First Sunday of Advent 2025

 Have you noticed that as soon as the calendar flips to December, the whole world starts moving faster? 

Traffic on Route 3 backs up, the parking lots at Hannaford and Walmart fill before noon, and families rush from one school Christmas concert to the next. 

We don’t walk anywhere — we hustle. 

And yet, with all this movement,
I wonder: are we actually moving toward God, or just moving around?

The readings today are full of motion. 

Isaiah says, “Come, let us climb the Lord’s mountain.” 

The psalm sings, “Let us go rejoicing.” 

Paul urges us to wake up, throw off, put on, walk in the light. 

And Jesus tells us to stay awake, be ready, be prepared. 

Advent isn’t a season of stillness; it’s a season of direction. A season of God calling us to move — not faster, but closer.

And that’s the difference. December gives us speed, but Advent gives us purpose. 

The crowds, the errands, the concerts, the parties — they keep us in motion. 

But Scripture asks a deeper question: is any of this movement drawing us toward God?

Isaiah gives us the image of people streaming toward the Lord’s mountain. 

Not wandering, not circling, not sprinting aimlessly — but moving upward toward something higher, something holier. 

Anyone who’s climbed Poke-O-Moonshine or Lyon Mountain knows you don’t reach the summit by accident. It takes intention. 

Isaiah reminds us that the spiritual life is the same: if we want to reach the place where God teaches us His ways, we have to decide to move toward Him.

And this isn’t just poetic language. We see this kind of holy movement right here in our parishes. 

Every week at our Outreach Centers in Peru and in Treadwells Mill, people are in motion — some coming to give, others coming to receive, all of them taking steps toward hope. 

That kind of movement is exactly what Isaiah envisioned: people walking toward the place where God’s love becomes real. 

Or think about what happens in our own churches every Sunday. In Morrisonville, Cadyville, and Peru, cars pull into the lots, families climb the steps, people come into the warm light of these sanctuaries. 

Little streams of humanity moving toward God. Little Advent pilgrimages happening every weekend.

Paul gives us another kind of movement — the movement inside the heart. 

“Wake up,” he says. “Throw off what weighs you down. Put on Christ.” 

Advent is a season of interior action: stepping out of darkness, choosing light, letting the Lord shift our priorities. 

It’s the movement that happens when we stop coasting spiritually and take a step toward prayer, toward reconciliation, toward compassion.

Then Jesus speaks about people in Noah’s day who were moving plenty — eating, drinking, building families — but not moving toward God. 

Their lives were full, but their hearts were unprepared. They weren’t doing anything wrong; they were just spiritually asleep. 

That can happen to us too. December can be so packed with movement that our souls never move at all.

So maybe the invitation of this Advent is simple: in all the running around we’ll do this month — the concerts, the shopping, the holiday gatherings, the snowy drives across the North Country — choose at least one way to move toward God. 

Maybe that means moving inward, setting aside two minutes of silence each day. 

Maybe it means moving upward, choosing a small spiritual practice you can actually keep. 

Maybe it means moving outward, a simple act of kindness each week, something that turns your attention toward someone who needs love.

You’ll be in the car more this month. 

You’ll be standing in more lines. 

You’ll be attending more events. 

What if all of that movement became holy? 

What if every destination became a moment to whisper, “Lord, help me climb your mountain today”?

We’ll be doing plenty of moving in the next few weeks. 

The question isn’t whether we’ll move — it’s where we’ll move. 

Advent invites us to take a step, even a small one, toward the God who is already moving toward us.