Ad Te Levavi (Advent 1 2025)

Text: Matthew 21:1–9; Jeremiah 23:5–8; Psalm 24; Romans 13:8–14

Introduction

Advent begins with a King. And not just any king, but the King promised from of old. A “righteous Branch,” Jeremiah says. “The King of Glory,” says the psalm. “The Son of David,” cry the crowds in Jerusalem. We hear those words and we know they are important. But if we are honest, “righteousness” does not always stir the heart. It sounds austere. Demanding. Heavy.

Yet Scripture refuses to back away from the word. Scripture insists that this is the very center of who the Messiah is and what He comes to do. Advent’s King is righteous. If we misunderstand that, we will miss the entire point of His coming.

For righteousness is not moralism. It is not self-improvement. It is not better choices.

Righteousness is love—real love, self-giving love, love strong enough to seek and save the lost.

And that is why this matters. Because Jesus did not enter Jerusalem that day to display righteousness or to remind you of righteousness, but to make you righteous with His own self-giving love. If we see His righteousness rightly, then we will understand why the crowds cried “Hosanna,” and why we should join them now.

I. The Promise of the Righteous King (Jeremiah 23:5–8)

When Jeremiah promises a “righteous Branch,” most modern ears go quiet. Righteousness does not sound exciting. It sounds stiff. It sounds moralistic. It sounds like someone telling you to behave better. And no one shouts “Hosanna” for that.

Yet part of the problem is that Christians often reduce righteousness to the wrong things. We picture righteousness as a list of rules, a series of boundaries, a posture of avoidance. We imagine the “really righteous” Christians as the ones who cut themselves off from questionable movies, questionable music, questionable books, questionable holidays. That becomes our picture of righteousness: separation, caution, abstinence.

And because we do not want to be like that—because we do not want to be thought rigid or judgmental—we swing to the opposite extreme. We congratulate ourselves for not being legalistic, and then we abandon any visible pursuit of righteousness at all. We say, “We are not that kind of Christian,” and then we let our lives blend comfortably into the culture around us. We give grace a good name but empty righteousness of all meaning.

Both paths miss the heart of Scripture. Righteousness is not self-righteous avoidance. But neither is it the careless embrace of whatever the world celebrates. Righteousness is love—true, steady, faithful love.Love that honors God. Love that seeks the good of the neighbor.

And that kind of righteousness is rare. This is why Jeremiah’s promise matters. God does not promise a king who will scold His people, but a king who will love His people with a love strong enough to set them right. A king whose righteousness is not a standard you must meet but a gift He comes to give.

The first Exodus brought Israel out of Egypt. The coming of this righteous King will bring His people out of sin and death. Righteousness is not small. Righteousness is not dull. Righteousness—God’s righteousness—is salvation. That is why the crowds were right to cry, “Hosanna,” even though they did not yet understand what kind of righteousness God was about to reveal.

II. The Righteous King Enters to Accomplish Righteousness (Matthew 21:1–9)

So when Jesus enters Jerusalem, He does not come to display a moral example. He comes to accomplish righteousness—real righteousness, the righteousness that is love in action.

The crowds cry out, “Hosanna”—“Save us!” They ask for righteousness, even if they do not understand the word. They ask for the life God desires, the life of love. But sinners cannot produce such righteousness. This is why the King must enter in this way. He comes not to lecture righteousness, nor to inspire it, but to accomplish it.

He is riding toward the act that defines the righteousness of God.

He is riding toward the cross.

And on that cross, righteousness becomes visible in its fullest form. The Righteous Branch is lifted up on the tree. The only One with clean hands is pierced. The only One with a pure heart is condemned. There, the false righteousness of the self-satisfied is put to death. There, the flimsy righteousness of our good intentions is exposed for what it is. And there, real righteousness springs forth—not from our strength, but from His self-giving love.

The crowds cry out for righteousness—and Jesus answers by offering His life.

They shout for salvation—and He goes to the cross to give it.

They ask for the fulfillment of the Law—and He fulfills it by loving His enemies, forgiving sinners, and bearing guilt not His own.

On the cross, the Righteous Branch bears fruit—

the fruit of mercy,

the fruit of forgiveness,

the fruit of salvation.

This is why His entry is glorious.

Not because of the donkey.

Not because of the palm branches.

But because the righteous King is riding toward the place where His righteousness—His saving love—will be revealed in full.

He enters the city as the righteous Branch because He is there to accomplish the very act that defines His righteousness: the giving of His life for the salvation of His people.

III. The King of Glory Enters to Give Righteousness (Psalm 24)

Psalm 24 asks a question that cuts to the heart of every sinner: “Who may ascend the hill of the Lord? Who may stand in His holy place?” Only the one with clean hands and a pure heart. Not you. Not me. Not any sinner who cannot cleanse himself.

But the psalm does not begin with your ascent. It begins with the King’s arrival: “Lift up your heads, O gates… that the King of Glory may come in.” The solution is not that you rise to God, but that God comes to you. The King of Glory enters, bearing His own righteousness—not to display it from afar, but to bestow it upon His people.

And this is where the Church’s cry of “Hosanna” takes on its full meaning. We do not shout it at Jesus as He rides a donkey into Jerusalem. We sing it here, in the Communion liturgy. We sing it as the King of Glory enters His sanctuary in the way He has promised—hidden under bread and wine, yet fully present with the gifts of His cross.

We join in their cry when we sing:

“Hosanna! Blessed is He, blessed is He, blessed is He that cometh in the name of the Lord.

Hosanna! Hosanna! Hosanna in the highest!”

For we are not watching a reenactment. We are welcoming our King, who enters His sanctuary now as surely as He once entered Jerusalem.

We cry, “Hosanna,” because the same righteousness that sprang from the tree of the cross is brought to you here.

Not in theory.

Not in memory.

Personally.

Here, His righteousness is given for you:

His body, given into death for you.

His blood, poured out for the forgiveness of your sins.

His love, stronger than death, placed into your very mouth.

Here the Righteous King gives you what He accomplished.

Here He fills you with the love that led Him to the cross.

Here He makes sinners righteous—not by demanding perfection, but by giving Himself.

It is the cry of those who see their King entering again to save, to forgive, to make holy.

It is the cry of faith welcoming the One who comes in love.

IV. The Righteous Life: Love as the Shape of Righteousness (Romans 13:8–14)

When Paul writes to the Romans, he describes the righteousness Christ has already given: “Love is the fulfillment of the Law.” The righteousness He accomplished in love is now lived out in you as love for your neighbor.

And here our earlier false paths return. Some think righteousness means withdrawing from anything questionable. Others think grace means embracing whatever the world celebrates. But neither leads to love.

True righteousness—Christ’s righteousness—looks different.

There are things you will avoid. Not to look holier, not from fear, but out of love—because what you take in shapes your heart and affects your neighbor. You choose what is good, true, and beautiful because these nourish love and guard you from contempt.

And there are things you will embrace boldly. Not to prove freedom, but out of love—to draw near to the suffering, to bear burdens, to forgive, to encourage, to serve.

This is righteousness lived—not avoidance, not indulgence, but love formed by Christ Himself.

“The night is far gone; the day is at hand.” Therefore put off the works of darkness—not to earn anything, but because darkness belongs to the life without love.

Instead, “put on the Lord Jesus Christ.” The righteous King who entered Jerusalem, who entered death, who enters His sanctuary with His gifts, also enters your life. He clothes you with His righteousness so His love may be lived in you.

And what does that look like? It looks like the love that forgives what the world will not forgive. It looks like patience with the difficult, mercy toward the weak, compassion for the suffering, hope for the despairing. It looks like the daily life of Christians shaped by the righteousness of the King who first loved them.

Conclusion

The righteous Branch has come. The righteous King has entered Jerusalem. The King of Glory enters even now with His gifts.

And because you have received His righteousness, you are now called into its shape. Walk as children of the day. Love as those who know righteousness is not a burden but a gift.

The righteous King has come in love.

And by His love, He makes you righteous.