John the Baptizer stands in Advent like a bare tree against a winter sky — stark, unadorned, and impossible to ignore. He speaks of repentance, of turning, of a winnowing fork in strong hands and a fire that does not go out. His words are not exactly comforting. They crackle. But hidden within his fierceness is a promise: something unquenchable is coming.
We often assume that unquenchable fire must be destructive — the kind that consumes forests, homes, memories. But Scripture offers another image of unquenchable flame: the burning bush that is not consumed, the pillar of fire that guides Israel’s steps in the darkness, the tongues of fire that rest on fearful disciples and send them courageously into the world. God’s unquenchable fire is not about annihilation; it is about presence. It is a holy, persistent energy that refuses to be snuffed out by fear, exhaustion, violence, or despair.
In 2025, it is not hard to feel like the world is running out of oxygen for hope. We are weary from conflict, division, injustice, environmental anxiety, and the daily onslaught of information that tells us everything is broken beyond repair. Many carry quiet griefs: lost relationships, fractured communities, unanswered prayers. The temptation in such a world is to grow cold — to protect our hearts by numbing them, to reduce our dreams, to settle for survival instead of hope.
And yet, Advent whispers that within you, and within the world, something cannot be extinguished.
The unquenchable presence of God is not loud. It does not always look dramatic. Sometimes it looks like the stubborn decision to love when bitterness would be easier. Sometimes it looks like forgiving one more time, praying one more prayer, believing one more time that light will win. Sometimes it is as small as a candle flickering in a quiet room — but even a flame that small defies a great darkness.
John points ahead to One who will come not merely with words, but with Spirit and fire. Jesus will embody this unquenchable life. Systems try to silence him. Empires execute him. Even his friends doubt and hide. Yet love proves stronger than the grave. Resurrection itself is the declaration that the fire of God cannot be put out.
This is where the second week of Advent meets our lives: what, in you, is unquenchable?
Is it the longing for justice? The instinct for compassion? The ache for reconciliation? The hope that the world can still become kinder, truer, more whole? These are not human fantasies. They are sparks of the divine fire placed in your soul.
To prepare for Christ this season is not only to wait; it is to tend that flame. Protect it. Feed it with prayer, Scripture, worship, and acts of mercy. Refuse to let cynicism douse it. When you feel weak, remember that the unquenchable does not depend on your strength. It is God’s gift within you.
And so, in this second week of Advent, may you feel the warmth of a holy fire that cannot be put out. May it burn away fear, refine what is false, and light the path before you. Christ is coming. And nothing can extinguish the hope he brings.
Inner Altar 