Dominica I Adventus – I. classis
Texts: Romans 13:11–14; Luke 21:25–33
Date: November 30, 2025
“Brethren, knowing the time: that it is now the hour for us to rise from sleep. For now our salvation is nearer than when we believed.”
– Romans 13:11
“And then they shall see the Son of Man coming in a cloud, with great power and majesty.”
– Luke 21:27
As the Church begins a new liturgical year with this First Sunday of Advent, her children are once again summoned to shake off the slumber of spiritual lethargy and prepare for the twofold coming of Christ: His coming in the flesh at Bethlehem, and His coming in glory at the end of the world. These readings from St. Paul’s Epistle to the Romans and St. Luke’s Gospel are not gentle introductions to a cozy season. They are a trumpet blast.
Awake, O sleeper!
St. Paul begins with urgency: “Now is the hour!” The Church has long interpreted this cry as a call to readiness, not just for the historical remembrance of Christ’s nativity, but more pointedly for the soul’s preparation to meet Christ as Judge. This is Advent in its ancient sense—not merely a countdown to Christmas, but a sober reflection on death, judgment, heaven, and hell.
St. Augustine, that great Doctor of Grace, exhorts us on this very passage:
“Let us then awake; let us rise, and run. Run to what? To the Lord. For He has come, He Who says, ‘I am the Way.’ Run to Him, believe in Him; you cannot err. Do not say: I have done so much evil that I cannot be saved. He who called the thief from the cross to paradise will not reject you if you run to Him.”
– Sermo 161, In Adventu Domini
This Advent, the Apostle urges us to “cast off the works of darkness”—those hidden sins we tolerate—and to “put on the armor of light.” This is not poetic sentiment. This is battle language. The Christian, says St. Paul, must not be passive. The hour is late, the day is near, and the night is full of dangers. Advent is not decorative. It is a spiritual campaign.
The Heavens Shall Be Moved
The Gospel reading brings us deeper into eschatological vision. Our Lord speaks of signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars—cosmic disarray reflecting the dismay of nations. This is not merely imagery for past tribulations; the Church, in her perennial wisdom, places this Gospel before us to awaken our souls to the final judgment.
St. Cyril of Jerusalem, speaking to catechumens in the 4th century, reminds us:
“We preach not one coming only of Christ, but a second also, far more glorious than the former. The former was marked by patience; the latter brings the crown of a divine kingdom… Our Lord Jesus Christ shall come from heaven, and the powers of heaven shall be shaken. And do not marvel that the sun is darkened. The Sun of Justice hides His rays from the unworthy.”
– Catechetical Lecture 15
These words fall heavy upon us in a world drunk on distraction, where men scoff at judgment and drown out eternity with entertainment. But the Church places these warnings before us not to frighten, but to awaken. “When these things begin to come to pass,” Our Lord says, “look up, and lift up your heads: because your redemption is at hand.”
Lift Up Your Heads
How often do we fail to look up? The Church in her liturgy raises our eyes—again and again—to the heavens. The sanctuary itself is a visual catechism, a reminder that the things of this world are passing away. The fig tree’s budding is a sign not of comfort but of reckoning. “Heaven and earth shall pass away: but my words shall not pass away.”
This juxtaposition of cosmic upheaval and divine fidelity brings hope. As St. Ambrose of Milan beautifully writes:
“Heaven and earth shall pass, but the Word of God is eternal. Let not your heart be troubled if the sun is darkened, for the Sun of Righteousness shines on the faithful. The stars fall from the sky, but your name is written in heaven.”
– Commentary on Luke, Book X
This is the heart of Advent: not sentimental longing, but watchful hope. Hope rooted in the unchanging Word of God. Hope grounded in penance, vigilance, and the eager expectation of the Savior. It is a season for looking up—not merely toward the Star of Bethlehem, but toward the coming Judge, the King of Majesty.
A Season of Serious Joy
Advent’s purple is not Lent’s violet of mourning, but rather the royal hue of expectation. It is tinged with joy—not yet the jubilance of Christmas, but the steady flame of the soul preparing for its Bridegroom.
The Church Fathers never separate joy from watchfulness. Joy without vigilance becomes presumption; vigilance without hope becomes despair. But Advent is a season of sober joy—a joy rooted in repentance, in the daily conversion of heart.
St. Gregory the Great once preached:
“Let us not resist His first coming, that we may not dread the second… He who trembles at the Judge’s coming rejoices at the coming of the Redeemer.”
– Homiliae in Evangelia, I.3
This is the paradox of Advent: trembling and joy. We prepare not as frightened slaves but as sons and daughters, mindful of the time, dressed for the wedding feast.
Conclusion: Now is the Hour
As this Advent begins on the feast of St. Andrew the Apostle (November 30), we do well to recall his example. At the very moment Christ called him from his nets, Andrew responded without delay: “Immediately, they left their nets and followed Him” (Matt. 4:20). So too must we respond to the Lord’s call this Advent—not tomorrow, not later, but now. “Now is the hour for us to rise from sleep.”
Let us then enter this season with hearts made ready. Let us fast, pray, confess, watch, and hope. The Lord comes—hidden in the manger, and revealed in glory.
Let us look up.