"The Promise of His Coming"

If you’ve lived in Midland for more than about ten minutes, you know what it means to wait. We wait on I-20 and other road construction projects that feel as eternal as the Kingdom of God. We wait for that one rain cloud that always seems to break up right over the Loop, as if Midland has an invisible force field. We wait for the oil price to stabilize, and right when it does, we wait for it not to destabilize. We even wait at the Chick-fil-a drive through behind someone with more occupants than seatbelts. And we wait with hope because—let’s be honest—we’ve never seen a more efficient group of employees in our lives.

But the hardest waiting is not for groceries or traffic or rain. It’s the kind of waiting that sits a little closer to the soul.

Some of us are waiting for wounds to finally stop throbbing.

Some are waiting for relationships to feel safe again.

Some are waiting for trust to be rebuilt in the church.

Some are waiting for God to make sense of a season that took more out of them than they expected to give.

And as your pastor, I know this: our church family knows this kind of waiting. Many of you have shared with me the hurt you carry—not all of it caused here, but some of it shaped by previous seasons, by complicated relationships, by leadership transitions, and by the simple reality that church is full of people… and people come with sharp edges.

But Advent, the time in the Christian calendar that concludes on Christmas Eve where we anticipate the birth of our Lord, is made for people who wait.

Isaiah is written to people who—just like us—felt worn thin by darkness, longing for light, longing for clarity, longing for God to break through. And right in the middle of their heavy waiting, God speaks a promise: “A great light has shone.” Matthew tells us that when Jesus began his public ministry in Galilee, this very verse was fulfilled. The great light Isaiah saw from a distance is Jesus Christ stepping onto the scene.

In other words: You are not forgotten. You are not abandoned. You are not without hope.

And the good news we begin this series with is this: the King we’ve been waiting for is already on his way. Advent doesn’t start with our faithfulness—it starts with God’s promise.

But here’s the tension:

We say God is faithful, but some days it feels like the darkness is more faithful than he is.

We know Jesus is the Light of the World…but the world still looks pretty dark.

We know his kingdom brings peace…but our families don’t always experience it.

We know the church is his body…but sometimes his body limps a little.

And if we’re honest with ourselves, sometimes we look around and think, “Lord, are You sure You’re reigning? Because this doesn’t always feel like victory.”

That’s exactly how Isaiah’s first hearers felt. They weren’t people strolling in sunlight—they were people stumbling in darkness.

They had political instability.

They had relational division.

They had spiritual exhaustion.

They had leaders who disappointed them and neighbors who wounded them.

Sound familiar?

And so, Advent meets us here—in that tension between what God has promised and what we feel in the present moment. Between the announcement of a kingdom and the experience of a world still in need of healing. Between knowing Jesus is King and wondering if we’re really living like we believe it.

Here’s the honest truth: The promise of his coming hasn’t changed—but sometimes our confidence in the promise has.

And that’s why we start here. Because the church can’t move forward into mission until the King himself speaks light into our darkness. And the King always starts by reminding his people: “I am coming for you. I have not forgotten you. My light is already breaking in.”

When Isaiah speaks these words, he is not writing from a lakeside cabin with a cup of coffee and an uncluttered mind. He’s not sitting on the back porch watching a peaceful sunset. Isaiah is speaking into a moment marked by fear, instability, corruption, pressure, and the sense that God had been quiet for too long.

In other words, Isaiah is preaching to people who look a whole lot like us.

God’s people then—and God’s people now—know what it feels like to have hope stretched thin. They know what it feels like to lose trust in leaders. They know what it’s like to sit in church and still feel the weight of unanswered questions. And they know what it means to wake up some mornings and think, “I believe the promise… but I’m not sure what to do with the darkness around me.”

What God gives through Isaiah 9 is not a bandage. It is not a spiritual pep talk. It is a promise—a promise so solid that it starts changing reality even before you see the full picture. And in this passage, God gives us five truths about the promise of his coming that speak directly to our lives, our wounds, our families, our mission, and our church.

Let’s walk through these five truths together.

Isaiah 9:2 ESV

The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has light shone.

Isaiah doesn’t say, “The people who were doing fine.” He doesn’t say, “The people who were spiritually strong.” He doesn’t say, “The people who had everything organized and together.”

He says people walking in darkness. People living in the deep shadows. People who felt stuck, hemmed in, overwhelmed, uncertain.

In Hebrew, the phrase “deep darkness” describes something like “death’s shadow.” It’s not mild discouragement—it’s soul-level heaviness.

Here’s the good news: God does his best work there. The clearest picture of that is the cross—when it looked darkest, God was accomplishing the brightest work of salvation through Jesus.

This is important for your life: You don’t have to get out of the darkness for God to work—the light shines in the darkness.

This is important for our church: God doesn’t wait for a perfect people or perfect organization to move. He steps into the very places we feel weak or wounded or unfinished.

Think of a Midland morning: you walk out early, and everything’s dark. But once that West Texas sun starts creeping above the horizon—those first rays change everything. Even while it’s still dim, you can tell light is coming. You can feel it.

Isaiah says: God’s light is already on the horizon. It’s breaking in—even before you see the full sunrise.

And church family, this is where we are.

We are not a church without scars.

We are not a church without needs.

But we are a church where the light of Christ is breaking in.

It’s breaking in through reconciliation that has already begun.

It’s breaking in through your hunger for the Word.

It’s breaking in through the warmth in our worship.

It’s breaking in through your growing desire to reach Midland.

You may not feel like everything is fixed or clear or calm, but the darkness is already losing its grip.

The King brings his promise right into the places where we need it most.

Isaiah 9:3–5 ESV

You have multiplied the nation; you have increased its joy…the yoke of his burden… you have broken.

God’s promise doesn’t just bring light; it brings joy—but not the polite, church-smile kind of joy. Isaiah gives us two images:

Joy like the harvest

This is the joy of abundance after a long season of waiting.

For us in Midland, maybe the better picture is the joy a rancher feels after a season of drought when the pastures finally come back. Or the joy of a family whose business somehow survived a downturn and finally sees life again. Or the joy of someone who has been praying for years for a prodigal child and suddenly sees signs of homecoming.

Harvest joy is the joy that rushes in when God provides what you couldn’t produce.

Joy like victory

Isaiah mentions the “yoke,” the “rod,” the “oppressor”—all symbols of bondage and burden.

God says: “I’m going to break what has been breaking you.”

The burdens of fear?

The burden of old church wounds?

The burden of fractured relationships?

The burden of uncertainty?

The burden of guilt?

The burden of “am I good enough?”

God’s promise snaps those things over his knee like a stick.

Think about those scenes you see sometimes on the news when a military unit returns home. There’s the image of a soldier getting off the bus, and a child—who has been carrying the burden of missing them—runs into their arms. In that moment, joy overwhelms the weight.

That’s what God promises his people. Not joy because everything’s perfect, but joy because the King has already carried our sin at the cross and continues to carry what we cannot.

Joy does not come from better circumstances—JOY comes from the presence of a better King.

Isaiah 9:6 ESV

For to us a child is born, to us a son is given…

This is the most unexpected part of the passage.

Israel thought God’s answer would be an army.

Or a new king like David.

Or a sudden shift in political power.

Or a miraculous sign written across the sky.

Instead…a baby. In a small town. Born to a young woman. Placed in a manger. Raised in obscurity. Growing up like every other Jewish boy.

God’s answer to darkness is a Child.

A Child who would grow into the Redeemer.

A Child who would preach good news to the poor.

A Child who would carry a cross up a hill he created.

A Child who would rise as the King of kings.

So when we talk about Advent, we’re not just talking about a cute baby in a manger; we’re talking about the crucified and risen King who came to rescue sinners.

This is the upside-down wisdom of God: Strength packaged in weakness. Victory wrapped in vulnerability. Majesty lying in a manger.

Why a child?

Because God’s answer is not merely political. It’s not merely organizational. It’s not merely moral. It’s personal.

We needed someone who could get close—close enough to take our place, close enough to carry our sin, close enough to heal our hearts.

Sometimes the most powerful thing God can give you is not a miracle that fixes everything, but the presence of Someone who steps into everything.

That’s what the Child represents. Not a distant solution—but God with us. And if that’s true, then the question isn’t just, “Do I like this story?” The question is, “Have I surrendered to this King?” Advent reminds us: God has drawn near in Jesus—will you draw near to him in repentance and faith?

Isaiah 9:6 ESV

and the government shall be upon his shoulder, and his name shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

Isaiah gives those four titles—four names—that reveal what kind of King Jesus will be.

Wonderful Counselor

This means “supernaturally wise.” Wisdom that transcends every human strategy. This is good news for a church reorganizing, for a staff strengthening, for a people seeking health:

Jesus knows what we need even before we can put words to it.

He guides with clarity, tenderness, and truth that cuts through confusion.

Think about how many decisions get made in the course of a week here in Midland—decisions about finances, kids, medical care, businesses, oilfield work. We rely on experts because we know we don’t know everything.

Jesus is the only King whose counsel is never short-sighted, never flawed, never biased. So, before you reach out to the so-called experts, why don’t you:

Bring him your questions.

Bring him your frustrations.

Bring him the things that make your shoulders tense.

He is the Counselor who doesn’t just inform—he transforms.

Mighty God

This child is not just wise—he is God himself. Powerful enough to save. Strong enough to break chains. Mighty enough to redeem what looks impossible.

This is what your people need to hear: You are not dealing with a weak King. You are not praying to an overwhelmed King. You are not worshiping a tired King.

Jesus is Mighty God.

Think about those West Texas storms that blow in out of nowhere—the kind where you see lightning dance across the whole horizon. You feel the power of it in your chest. That’s a whisper of the power of your King.

If Jesus is Mighty God, then nothing in your life is beyond his authority.

No relationship too broken.

No sin too stubborn.

No past too heavy.

No mission too big.

Everlasting Father

This title can confuse people because Jesus is the Son, not the Father. But Isaiah is speaking of the Father-like nature of the King’s rule.

He is not distant, dismissive, or unpredictable.

He is steady.

He is faithful.

He is protective.

He is tender.

Some people in the room have father wounds. Some have never known a consistent presence. Some carry the ache of someone who left.

Jesus is the King who never leaves, never forsakes, never abandons. He rules with the heart of a Father.

Think about how you feel when you’re watching your own child do something brave or difficult. That steady, gentle pride. That desire to protect. That readiness to come close. Jesus rules like that—a King with a Father’s heart.

Prince of Peace

This is one of the most beautiful titles in the passage.

Peace in Scripture means shalom—that’s a word that describes fullness, wholeness, harmony, restoration.

Jesus brings shalom, brings peace:

first between you and God, by taking your sin and judgment on himself,

then within your own soul,

and then within the community of God’s people.

This is crucial for a church healing from past wounds: Peace is not the absence of conflict—it is the presence of the King.

This Prince of Peace wants to bring peace into your home.

Into your marriage.

Into your memories.

Into your conversations.

Into your church family.

Into your story.

But that peace doesn’t come by accident. It comes when we bow the knee to Jesus as Lord, turning from our own way and trusting him as Savior and King.

Isaiah 9:7 ESV

Of the increase of his government and of peace there will be no end…

Every kingdom on earth rises and falls. Every leader has a term limit—even if they don’t admit it. Every empire eventually crumbles.

But not His.

Jesus’ kingdom is:

Ever-expanding (“of the increase… no end”)

Eternally stable (“on the throne of David”)

Perfectly just (“with justice and righteousness”)

Divinely guaranteed (“the zeal of the LORD will do this”)

The future of God’s people does not rest on:

a pastor’s creativity,

a church’s strategy,

a committee’s efficiency,

a nation’s stability,

or a culture’s friendliness.

The future rests on the zeal of God himself.

Here’s what this means for our church in Midland: We are part of a kingdom that cannot be shaken.

The reign of Christ is spreading across the globe—and we get to participate in it.

His peace is on the move—and we get to experience it.

His mission is advancing—and we get to join it.

We are not simply trying to survive in Midland. We are part of the unstoppable kingdom of the King whose rule will never end.

I’d bet for those of you who have lived here for some time, that you’ve noticed that when you fly into Midland at night, the city lights stretch farther and farther every year. New neighborhoods. New developments. New businesses. Growth is happening even when you don’t always notice it day to day.

Isaiah says the same about Christ’s kingdom: It keeps increasing—quietly, steadily, globally—and nothing can stop it.

If His kingdom doesn’t end, then our mission doesn’t stall.

We keep preaching.

We keep serving.

We keep forgiving.

We keep pursuing reconciliation.

We keep reaching our neighbors and the nations.

Because the King’s reign will not be stopped.

If Isaiah 9 is true—and it is—then Advent is an invitation for us to respond in real, tangible ways. Not to admire the promise, but to enter it. Not to nod along, but to walk in the light that has dawned.

Here is the bottom line for us today:

Because the King has come, we can walk in His light and join His mission.

Let me offer three simple, practical ways we walk in that light:

Bring your darkness into the light of the King.

Some of us are carrying wounds we’ve never spoken out loud. Some are holding onto bitterness as if it were a shield. Some are wearing private shame like a heavy coat. The promise of Isaiah 9 isn’t meant to sit on a shelf—it’s meant to shine into the places we try to hide. This week, ask the Lord: “Where do You want Your light to shine in me?”

Let the King reorder your priorities.

Advent is a season where lesser kings compete for our loyalty—comfort, busyness, control, image, nostalgia, anxiety. Isaiah reminds us there is only one throne, and only one rightful King to sit upon it. What would it look like this week for Jesus to set the agenda instead of your calendar, habits, or fears?

Join the King’s mission—starting right here, right now.

Midland doesn’t need more religious noise. Midland needs faithful witnesses who live as if the light has truly dawned. That means forgiveness where there’s tension, compassion where there’s suffering, humility where there’s pride, boldness where there’s opportunity. And it means remembering that the gospel doesn’t stay in our hearts—it moves through our lives.

Church family, the King has come. Let’s walk in his light. Let’s reflect his kingdom. Let’s join his mission.

The promise of Isaiah 9 is not wishful thinking; it is fulfilled reality. The child has been born. The Son has been given. The government is already on his shoulders. The cross has already secured our peace. The empty tomb has already secured his victory.

And here’s the wonder of Advent:

The King did not come to crush you—he came to carry you.

He did not come to shame you—he came to save you.

He did not come to condemn you—he came to call you home.

Think about the magnitude of this:

The Wonderful Counselor doesn’t just advise from a distance—he guides from within.

The Mighty God doesn’t just conquer your enemies—he conquers your sin.

The Everlasting Father doesn’t just tolerate you—he delights in you.

The Prince of Peace doesn’t paper over conflict—he heals it from the inside out.

This is the King we’ve been waiting for.

This is the King who stepped into your darkness.

This is the King who took your place on the cross.

This is the King who walked out of his tomb.

This is the King who is coming again.

And make no mistake—he is not wringing his hands.

He is reigning.

He is saving.

He is building his church.

He is advancing his kingdom to the ends of the earth.

Lift up your head. Lift up your heart. Your King has come—and he is coming again.

Here is the bottom line again:

Because the King has come, we can walk in His light and join His mission.

So let me call you—clearly, lovingly, boldly—to respond to the King today.

If you have never surrendered your life to Jesus Christ: Today is the day. Not tomorrow. Not “one day.” Not “when I get my life together.” The Child of Isaiah 9 grew into the Savior who hung on a cross for you. He bore your sin, your shame, your judgment—so you could walk in his light forever. There is no other King who has done that for you. Repent—turn from your sin and going it your own way—and believe the gospel. Bend your knee to Jesus the King today. Call on him right where you are: “Jesus, save me. I’m Yours.” And if you do that, come let one of the ministers up front know that in a few minutes.

If you are a follower of Jesus: Pick one place of darkness and bring it into the light—confess it, surrender it, invite his healing work there. Pick one person in your life to intentionally love, invite, or serve this week in Jesus’ name. Pick one opportunity to be a peacemaker instead of a scorekeeper. And commit to letting this Advent season be a season of mission, not just nostalgia—a season where you don’t just remember that the King has come, but you live as if the King has come.

Because the King has come. And where the King comes, everything changes.