A Reflection for Thursday of the First Week of Advent – Year A
Psalm 72:1–7, 18–19 | Isaiah 4:2–6 | Acts 1:12–17, 21–26
In Advent we wait for a king. But what kind of king? Today’s readings answer that question, and the answer has everything to do with the poor.
Psalm 72 is a prayer over a king, and what the psalmist asks for is striking. Not power for its own sake. Not conquest. The prayer is for justice and righteousness. And notice where that justice is directed: May he defend the afflicted among the people and save the children of the needy. May he crush the oppressor (Psalm 72:4). There is an oppressor. The poor are not poor of their own making. They are afflicted, needy, because someone is crushing them. Justice means naming that. Righteousness means God taking the side of the victim against the one who does the crushing.
And how does this king come? Not as a warrior, not with force. Like rain falling on a mown field, like showers watering the earth (Psalm 72:6). Mown grass. Grass that has been cut back. Ground that is exposed because something cut it down. And into that place of loss, the king comes gently, bringing life where there has been devastation. This is the kingdom we are waiting for: a reign that names oppression, defends its victims, and restores what has been cut down.
Isaiah speaks to a people who have known judgment. But he points forward with certainty. On that day, he says, God will create over Mount Zion a cloud by day and fire by night. And over all the glory will be a canopy (Isaiah 4:5). Think about what this means. God’s glory is not distant, not something we merely behold from afar. The glory comes down and dwells in the midst of the people. It hovers over them. It rests on them. And that glory becomes a shelter, shade from the heat of the day, a refuge and hiding place from the storm (Isaiah 4:6). God’s presence among us takes the shape of protection. The glory is here, and it shelters the vulnerable.
In Acts, we find 120 of Jesus’ followers gathered in an upper room. Men and women together, devoted to prayer. They do not scatter after Jesus ascends. They remain together. Their waiting is active, shaped by prayer, shaped by community. And in the midst of their praying, they do something practical: they make room for Matthias to step into the work that Judas left. Even before the Spirit comes, they are filling the empty space, creating room for someone else to participate. Making room is part of what it means to wait.
These readings hold together. The king we await defends the poor because their poverty is not their fault. There is an oppressor, and the righteous king takes the side of the oppressed. God’s glory comes among us as shelter, presence that protects. And the community that waits gathers in prayer and makes room for others to join the work. The kingdom we are waiting for is not only future. It begins to take shape right here, right now, when we name oppression for what it is, when we shelter one another, when we make room.
As you move through this day, carry this with you: making room. For the poor, whose affliction must be named. For one another, as we wait together under the shelter of God’s glory. For someone who needs a place to step into the work. The kingdom is coming. And the kingdom is here.