And so he sends word to Jesus with a clear and direct question that aches with disappointment and longing:
“Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?”

John, who had every reason to be confident, is now confined, powerless, uncertain. And I find deep comfort in that. Even one of the greatest prophets of Israel—the one Jesus calls “more than a prophet”— can move from such conviction to doubt. Not doubt in God, but in the measure of God’s kingdom– in context of his present circumstances. Even the one who saw the heavens open now wonders if God is truly at work the way he imagined.

That question feels especially close to home in our own time, doesn’t it?

We live in a world where we see ongoing violence in our streets, persistent racial injustice, widening economic divides, refugee crises, and political systems that often seem more interested in power than in the common good. We witness the suffering of innocent people and we watch as truth itself is sometimes treated as disposable. And many faithful people quietly carry the same question John asked from his prison cell:

“Jesus, are you the one? Is your kingdom really coming, or are we to wait for something else?”

This is an Advent question if there ever was one. 

It is the question of every person who has waited longer than they expected. The question of every heart that has prayed and not yet seen the answer they hoped for. John is not asking an abstract theological perspective. He is asking from the darkness. From disappointment. From the collapse of what he thought God would do next. In this season of holy waiting, we meet a prophet who is waiting too.

What comforts me most is this: Jesus does not reject John for his doubt. He does not offer shallow reassurance. Instead, he sends back an answer shaped by an Advent-like hope:
“Go… tell what you hear and see.”

The blind receive sight.
The lame walk.
The lepers are cleansed.
The deaf hear.
The dead are raised. And the poor receive good news.

And notice what Jesus does not do. He does not point to political control. He does not point to military victory. He does not claim dominance over Rome. Instead, he points to lives being restored at the margins, to dignity being returned to those the world has discarded. 

In a culture that often measures success by power, wealth, and influence, Jesus offers a radically different vision of God’s reign: a kingdom revealed through mercy, healing, and restoration.

John had imagined a Messiah who would bring swift judgment and dramatic upheaval, but Jesus shows him a kingdom that arrives quietly, persistently, through compassion and costly love. The kingdom is not absent—it simply does not arrive in the way John expects.

And here is where the Gospel meets our own public life.

When we see systems that harm the vulnerable, Jesus still says: “Look again.”
When we see communities wounded by racism, poverty, or exclusion, Jesus still says: “Look again.”
When despair seems to have the final word, Jesus still says: “Look and see where my kingdom is breaking in.”

The kingdom breaks in wherever children are protected instead of exploited. Where migrants are treated as neighbors rather than threats. Where the hungry are fed and the sick are not forgotten. Where forgiveness overcomes cycles of vengeance, and where dignity is honored instead of denied.

The kingdom of God does not always arrive with spectacle. It often comes quietly—like a candle lit in darkness, like a child born in a stable, like a word of mercy spoken into despair. That is the Advent of Christ.

After answering John’s question, Jesus turns to the crowd and speaks about who John truly is. Not a reed shaken by the wind or someone dressed for comfort. But a prophet. A truth-teller. A man who dared to confront injustice, even when it cost him his freedom.

John is in prison not because he lacked faith, but because he had too much courage to stay silent. He challenged corruption and spoke against exploitation. Advent does not let us forget that the path of preparation often runs straight through discomfort and risk. 

Jesus then says something astonishing:
“… no one has arisen greater than John the Baptist; yet the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he.”

This is not about status—it is about participation. John stood at the edge of the kingdom and announced it. We are invited to live inside it. We are not called to merely wait for God’s justice; we are called to embody it.

Advent is not about passive waiting. It is about active hope..

Belonging to a kingdom like this in a world like ours means that faith is not only personal—it is public. It means prayer and action belong together. It means worship sends us back into the world as witnesses to God’s justice and compassion. It means we cannot settle for a faith that comforts us but never challenges us.

And yet—this Gospel also tells us that doubt is not the opposite of that faith. Despair is not the end of the story. John’s question did not disqualify him; it highlighted his profound yearning and it deepened his relationship to Christ. And our questions can do the same.

When we cry out in frustration, “How long, O Lord?” we join a long line of faithful voices that include prophets and saints. And Jesus still answers—not with slogans or easy fixes, but with signs of resurrection breaking into real life.

So if you are tired today—tired of injustice, tired of waiting for change—hear this good news: the kingdom of God is not stalled. It is not defeated. It is not absent. It is quietly and stubbornly alive wherever Christ’s mercy is practiced in real time and let that be our Advent focus! 

Every time you choose to love when it would be easier to look away…
every time you stand with the hurting…
every time you speak truth with humility and courage…
every time you refuse to surrender hope…

You become part of the incarnate coming of Christ. You become part of Jesus’ answer to John’s question.

“Are you the one?”
Yes he is! And his work continues—through us. 

Amen.