Christmas and New Year’s Eve lie close together on the calendar—separated by not even a full week. Yet to our feeling, the distance between them is immeasurable. One might rightly say that “feeling” is an unreliable measure here. For in many a “Christmas mood” lurks a great deal of false sentiment, incompatible with the gospel of Christmas and thus an obstacle to faith; and the “mood” of New Year’s Eve fares little better.

Still, for everyone, there is a sense of distance here. Christmas closes and fulfills the weeks of Advent. New Year’s Eve, however, inevitably turns our thoughts to a last will or testament. Along the relentless conveyor belt of life, we have all been carried another step nearer to death. One person says, “This year passed so quickly; I wish I could live it over again.” Another says, disappointed: “I would not wish it back.” Yet both are comfortless—one because life is slipping away from him, the other because life has already so thoroughly slipped from his grasp that he has no expectation left.

Christmas has brought the preaching of life revealed in Christ; New Year’s Eve places weighty emphasis on the confession of the prayer in the baptismal form: that “this life… is nothing but a continual death.” To speak of Advent is to reach for life; to speak of a testament is to acknowledge that there is nothing left to grasp, for death has already grasped us.

The Bridge Between Testament and Advent⤒🔗

Yet there is a bridge between testament and Advent. The one who prepares himself and his household for death hears here the proclamation of life to be revealed in glory. For Scripture tells us that David, too, came to his day of death. He had lived long, written many psalms, and spoken many words. But he too reached the moment when he had to dictate his last will and his “final words.”

That, in itself, would be no more significant than the testament of any other mortal; in fact, he would have been miserable as any other human being if his last words had not, by the grace of God, been a prophecy of Advent. But his testament concerned only the advent of Jesus Christ. That is why this dying word became a proclamation of life, a link between Christmas and New Year’s Eve, and thus gospel for all who believe today.

David’s Titles←⤒🔗

Remarkably, David emphasizes his own titles in his testament. He names his honours and qualities: “The son of Jesse… the man who was exalted.” That summarizes his life in a single sentence.

“The son of Jesse”—here he sees himself once again at home, in Bethlehem, with Jesse, where he lived his youth, unnoticed and forgotten, esteemed by none, not even by his own family. No one said, “That boy has promise.” Jesse himself was an unremarkable man—simple and poor. He had a few sheep, but even the youngest at home could watch them. Even on the day Samuel came with his mysterious mission, David was out with the sheep; Jesse thought there was no need for him to be present. David had nothing to his credit at home. No one could later say, “No wonder this lad made a name for himself; he came from a prominent family.” His beginning was “the son of Jesse”; his origins lay in nothingness.

“The man who was exalted”—that was the end of the story. He recalls everything God made of him: the election that lifted him from obscurity and set him on the throne; the election that gave him victory over nation after nation, making him into a figure of international renown, feared by all.

It was divine election at work in his life. Consider also the next pair of titles: “The anointed of the God of Israel, the sweet psalmist of Israel.” Here David extends his hand from his throne into heaven, for this he knows: “The fact that I sit here, in this place and with this glory, is because the calling came from above, and the ability as well.” It was the anointing that placed him among princes and world leaders. And is he not called “the sweet psalmist of Israel”? He does not mean that he himself wrote many psalms and thus became the nation’s favourite poet—the poet laureate. Rather, he refers to the songs composed about him and sung in his honour, like the familiar refrain: “Saul has slain his thousands, but David his tens of thousands.” He led Israel from triumph to triumph, and time after time the women went out with tambourine and harp, for his power gladdened the people, and each victory placed a new song upon their lips and in their hearts.

Reading these titles, we may say, “Pay attention! If this man is about to dictate his last will, it will be something worth hearing. From nothing he became everything; great in the sight of God and his people; a man after God’s own heart, a king beloved by his nation. Surely he will leave behind a rich inheritance. Surely this testament will celebrate his own glory, bequeathed now to the coming generation.”

God Speaks Through David←⤒🔗

Yet, strangely, the man who so fully emphasized his own majesty, saying “Listen, for I speak, I, the great king”—immediately begins anew: “The Spirit of the Lord spoke through me.” His second word is “I have nothing to say; God speaks.” Hear, O people: not the king of Israel speaks his last word to you, but the God of Israel speaks his great word. Your king was your pride, as your songs prove, but your God is your Rock; he alone is unshaken amid the storms of your life. Not I, but he.

This is strange. Why then did David first so deliberately highlight his own greatness? If he wished to point his people one last time to their Rock in God, why begin with “the man who was exalted, the anointed of the God of Israel, and the delight of your songs”?

The Ruler Who Is to Come←⤒🔗

It is because of the content of the oracle given him: “A ruler over mankind, righteous; a ruler who fears God.”

This is Israel’s longing, just as it is ours. The world is suffocated by tyranny. Then, as now, might made right. And is it not our anguish today that those in high office fear not God and therefore show no regard for man? Israel, however, was shown the beauty of the ruler who would come, in the spirit of Psalm 72. And Israel sang of David because he feared God and therefore judged the people justly, responding to their cries. But now the Word of God, which David may deliver as his last word, is this: That Ruler is coming!

That is why David first spoke of his own glory. He sees the people gathered at his deathbed, and their song falters on their lips: “We shall never have another like David.” To this sorrowful people, the king delivers his testament: “You have seen my rise, from the sheepfold to the palace? It is nothing. Do you call me ‘the man who was exalted’? Do you now lament, ‘His glory departs’? The Rock of Israel says that the great Ruler is yet to come. Do not look back at David and what you lose in him, but forward to the coming Ruler and what you gain in him. Do not hang your harp upon the willows because you can no longer sing of David; take it up at my death, for he comes—the Ruler who will teach you the new song of pure joy.

“Would you call me righteous? Be silent about David—does not Bathsheba stand as witness? Does not Uriah cry out? Have I been truly God-fearing? But I recall Rizpah, and Araunah’s threshing floor. Look forward with me to him who is coming, who alone may rightly be called Righteous, and whose reign is so suffused with godliness that he is truly ‘a Ruler who fears God.’”

The Light of Christ←⤒🔗

Come, brothers and sisters, David’s light is setting; but this is no tragedy. In all his glory, he has only lit a flickering candle. The light of Christ is rising. Come, beloved of the Lord—I, with my meagre end of life, with memories both bright and bitter; you, with your joys of yesterday and your cares for tomorrow—let us all look for him who is to come.

I in my grave, and you in your life, are being carried forward, day by day, toward him who comes.

Hope in a Dark World←⤒🔗

Now we may look around us this New Year’s Eve. In this harsh world where violence reigns, justice stumbles, and the Security Council of the United Nations plays its games; in this world where God is not feared and man is not spared—we see chaos and tyranny rising, and life’s brightness fading. We may see cracks forming in our own lives as well. For we are all moving toward the day of him who is righteous and God-fearing, him who was, who is, and who is yet to come. This year too, and all the days to follow, are filled with his advent.

That is why I can believe that the world shall blossom like paradise: He comes, the righteous Ruler over mankind, who fears God. Now life itself begins to bloom. He rises like the morning light, like the sun on a cloudless dawn, casting brightness after rain upon the green earth.

We have all seen such mornings—when rain has fallen through the night, and in the morning the sky stands radiant above the earth. The ground still glistens with moisture, but above it shines the soft sun in a gentle sky, on a morning without clouds. You know the scene: life seeming to spring forth before your eyes.

David says: “Brothers and sisters, do not say in your hearts: darkness falls upon king and people, for David dies. Your Rock has spoken: Christ comes like the fresh light of an early summer morning, bursting with triumphant life, rising gleaming from the night of rain. Dying, I lay hold of words that proclaim the breakthrough of eternal life. And I have reason—for ‘Is not my house firmly established with God?’ David’s dynasty is no trivial affair to God, no matter of indifference. He made with me an everlasting covenant, a serious and binding agreement, carefully ordered and well secured, sealed with oaths and thus guaranteed.

“Now all may slip from my grasp—life, throne, and people; Israel may be left desolate and lonely. Yet the testament of God lies secure, naming every treasure and guaranteeing each one.

“So I say: sing no more of me; no songs of praise now, nor dirges later. Sing of the covenant—well ordered and secure. Sing of the coming Ruler and the triumph of life in him. You have sung much of me, that I made your life flourish, that I was like the sun shining after rain upon the new grass. But you did not know what you sang. Salvation did not appear in me, and the good pleasure of God—your joy—does not perish with me. It is coming. For all that delivers me, all that gladdens me—will he not bring it forth? There is a covenant, after all; I pass on God’s testament as my own. This is not the end, not the low point; it is the beginning. The rising line will not bend downward; it will rise yet higher. Do not look at my fading light nor lament its setting; it meant nothing yet. Light and life are only in Christ. Children, let us, with our darkness and the night that falls over your life and mine, look toward the coming dawn.”

A Testament of Advent←⤒🔗

Thus we can all go forward again. For night hangs over the world, oppressive and dark. And all the watchmen, if they do not lie, say, “Morning has come—and yet it is still night.” There seems no prospect anymore—let alone speaking of personal shadows. This is a world of sorrow. But Christ is coming. In this world, each of us may well begin drafting our testament, yet this does not drive us to despair. For over the gloom of that testament shines gently and comfortingly the light of his advent.

No, the Christmas eve will not return; the stable and shepherds, the angels’ light and song, the swaddling cloths and manger—all these have long since served their purpose. The Child has become a Man, ascended to God and his throne. We do not see him now, in this darkness. But the testament has remained with us—the sure covenant. It speaks of all things: of the tree of life and the river clear as crystal; of gates of pearl and streets of gold; of the city that needs no lamp, for the Almighty God and the Lamb are its light. Everything has been plainly told and guaranteed.

So I say with David, now that all slips away from us: “There is a testament, well ordered and kept. Salvation is coming, and all God’s good pleasure too. All that delivers and gladdens me—he will surely bring it forth.” The night falls, but we need not ask the watchman: “What of the night?” For we are assured: the morning will come, the cloudless dawn, the sun shining upon fresh green life.

The Judgment to Come←⤒🔗

Indeed, I still see the injustice of this world—Americans and Russians, and all the powers of our time. But the closing lines of the testament speak of the worthless men, the sons of Belial. For David knew life. He knew the wicked outside his land, and within. They are like thorns that one must keep away from. And if one would deal with them, they prove as stubborn as a thornbush that has taken root—its spines spread out in an impenetrable net; you cannot break through. There is but one solution: to attack them with iron and wood and set them ablaze.

This is why Israel sang of David. He dared face these evildoers and cleanse the Lord’s vineyard of thorns. Now he is dying. Shall the people mourn, fearing that the thorns will overrun the vineyard again, now that no one will lift iron or wood against them?

David says, “The beloved of your songs speaks, the anointed of Israel’s God. Great I have been before God and people, not least for the wars I fought and the discipline I enforced. But let them not despair: He comes—the Christ. He comes with a flourishing of life that David could never give, and also with a judgment as terrible as none have ever seen. The iron rod and the unquenchable fire come with him.”

We see the wicked spreading over the world, clinging like thornbushes that wound, but this I know: Christ comes.

Night falls, and there is storm and rain, but with God we are not counted as nothing. And so, on the eve of storm and rain, I cling to hope: the cloudless morning will come, when the sun shines in unbroken splendour over all life in eternal glory. God’s testament proves to be nothing less than a message of Advent.

Therefore, I will sing of Christ, and with longing await his morning—the morning… oh, when will it be?