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“Turning Toward Peace”

Matthew 3:1-12

December 7, 2025

Rev. Rebecca DePoe

Our Scripture reading for this morning comes from the gospel of Matthew, Chapter 3, beginning in verse 1. Hear now the word of God:

Matthew 3:1–12 — New Revised Standard Version

3 In those days John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness of Judea, proclaiming,

2 “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”

3 This is the one of whom the prophet Isaiah spoke when he said,

“The voice of one crying out in the wilderness:

‘Prepare the way of the Lord,

make his paths straight.’ ”

4 Now John wore clothing of camel’s hair with a leather belt around his waist, and his food was locusts and wild honey.

5 Then the people of Jerusalem and all Judea were going out to him, and all the region along the Jordan,

6 and they were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins.

7 But when he saw many Pharisees and Sadducees coming for baptism, he said to them, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?

8 Bear fruit worthy of repentance.

9 Do not presume to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor’; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham.

10 Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.

11 “I baptize you with water for repentance, but one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to carry his sandals.

He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.

12 His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor and will gather his wheat into the granary;

but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”

This is the Word of the Lord.

Thanks be to God.

Every year- every year- I find myself overwhelmed by the Christmas section at Walmart.

I’m just here to buy groceries. And cat food. And maybe some shampoo. When suddenly I turn a corner and- boom- Christmas has exploded.

There are inflatable snowmen, Nutcrackers taller than a preschooler, and at least four different versions of peppermint bark.

And there I am, standing in the middle of the isle with my cart, completely frozen. On the shelf behind me, the Thanksgiving paper products are still on sale, and in front of me, Rudolph is staring at me from a box labeled “try me”

It’s this awkward little crossroads where you can’t quite decide which direction to turn.

Are we being grateful?

Are we being festive?

Are we being peaceful?

Or are we just trying to get out of the store without getting run over by a shopping cart?

It’s a liminal space: we’re not in Thanksgiving anymore, and we’re not in Christmas yet, so we’re not quite sure what we’re supposed to feel.

Standing there between the turkeys and the tinsel, holding a can of pumpkin you’re not even sure you need, you think: Could everyone please just calm down for one second? I am nowhere near ready for whatever this is.

And honestly?

Advent feels a lot like that aisle.

You’re stuck between what has been and what is coming.

Between the world as it is and the world as God promises it will be.

Between everyday chaos… and the hope of a peace you can’t quite see yet.

Which is exactly where John the Baptist shows up- right in the middle of life’s in-between aisle, calling out: Turn. Something new is coming. Get ready.

Advent is the season where God meets us right there- not when life is perfectly arranged, not when we’re emotionally caught up to the moment, not when we’ve finally figured out how to be peaceful- but in the messy middle, inviting us to turn toward peace.

When we hear the word peace, most of us picture something gentle. We imagine a quite house, candles lit, maybe a soft snowfall outside. We imagine a December where nothing goes wrong and no one snaps at anyone in the car on the way to a Christmas outing.

And because we aren’t experiencing that type of peace, we assume we must be doing something wrong.

But here’s the truth: most of what we think of as peace is actually just the absence of conflict.

It’s silence.

It’s niceness.

It’s pretending that everything is fine so no one gets uncomfortable.

The problem with that version of peace is that it’s very fragile. It collapses the moment someone brings their real, honest, human self into the room.

And avoiding conflict is not the peace the Bible is talking about. It’s not the peace John the Baptist is preparing us for. And it’s definitely not the kind of peace that can sustain us through the real life wilderness moments- the messy, in-between places where most of us live.  

So before we even get to John’s message, we need to gently lay down this assumption that peace is smiling through gritted teeth. Because the peace God promises- shalom- is far more transformative.

Shalom is the kind of peace that takes root when things are finally aligned with God’s deep love for the world. Shalom is what happens when people have what they need. Not just spiritually, but emotionally, relationally, economically. It’s what happens when the vulnerable are protected, when relationships are healed, when truth is told, when what harms us is removed or repaired.

So when John the Baptist appears in the wilderness talking about the kingdom of heaven coming near, he’s asking them to prepare for a change.

This is why John’s message begins with one word: Repent.

In Scripture, “repent” simply means to turn. To reorient. To recognize that the direction you’ve been walking-whether in your habits, your priorities, your relationships, or your assumptions- is not taking you where you actually want to go. And then, with whatever courage you have that day, starting to turn toward a different way.

Notice that John shows up in a wilderness. A liminal space, an in-between place, where nothing feels settled and no one feels fully prepared. It is the spiritual equivalent of standing in the grocery store aisle between the turkeys and the tinsel, caught between seasons, carrying more emotions than you can name, unsure which direction you’re supposed to face.

Advent happens right there. Right in the middle of our turning. When we realize we’re not where we were, but we’re not yet where we’re going, and God is going to meet us in the hallway between the two.

Turning towards peace doesn’t always look heroic. Some days it looks like telling the truth after avoiding it for too long. Some days it looks like saying no, or saying yes, or asking for help. Some days it looks like rethinking a habit, or softening your tone, or forgiving someone- including yourself. Turing toward peace often begins with a small, almost imperceptible shift.

But Scripture insists that is where peace begins. Not with perfection. But with one honest step in a new direction.

So here we are, in Advent.

Not the Christmas we’re sprinting toward, and not the year we’re leaving behind, but this strange middle place where our lives feel a little crowded, a little chaotic, and maybe a little more tender than we like to admit.

And right here- in the not-quite-ready, not-quite-peaceful middle- John the Baptist meets us.

He doesn’t ask us to be perfect.

He doesn’t even ask us to feel peaceful.

He simply asks us to turn.

Because peace isn’t something that drops into our lives fully formed. Peace is something we turn toward- slowly, intentionally, sometimes awkwardly- trusting that God is already turning toward us.

Peace begins with one step of honesty, one act of courage, one small decision to stop walking in a direction that drains the life out of us and start moving in a direction that makes room for wholeness.

And the miracle of Advent is this: when we turn even a little, God meets us more than halfway. God fills in the gaps we cannot fill. God does the work we cannot do. God is already preparing the world for a peace deeper and truer than anything we can manufacture on our own.

So the question for this Sunday, in the middle of the groceries and the Christmas pageants, and the long to-do lists, is not: Are you peaceful?

The real question is:

What small turn toward peace is God inviting you to make today?

Maybe it’s in a relationship.

Maybe in the way you speak to yourself.

Maybe in how you move through a season that stirs up more than you expected.

Whatever it is- you don’t have to make the whole journey today. Just turn. Even a little.

Because the One who is coming- the One whose arrival we await- meets us in the turning. And in that turning, we will find peace.

Real peace.

Peace that heals.

Peace that holds.

Peace that changes us from the inside out.

Amen.