The Hope of Repentance (Joel 2)

Enduring the day of the Lord requires turning to Christ with genuine repentance, gathering with God's people for worship and sanctification, and pleading for grace with humility. Genuine repentance involves a heart-level mourning over sin that produces outward acts of penance, demonstrating true transformation. The gathered church, composed of all generations worshiping together, becomes a place of sanctification as believers set their eyes on the eternal kingdom rather than the distractions of the world. In preparation for Christ's coming, these practices reorient hearts toward God's mercy, which is sought through persistent, humble prayer—such as the ancient Jesus Prayer: "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner."

Transcript:

I didn’t realize when I wrote my opening illustration that there would be a major earthquake somewhere in the world this week. So, I’ll just apologize in advance for the illustration. But when I was a kid, we were always talking about "the big one." I think it’s a Southern California thing related to the San Andreas Fault. It was a big deal to put together an earthquake preparedness kit. Do any of you remember that? Did anyone have an earthquake preparedness kit?

A couple of years ago, we drank our 10 gallons of water and never refilled them. It was good filtered water, and we needed it when we went camping. But having an earthquake kit was a big thing, because earthquakes are terrible. I remember a few bad ones when I was a kid—well, maybe I just remember hearing about them. I think I was only four when the Northridge quake hit, when all those freeway overpasses collapsed. That was devastating. People died.

But most of the time, if you're prepared and you know it's a possibility, you endure it. That’s really what earthquake preparedness is about: knowing that if an earthquake comes, you're going to need water, power, food, transportation—things to help you get through it. It's about being prepared.

As we look at Joel today, we’re going to talk about the hope of repentance. You might think, "Really? This is hopeful?" But we'll get there. We're going to talk about the day of the Lord. Joel wants us to be prepared for that day—however, whenever, and for however long it comes.

So how should we prepare for the day of the Lord? Let's look at Joel 2:1:

"Blow the trumpet in Zion; sound the alarm on my holy mountain! Let all the inhabitants of the land tremble, for the day of the Lord is coming; it is near."

Right at the top of the passage, I want to revisit something we talked about last week—something we’ll probably revisit next week too. The theme of these three weeks in Joel is the day of the Lord.

We talked last week about what this term means. I used the illustration of "the day of King David." If I said, "In the day of King David, Israel was like such and such," I wouldn’t be talking about a single day on a calendar. I'd be talking about a period of time. That's actually a common usage of the Hebrew word translated as "day" in our English Bibles. So the day of the Lord isn't like a Wednesday or a Tuesday. It's a time when the Lord is present—when he is doing something.

The day of the Lord is about God's coming presence. We know he came in what we call his first advent—his first coming, his arrival in the incarnation. And we know he will come again in his second advent. We often refer to that as the day of judgment. But if the day of the Lord is about Jesus' presence with his people—about him ascending to the right hand of the Father and reigning as king—then he is king over the entire period of time between those two advents.

We live in that period right now. Jesus is reigning over the world during what theologians sometimes call the "messianic age" or the "inter-advent period." The day of the Lord began with Jesus' birth—his incarnation—and will end with his second coming. So, even though Joel wrote these words 500 years before Jesus was born, we’ve been living in the day of the Lord for 2,000 years.

Now, what is the purpose of the day of the Lord? Why does Joel think God's people need to prepare for it? Look at verse 3:

"A fire devours before them, and behind them a flame blazes. The land in front of them is like the Garden of Eden, but behind them, it is a desert waste—nothing escapes them."

Joel sees the world catching fire. In this inter-advent period, it feels like the world is constantly burning. Every week, during our pastoral prayer time, we pray for what's happening around the world, and there's always something new. If I'm honest, as long as I can remember, that's how it's always been. Every week there's a new fire somewhere in the world, something else capturing our attention. The world is like a desert wasteland with these flames springing up everywhere.

But Joel also sees a fork in the road. On one path, people can live consumed by the fires of this world. They can spend their lives focused on everything going wrong, all the suffering and destruction. It's like wandering through a wasteland, desperately trying to build something solid out of the ashes. But there's another path. In the day of the Lord, we can turn our gaze in the opposite direction.

Joel says the land in front of them is like the Garden of Eden. We don’t get to live there yet, but we can look toward it. We can lift our eyes toward the kingdom of God. That’s the hope of the Christian life: even in a broken, burning world, we can fix our eyes on eternal things. We don't have to be consumed by what's behind us.

This reminds me of the story of Lot. When God judged Sodom and Gomorrah, he sent angels to tell Lot and his family to flee the city. The angels warned them not to look back as they ran. So Lot, his wife, and his daughters left everything behind. They abandoned their home, their animals, their livelihood. But Lot's wife turned back, and when she did, she was turned into a pillar of salt.

The fires of God's judgment were behind them, and she couldn't resist the urge to look. But we are called to set our gaze forward—to look toward the Garden, toward the kingdom of God. That's the hope of repentance: turning our hearts from the wasteland to the promise of life with God.

Lot and his family fled from Sodom, leaving everything behind. But Lot’s wife didn’t listen to the angel’s warning. She couldn't let go of the life she had built there. She turned back, not out of morbid curiosity to witness destruction, but because she longed for the place of destruction. She longed for the wasteland. And when she turned back, she became a pillar of salt.

That’s why we don’t look back. When we long for the things of this world, we set our hearts on things that are ultimately hopeless. You can’t build something lasting here. This world is destined for loss. It’s going nowhere good. That’s the entire point. You can choose the path of the wasteland, or, in the day of the Lord where we live now, you can long for paradise. You can long for the Garden of Eden.

Right now, we are in a season of preparation—looking at what the day of the Lord means as we get ready for Advent. Advent is a time when we long for the incarnation of Jesus. Part of that story involves John the Baptist, who came to prepare the way for the Messiah. He was the one who ushered in the day of the Lord, proclaiming the arrival of the kingdom of God.

Look at what he said in Matthew 3:2:

"Repent, because the kingdom of heaven has come near."

John came to tell us to stop living in the wasteland and start looking toward paradise. He called us to stop living for the things of this world and, instead, to live for the kingdom of God. Repentance is just that: turning away from the world and turning toward God.

So what is the hope of repentance? The hope of repentance is that when you turn your back on the things of this world and fix your eyes on the kingdom of God, you gain hope. You gain the assurance that one day, you’ll walk down that path and enter the kingdom.

This is what Paul calls "the assurance of things not seen." Jesus said we shouldn't store up treasures on earth, but in heaven. It’s the same idea: don’t live for the things of this world. You can build the greatest kingdom here on earth, but if you read Joel, you know it's all just catching fire and turning to dust.

Joel warns that the day of the Lord is going to be dreadful. Look at Joel 2:11:

"The Lord makes his voice heard in the presence of his army. His camp is very large; those who carry out his command are powerful. Indeed, the day of the Lord is terrible and dreadful. Who can endure it?"

Paradise lies before us, but the day of the Lord is about judgment. It’s about God judging the world for its godlessness. The day of the Lord will be especially dreadful for those who are content to live in the wasteland. But it also affects those who follow Christ.

If you follow Jesus, you've already recognized that life in the wasteland is empty. You’ve turned from it and become a citizen of the kingdom of God. But you still live here. We talk about being "in the world, but not of the world," and that’s exactly what this is about.

Joel doesn’t say the day of the Lord is only dreadful for non-believers. He says the day of the Lord is dreadful—period. That dread comes from the ongoing destruction caused by sin. And we live in the middle of it. We live with the brokenness, the loss, and the suffering. But we don’t live with the same hopelessness as the world.

Imagine the hopelessness of someone who believes that the only happiness they’ll ever find is in what they can grasp in this world. If you don't have Christ, what else is there but to grab whatever you can and try to find satisfaction in it? But everything in this world turns to dust. And when it does, you have to chase after something bigger, better, newer. It's like an addiction—an endless cycle of seeking temporary pleasure before life runs out. It's a hopeless existence.

The Christian life is different. We live in the same world. We go to the same stores. We eat the same food. We raise our kids in the same neighborhoods. We share the same experiences. But we live with hope. The hope of the glory of God stands before us, reminding us that we don't have to cling to the things of this world. Our eyes are fixed on something greater: the kingdom of God.

We don't need to spend our lives trying to build a kingdom here on earth that is destined to fade away. We know there is something greater, so we spend our lives storing up treasures in heaven. We don't live for the benefit of self, but for the love of others and the things of God. That's what Joel is getting at here.

Now, notice the rhetorical question in Joel 2:11:

"Who can endure it?"

He doesn’t say "escape it." I want to point that out. He asks who can endure it. There's a common misconception that following Jesus means he'll fix all the problems in your life. Some people have been given a false promise that if they just have enough faith, if they believe hard enough—whatever that means—Jesus will make everything better.

But that's not the reality of the day of the Lord. It's not what Scripture teaches. If we think back to our 1 Peter series, we were reminded of the hard truth that suffering is a part of life in this world. That won't change until Jesus returns. We live in the day of the Lord under the weight of sin's effects. Jesus never promised we'd escape it in this life, but he did promise we would endure it. And it's the hope of paradise before us that strengthens us to endure.

So Joel asks, "Who can endure it?" That leads us to the key question: How do we endure the day of the Lord?

Joel gives us three prescriptions for enduring the day of the Lord:

1. Turn to the Lord

Joel 2:12–14 says:

"Even now—this is the Lord's declaration—turn to me with all your heart, with fasting, weeping, and mourning. Tear your hearts, not just your clothes, and return to the Lord your God. For he is gracious and compassionate, slow to anger, abounding in faithful love, and he relents from sending disaster. Who knows? He may turn and relent and leave a blessing behind him."

Notice the posture of the person who endures the day of the Lord. Joel mentions fasting, weeping, and mourning. Let’s start with weeping and mourning because these are internal. This is about the heart.

Now, some of you might think, "I haven’t cried since I was a kid," and that’s fine. This isn't about physically crying. It’s about a heart condition—a genuine sorrow over sin. There's a crucial difference here between Christianity and mere religiosity.

Most religions recognize human sin in some form. They say, "Do good things to make up for the bad things you've done." That's the formula: stop being a bad person and start being a good person. Occasionally, a god or gods might help, but the core idea is the same—fix it yourself.

Christianity is different. Christianity says, God is the one who changes our hearts so that our actions change. And that heart change begins with mourning. When we look at the brokenness of the world—the wars, disasters, injustice—we shouldn't respond with cynicism or skepticism. We shouldn’t ask, "Where's God in all of this?" Instead, we should mourn, realizing that the same sin that causes destruction in the world also resides in our own hearts.

Sin isn't just "out there." It’s in us. And that realization should move us to weep over our own sinfulness. That's why, in our liturgy, confession comes before assurance. Unless we begin with mourning, we can’t move forward into the hope of the gospel.

Once we recognize our sin, we turn to God in repentance. And that's where fasting comes in.

Fast as an Act of Penance

Joel mentions fasting alongside weeping and mourning. Fasting is a physical, outward expression of that inward mourning. It’s about setting aside something we rely on—like food—to remind ourselves of our dependence on God.

Now, fasting isn’t a requirement here. It’s a spiritual discipline that can be practiced in various ways. What matters is the principle: fasting is an act of penance. And penance, as a concept, has largely been misunderstood in Protestant circles.

We often reduce repentance to a feeling: "I feel sorry about my sin" or "I want to do better." But repentance isn’t just a sentiment—it’s a turning, a reorientation of the heart and the will. And penance is the action that flows from that repentance.

Repentance is turning from the wasteland and toward the kingdom. Penance is putting that turning into practice. It's not about earning forgiveness. It's about letting genuine repentance bear fruit in your life through tangible acts of obedience and sacrifice.

Think about it: If someone wrongs you, and they say, "I'm really sorry," but then immediately go back to doing the same thing—do you believe they’ve truly repented? Of course not. True repentance produces change. And fasting, like other spiritual disciplines, is one of the ways we express that change.

Rely on God's Character

Joel reminds us why we can have hope in the face of judgment. He says God is "gracious and compassionate, slow to anger, abounding in faithful love."

We don't endure the day of the Lord through sheer willpower. We endure because of who God is. He is faithful to sustain us, compassionate toward us, and gracious enough to forgive us when we turn to him.

The day of the Lord is dreadful. The world is full of brokenness, suffering, and judgment. But the hope of repentance is that when we turn to God—mourning our sin, engaging in practices like fasting to realign our hearts, and relying on his grace—he strengthens us to endure.

And as we endure, we do so with hope. The Garden of Eden lies ahead. The kingdom of God is coming in fullness. And we live with our eyes fixed on that eternal reality, even as the wasteland burns behind us.

Imagine this scenario: someone robs you, and later you find out it was your cousin. You’re angry. He goes to jail, serves his time, and then comes to you afterward and says, "Hey, I’m really sorry. It'll never happen again." You might accept the apology, but what would it take to fix the situation? How would that relationship be restored?

Years ago, when I was a youth pastor, I had an old iPhone. It wasn’t anything special, but it worked. One day, I handed it to a 13-year-old kid from my youth group so he could take a picture. He held it in this awkward way, lost his grip, and it fell—flipping through the air before crashing onto the asphalt. The phone didn’t just crack; it was completely destroyed. Unusable.

My first thought was, Well, guess I’m getting a new phone. But this kid was devastated. He was so broken about what happened that he insisted on buying me a new phone. I told him, "No way. You can’t afford a new iPhone." But his dad came to me later and said, "No, he needs to do this. He needs to learn something from this."

So, I agreed, but only on the condition that he pay me a hundred dollars instead of the full cost of the phone. The kid worked hard—mowing lawns and doing chores around the neighborhood—until he came back with a hundred dollars and handed it to me.

Why did he do that? It wasn’t because I demanded it. It wasn’t because I would’ve held the incident over his head. It was because he couldn’t bear the thought of leaving it unresolved. His remorse moved him to make it right. He didn’t just feel guilty; he felt responsible.

And that’s the difference between worldly guilt and godly remorse. If your remorse never moves you toward action—toward making things right—then it’s not godly remorse; it’s just guilt. You're upset because you got caught or because your actions caused you discomfort. But godly remorse moves you beyond guilt. It moves you to penance.

Penance isn’t about paying God back. It’s about demonstrating that your heart has truly turned from sin. It’s a way of saying, "I’ve wronged someone, and I’m going to do what I can to restore what was broken."

Think about Acts 2. Peter preached to a crowd of Jewish men, many of whom were responsible, either directly or indirectly, for the crucifixion of Jesus. When they realized what they had done, they were cut to the heart and asked Peter, "What must we do to be saved?" Peter didn’t tell them to feel sorry. He said:

"Repent and be baptized, every one of you" (Acts 2:38).

They couldn't undo the crucifixion. Jesus had already risen. But they could demonstrate their repentance through action. They went on to give their lives to the proclamation of the gospel throughout the Roman Empire. That's penance—turning from the wasteland and actively moving toward the kingdom of God.

Joel puts it this way:

"Tear your hearts, not just your clothes, and return to the Lord your God" (Joel 2:13).

I love this image of tearing your hearts. Some older translations say "rend your heart." That word rend is powerful. It reminds me of the story of Jonah.

You know the story: Jonah runs from God, gets swallowed by a big fish, and eventually obeys God’s command to go to Nineveh. When he arrives, he preaches a message of repentance: "Turn from your sin or God will destroy this city."

The people of Nineveh, starting with the king, took that message to heart. They tore their clothes, put on sackcloth, and sat in ashes. This wasn’t a casual response. Tearing their clothes symbolized tearing away their sinful flesh. The sackcloth and ashes were an outward sign of the internal mourning they felt. And when God saw their hearts—demonstrated through their actions—he showed them mercy.

But notice what Joel says: "Tear your hearts, not just your clothes." It’s a warning. Outward acts of penance are important, but if your heart isn’t genuinely broken over sin, those acts become empty.

This is a mistake Christians across all denominations tend to make. We often think that doing the right thing after we've sinned is what makes everything okay. But it doesn’t work that way. Doing good deeds doesn't erase sin.

Repentance isn't primarily about behavior. It’s about the heart. The change begins inwardly, and the external acts of penance flow from that. The actions are necessary, but they're secondary. The heart must change first, and then the outward life will follow.

So when Joel tells us to tear our hearts, he’s saying:

• Don’t just go through religious motions.

• Don’t think that outward acts, like fasting or giving or serving, automatically make you right with God.

• Let your heart break over sin, and from that brokenness, let action follow.

Penance isn't about earning God's favor. It's about demonstrating that our hearts have truly turned away from the wasteland and toward the kingdom. It's how we live out the hope of repentance—through genuine remorse, sincere heart change, and obedient action.

Without true remorse on the inside, outward religious activities become meaningless. It's a both/and dynamic: we need an internal repentance that produces outward penance, which then brings us into alignment with the kingdom of God.

So, let's return to our central question: How do we endure the judgment of Yahweh's day?

First, we turn to Christ. We rend our hearts, produce repentance in our lives, and live out that repentance with tangible actions. It has to start there. But so often, we make it about ourselves. We spend our time trying to put out the little fires in our lives without ever turning to Christ. We must begin with that inner remorse—mourning our sin and turning to Jesus.

2. Gather with God's People

The second way we endure the day of the Lord is by gathering with God’s people.

Did you know the Old Testament talks about church? Look at Joel 2:15–16:

"Blow the trumpet in Zion; announce a sacred fast; proclaim a solemn assembly. Gather the people; sanctify the congregation; assemble the aged; gather the infants, even babies nursing at the breast. Let the groom leave his bedroom and the bride her honeymoon chamber."

Joel tells the people to gather for a sacred purpose. The word assembly here is the same concept behind the word church. The command is clear: gather the people to sanctify the congregation.

In Hebrew poetry, each line has two parts, and they are connected. So when Joel says, "Gather the people; sanctify the congregation," the meaning is essentially, "Gather the people to sanctify the congregation." The two ideas are intrinsically tied together. If you want to sanctify the congregation, you gather the people.

Why do we gather? We gather for worship. We gather to be sanctified. That’s why we celebrate the Lord’s Supper every Sunday. In our confession, we rend our hearts before God, mourning our sin. And then, at the table, we set our eyes on Christ and glimpse the kingdom of heaven.

This isn’t some new tradition we invented. It’s deeply rooted in Scripture. If you visit other churches, you’ll notice differences in style or structure. But the core practice of gathering, confessing, and looking toward the kingdom is not about a model or a preference. It's about what Scripture prescribes. If a church isn’t pointing people toward repentance, confession, and the hope of the kingdom, they aren’t holding a solemn assembly in the biblical sense.

Think about the irony: the holiday season, from Thanksgiving to New Year's, is when many people skip church because they’re too busy. But Advent is literally the season of preparing to celebrate the incarnation of Christ. How can we celebrate Christ's coming by neglecting to gather with his people?

Church isn’t something you attend. It's something you participate in. The word church literally means "assembly." If we’re not gathered together, we’re not a church. We gather because this is how God sanctifies us—through his word, through the sacraments, through fellowship with his people.

In Reformed traditions, we call the Lord’s Supper a "means of grace." You might think, "Wait, isn’t grace what Jesus accomplished on the cross?" Yes—Jesus' sacrifice on the cross provided the grace that saves us. But the Lord’s Supper is a secondary means of grace. It’s a tangible experience of God’s grace for our sanctification.

By gathering, confessing, receiving communion, and setting our eyes on Christ, we are continually formed into his likeness.

But what do we often do when we feel distant from God or struggle with sin? We isolate ourselves. Our natural instinct is to stay away from church. Why? Because the flesh doesn't want to be sanctified. Our sinful nature aligns with the enemy’s deception and resists God's refining work.

Yet, Scripture tells us: when the world is falling apart around you, when you feel overwhelmed by sin or suffering, that's when you need to gather the most. Joel says, "Gather the people to sanctify the congregation."

And notice: Joel says to gather everyone. He says, "Assemble the aged; gather the infants, even babies nursing at the breast." I love this part. In every church I’ve ever been part of, I’ve seen this emphasis on gathering the whole community—from the youngest to the oldest.

We don't gather as isolated individuals. We gather as a family, as a people, as the body of Christ. And when we gather, God uses that collective act to sanctify us, shape us, and help us endure the day of the Lord.

Joel mentions gathering everyone—from the aged to the nursing babies. A church that truly belongs to Christ will reflect that reality. It will have everyone from the elderly to the infant, and everyone in between. God's people come in all shapes, sizes, ages, and ethnicities. The kingdom of God is diverse and inclusive of every generation.

He says to gather the aged and the infants. And long before we replanted as Palmdale Church—back when we moved out to the park—we made the decision to practice family-integrated worship. It means exactly what it sounds like: everyone worships together. Grandkids, grandparents, and everyone in between. We worship together as the family of God.

Now, not everyone understood it at first. I remember Bill and Maria bringing their grandkids to church. The kids would drive Bill crazy during the service, and every Sunday, Bill would come to me with the same question: "Why can’t we have kids ministry during worship?"

And, since Bill and I had that kind of relationship, I would just tell him, "Bill, because it's not about you. It’s about what it does in them."

That’s what Joel is saying. He tells us to bring the infants. Now, just to clarify, the Hebrew word here doesn’t mean newborns. It means toddlers—two- and three-year-olds. The phrase "babies nursing at the breast" refers to the infants. And these are the exact groups of people who often get left out of church gatherings.

Sometimes parents feel like their kids are too distracting or too much to manage. Nursing moms might feel self-conscious about bringing their babies to church. But Joel makes it clear: if you stay home because you think your children are a burden to the congregation, you’ve misunderstood what the church is.

We are not the church without you. We are not assembled without you. The presence of the aged and the young is part of what makes us a complete, covenantal community.

People sometimes ask me, "When we get a building, are we going to have kids ministry during the service? Or maybe a nursery?" And my answer is, "No. Absolutely not." We stopped doing that long before we moved out of a building, and we’re not bringing it back. We won't be the church without our children.

Now, if you're someone who gets easily annoyed by kids during worship, let me challenge you to think beyond your own preferences. Consider what it does for the kids.

Do you want your children to grow up thinking that church is just about having fun, hearing simplified Bible stories, eating fish crackers, and playing games? If you do that, then when they hit middle school and you tell them, "Now it’s time for big church," they’re going to be confused.

Have you ever heard someone call it "big church"? That's part of the problem. It reinforces the idea that children's ministry is "their church," and then the adult service is "real church." But church is one family, one community, gathered together in solemn assembly.

If we don’t teach kids from the time they’re one or two years old that church is about worship, about hearing God’s word, about confessing sin, about receiving communion—then we shouldn’t be surprised when they grow up and leave the faith. We never really showed them what the church is supposed to be.

When we made this shift in our church, Annalise and Anthony were still really young. They didn’t struggle at all with the transition. They just started bringing their coloring sheets to service, sitting through worship, and following along. And you know what? Even before they could read, they knew when it was time to open their Bibles because they saw us doing it.

Kids learn by observing and participating. If you model how to worship, they'll learn to worship. If you open your Bible during the sermon, even if they can’t read yet, they'll open theirs. And one day, you'll realize they aren’t just opening their Bibles—they're reading along. They’re following the sermon. And eventually, they might even start teaching you theology at home.

But that only happens when we treat our children like full members of the covenant community—not when we send them away to play games while the adults worship.

So, we gather. And we gather as a whole community—from the oldest to the youngest.

3. Plead for Grace

The third way we endure the day of the Lord is by pleading for grace.

I'll make this point shorter, and then we'll wrap up. But after we turn to Christ and gather together, we plead for grace because we know we can't endure this season of judgment on our own.

The wasteland around us is real. The suffering of the day of the Lord is heavy. But we have hope because God is gracious, compassionate, and abounding in steadfast love. So we come before him, confess our sin, rend our hearts, and plead for his mercy.

And the beauty of it all is that he will give us that grace. Because the paradise of God lies before us. And the fires of the wasteland are behind us. And in the day of the Lord, Christ sustains us as we endure.

Joel 2:17 says:

"Let the priests, the Lord's ministers, weep between the portico and the altar. Let them say: 'Have pity on your people, Lord, and do not make your inheritance a disgrace, an object of scorn among the nations. Why should it be said among the peoples, 'Where is their God?'"

Now, you might not think the words "between the portico and the altar" are the key to this passage, but they are. Let me explain why.

This phrase references the structure of the temple, which was designed to reflect the throne room of God. The portico represents the exterior wall of the city, while the altar represents the throne of God in the eternal city. So when Joel says the priests should weep between the portico and the altar, he’s describing the space between the walls and the throne—essentially, the symbolic location where all the people of God from every tribe, tongue, and nation will gather to worship him.

This is the everybody place—the place where God’s people, from all generations, all ethnicities, and all backgrounds, come together to plead for grace before the throne of God.

And what are they instructed to say?

"Have pity on your people, Lord."

That word pity stands out to me. Some translations use mercy or compassion, but I think pity captures the heart of this request in a unique way. Pity implies that we have brought the suffering upon ourselves.

Think of it like this: You tell your kid not to do something dangerous. They ignore you, do it anyway, and end up getting hurt. In that moment, you feel pity for them. You warned them, they brought it on themselves, but you still scoop them up, comfort them, and take them to the doctor to get a cast.

That’s the kind of plea we bring before God. We come confessing that the destruction we see in the world is a consequence of human sin—including our own sin. We don’t come before God pointing fingers at everyone else’s wrongdoing. We come acknowledging that the fires we see springing up in the wasteland of this world are the same fires sparked by the sin in our own hearts.

So we plead: "Lord, have pity on us." Not because we deserve it. Not because we've earned it. But because God, in his mercy, delights in rescuing his people even when we have caused our own suffering.

And notice who leads this plea. Joel says, "Let the priests, the Lord's ministers, weep."

This is one reason we have church leadership—elders and deacons—as Scripture prescribes. Some traditions reject the idea of leadership, thinking that everyone should simply gather and pray together without guidance. And yes, we all pray together, but there’s something significant about being led in prayer.

When someone stands up here and prays, they aren’t praying over you—they are praying with you, and leading you to pray as well. The same goes for worship. When Josué leads a song, it's not a performance for you to sit back and enjoy; he's leading you to sing along and worship together. The role of church leadership isn't to do the spiritual work for you; it's to help guide and lead you in it.

Everything we do in our liturgy is meant to lead you into this posture of pleading for grace. That’s what our liturgy is: a guided movement from adoration to confession, from confession to assurance, from assurance to the Lord's table, where we experience God's grace afresh.

And that plea for grace is central. If we don't grasp the depth of our need for grace—if we don't understand who we are apart from Christ—we will never fully grasp the beauty of the grace we have in Christ.

Joel concludes with this promise from God:

"You will know that I am present in Israel, and that I am the Lord your God, and there is no other. My people will never again be put to shame" (Joel 2:27).

God is present among his people, and he promises that we will not be put to shame. He sets before us the hope of paradise—a future in the kingdom of God, free from sin and suffering.

And when we finally stand in his presence, when we step into the fullness of that kingdom, we will not regret the time we spent turning our eyes toward Christ. We won't regret gathering with his people. We won't regret the moments we spent pleading for his grace.

You won’t look back and think, I really regret getting out of bed that Sunday when I was tired.
You won’t think, I wish I had skipped church to get my shopping done.
You won’t regret the hard work of bringing your little ones to worship.

What we will regret—what we often regret even in this life—is neglecting these things. We will regret the times we let the fires of the wasteland distract us from the hope of paradise. We will regret the times we chose convenience over communion with God’s people.

So how do we endure the day of the Lord?

1. Turn to Christ. Rend your heart, not just your clothes. Let your repentance be genuine and let your life reflect that heart change.

2. Gather with God's people. Don't isolate yourself, especially when life gets hard. The church is the place where God sanctifies us together.

3. Plead for grace. Come before the throne of God with humility, acknowledging your sin and trusting in his compassion and mercy.

The day of the Lord is here. The fires of the wasteland are burning. But paradise is before us. Fix your eyes on Christ, and he will sustain you until the day when the fires are extinguished forever, and we stand together in the eternal kingdom of God.

I pray that you don’t regret neglecting these things. God is at work among his people in the day of the Lord.

Now, if you’re looking at your notes—especially those of you with clipboards—I’m about to skip a big section and jump to the end here. As we approach the Advent season, remember that we are currently in the pre-Advent season. We're in the preparation for the preparation. But as we get closer to Advent, I want to encourage you to focus on three things.

These three practices will help you prepare your hearts and minds for the coming of Christ:

1. Prepare through Repentance

Just as John the Baptist came to prepare the way for Jesus, we should prepare our hearts through repentance. We'll talk more about John the Baptist in a few weeks, but remember his core message: "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near."

Let this be a time when you intentionally rend your hearts before God—daily or even hourly if necessary. Confess your sin before him. Fast if you feel compelled, as an act of penance. Look for areas in your life where you’ve wronged others, and seek to restore those relationships.

Repentance isn’t just about feeling bad for your sin. It's about turning from it and making things right as far as it depends on you. And what better time to do that than as we prepare to celebrate the incarnation—the coming of the Messiah who came to save us from that very sin?

2. Commit to Gathering with God's People

The holiday season is busy. I get it. From Thanksgiving through New Year's, life feels like a whirlwind of events, errands, and obligations. But don’t let gathering with God's people get pushed to the side.

We gather for solemn assembly every Sunday to confess, to worship, to look toward the kingdom of God. Make it a priority. Don’t let the busyness of the season cause you to neglect the one thing that can actually center you during the chaos.

And let me add a practical note here: next week, we’ll have Advent materials available for you to use at home. I encourage you to make it a priority. Yes, you might miss a day or two along the way. That’s okay. If you miss a day, just do two readings the next day. Don’t let the fear of imperfection keep you from engaging with these materials and setting aside time to focus on Christ with your family.

3. Plead for Grace

Finally, as you prepare your hearts, plead for grace. This is a time to come humbly before the throne of God and ask for his mercy.

We come, as Joel describes, between the portico and the altar—between the walls and the throne of God—where all people from every tribe and tongue gather in his presence. We come pleading, "Lord, have pity on your people." We don't deserve it. We've brought much of this brokenness upon ourselves. But we ask for grace, trusting in God's character: his mercy, his compassion, and his faithful love.

And that brings me to something I want to teach you today.

The Jesus Prayer

This prayer is not common in most Protestant traditions, but it has been around for more than 1,500 years. I learned it about twenty years ago—though for years I didn’t even know it had a name.

It’s called the Jesus Prayer. It’s simple and powerful, and it serves as a way to come before God when you feel overwhelmed—when you know you need grace but can't quite find the words to say.

Here’s how it goes:
"Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner."

That’s it.

The shorter version I often used is simply:
"Lord Jesus Christ, have mercy on me, a sinner."

People have prayed this prayer for centuries when they feel the weight of sin or the burden of life in this broken world. It echoes the prayer of the tax collector in Jesus' parable who stood at a distance, beat his chest, and prayed:

"God, be merciful to me, a sinner" (Luke 18:13).

The tradition around this prayer is simple: when you find yourself needing God's grace—when you feel overwhelmed or when you sense your need for mercy—you pray these words. It doesn't require complex theological language. It doesn't demand lengthy explanations. It's just a heart-level cry for God's grace.

Let's pray it together now.

Pray these words with me, out loud, as we come before the throne of grace:

Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.
Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.
Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me, a sinner.

Amen.