part of the scandal of Christianity is something Jesus said about himself: I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.

Unfortunately, what’s often discussed and debated is what Jesus said in the next sentence: “I am the way, the truth, and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me.” So we have heated discussions over whether knowing and following Jesus is the only way to God. But it’s the first part of the verse that is so preposterous. Jesus doesn’t just say he came to tell us the way to God and to Life. Nor does he say he came to show us the way to God and Life, or even to make a way. Those would all be remarkable things and there's truth in them, but they fall short of what Jesus said.

"I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life." What does that mean?! Who says such a thing about themselves?

And we’re obsessing over politics? Maybe you’ve noticed I did that for a while. I don’t know if I was right to do that. It felt like it was important to warn people, to sound the alarm. I don’t regret it. There’s nothing I’ve seen or heard since the election that tells me I was wrong. But now, it’s a matter of joining with the rest of you in riding this wave. (I’m just hoping it’s not a tsunami, but we’ll see.)

If love can’t save us, politics certainly won’t. I’m not saying getting our politics somewhat right won’t make any difference in people’s lives. Try telling that to the people in Gaza or Ukraine, to the LGBTQ+ community or people of color, or, for that matter, the rest of us. People who are committed to loving their neighbor as themselves will be at least somewhat concerned about politics. Politics can be a game changer. But politics alone won’t save us.

Part of the problem is what we’re up against. There’s this thing called evil. It’s not the easiest thing to define. Some people believe evil doesn’t exist, that it’s just a word we use to demonize one another. Jesus certainly believed in the existence of evil. The prayer he taught his disciples ends with, “Lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil.” Notice how he assumes we need to be delivered, that we can’t save ourselves.

There is an agelong theological dilemma called "theodicy," the term that religious philosophers and theologians attach to the question of how it is that evil can exist if God is all-powerful and all-loving. That’s the conundrum. This isn’t just an intellectual problem. Where there is evil, there is suffering. In fact, in the Bible, sometimes the word evil means “harm,” reflecting this essential connection between evil and suffering.

For many people, including former believers, the problem of suffering is what breaks the camel's back. Recently, I talked with a pastor whose church lost key members after the deaths of two children. After these children died, their respective families, as well as friends of these families, not only left the church but left the faith altogether.

That’s what evil does. It steals, kills, and destroys. It fuels and feeds on death, the Destroyer. If we allow it to have the last word, it's game over.

As the Way, Jesus is the wisdom behind all wisdom. Paul wrote: “He is before all things, and in him all things hold together” (Colossians 1:17).

As the Truth, Jesus is at the heart of reality itself. "Through him all things were made," writes John (1:3). And "the Word became flesh and made his home among us" (1:13). This Creating Word gave humankind freedom of choice, the very thing that makes evil possible, which is the very thing he has come to rescue us from.

As the Life, Jesus is vitality, consciousness, flourishing, resurrection, love and joy, meaning, communion, community – everything we associate with life and so much more.

This means it's possible for each of us, and for all the billions of people currently inhabiting this planet, to relate to Jesus and the entire triune God. It’s possible for us not just collectively but for each of us personally to follow Christ – to live in him and learn how to truly live.

He is that present, that attentive, that available.

I understand that this must sound scarcely credible and even absurd. Faith seems like such a crapshoot, doesn't it? If only God would show up and reveal himself....

He did. That’s Jesus. That’s who showed up. That’s who wasn't just born but came. That’s what Advent means. That’s how much God wants us to know what he’s like. Given everything, it’s the best he could do, even though he knew it would cost him dearly; knowing that many, especially the religious and political folks at the top, would find his presence too threatening.

But I need to mention the elephant in the room. No, not the Republican Party (okay, bad joke). I’m talking about the church. You wouldn’t be the first to say, “I like your Jesus, but I don’t like your church.” Fair enough. But actually, here’s where things get interesting. Yesterday, I listened to an interview with Francis Collins, a physician and geneticist whose work led to the discovery of the cause of cystic fibrosis and other diseases, and who also led the Human Genome Project which first sequenced the entire human DNA. Collins served as the director of the National Institutes of Health for three US presidents. You might remember that many Christians blasted Collins and his colleague Dr. Anthony Fauci over their handling of the Covid crisis. Some tried to discredit the development of the Covid vaccine that Collins oversaw. (He himself views the vaccine as a gift from God that has prevented millions of deaths.)

During the interview, when asked about the Christians who had attacked him during the pandemic, Collins was incredibly gracious in everything he said, as sympathetic as possible to their concerns and acknowledging that there were mistakes made in communication. In trying to explain why so many Christians have become anti-science and moved toward a politics alien to the teachings of Jesus, Collins suggested that when Christ gives his life to people, it's as if he pours it into rusty vessels. That image has stuck with me. I can imagine Christ saying:

I pour my life into rusty vessels. You are one of them. There’s nothing for it. I can and will clean the vessels, but getting rust off takes time. Please don’t detest my humility in choosing to love my church. Following me includes humbly joining with your sisters and brothers. That’s part of the cost. As I said at the beginning, people who follow me need to love one another as I have loved them. I died for sinners and rebels like you. Now it’s your turn.

I’ve talked quite a bit about Jesus’ death. But without his physical resurrection, Jesus' death would be a moot issue. The early church theologian Athanasius said that Christ’s humanity gave him the ability to die but his divinity gave him the power to overcome death. Athanasius explained that the Resurrection was a pledge of the Cross’s victory, since it reveals and inaugurates Christ’s salvation. A great debt was paid, the ultimate battle was won, God’s identification with sufferers was revealed, death lost its sting, and a new way forward was demonstrated – the way of cross-bearing love. All of these are mysteries, to be sure, but they are mysteries made visible through Jesus.

No, love on its own isn’t enough. As Christ said, “Apart from me you can do nothing.” Because Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life, when anyone tries to love, I believe Christ is there, partnering and empowering. As another biblical writer, John, wrote: “God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in them.”

We needed a Savior and he came. Part of how he saves us is by inviting us to become his disciples or students. During Advent there is open enrollment. Tuition is free and even past debts are paid. To be sure, there's still a cost, but anyone who has tried to love expects that. While love on its own can't save us, we also can't be saved without it. It's what we've been saved for: for loving God, loving one another, and loving this beautiful-but-still-work-in-progress world.