Isaiah 64: 1-9 Psalm 80: 1-7, 17-19
1 Cor. 1: 3-9 Mark 13: 24-37
Even so, Lord Jesus, come quickly among us. Amen.
My friend Katy and her husband Brian have a precious one year old daughter. Maren is the apple of her parent’s eye and an easy baby. She is outgoing and personable, and entertains everyone in her midst. She goes happily to her day care center three days a week, where she loves to interact with the other toddlers. A few weeks ago, shortly after Maren turned one, Brian and Katy decided that it was time for them to go away together….on a two night trip….without Maren. They envisioned a time of glorious, amazing, wonderful, unforgettable, mind boggling….uninterrupted sleep. So away they went, with Maren safely tucked away at Grandma and Grandpa’s house. Upon their return, Maren, who had enjoyed a perfectly lovely time with her grandparents, was extremely happy to see her mommy and daddy. She leapt into her mommy’s arms, threw her arms around her neck, and, at least figuratively speaking, she has remained there ever since. No longer is Maren the willing playmate at day care. Instead, Katy reports, she clings to her mother with all of her might, sobbing “nooooooo” as Katy peels her off of her limb by limb. She wakes at night, calling out for her parents, eager to insure that they have not abandoned her…again. When they are at home together, Maren insists on being held, no longer willing to play happily on her own.
When I asked Katy if I could tell this story, she answered, with a young mom’s weariness “Of course, someone ought to benefit from the trip away that Brian and I took.”
What Maren is experiencing is not uncommon for young children. She is still learning to grasp the concept of “return”. The idea that when her parents leave her they will return again.
“O that you tear open the heavens and come down” says the prophet Isaiah on behalf of the people of Israel. These are words from a community in pain, a community who imagines that God is not with them, that God has left and will not return.
And the Psalmist offers a similar lament: “Restore us, O God; let your face shine, that we may be saved. O Lord God of hosts, how long will you be angry with your people’s prayers? You have fed them with the bread of tears and given them tears to drink in full measure.”
The lessons of Advent do not find their place in the pre-Christmas frenzy that has already overtaken our society. Friday evening Bruce, Robert and I joined thousands of others downtown for the lighting of the Christmas tree, the carousel, and the Macy’s star. There was music from choirs, Broadway musical casts, and stars. Not one of them sang with the kind of longing we hear from the prophet Isaiah today. Not one of them pleaded with God as the Psalmist did today. Instead we heard that it is the most wonderful time of the year even as we ignored what was around us. We ignored the drone of the police helicopter that hovered overhead. We ignored the lines of police surrounding the crowd. We ignored the homeless who stood among us. Passionately longing for the perfect holiday season, we turned away from what faced us, preferring instead, what we imagined to be the perfect holiday.
Oh, don’t get me wrong. After all, I was at the tree lighting festival, as I said. I have already wrapped some Christmas presents and we’ve even hung a sprig of mistletoe at our house. But what does it mean to truly be present to what Advent calls us to?
To dwell in the season of Advent means that we must be able to acknowledge and dwell in the hurts of the world, the hurts of our community, the hurts of our lives, and the hurts of our hearts. We cannot ignore the hunger, violence, poverty, and strife that are present in the world and in our corner of it. And we cannot ignore the hurt that is in our lives…the broken relationships, the ways we disappoint others and ourselves, the unrealized dreams, the losses of loved ones that come too soon. And we cannot ignore the hurts of our hearts, those painful places that are almost too tender to touch.
When we, as a community, then, can acknowledge that hurt, we can step into Advent. We can hear the words of the prophet and the words of the Psalmist. Like children, we long for our parent to return to us, to come again with love and faithfulness. We remember and trust in the faithfulness of God.
Stir up your might and come to save us! Restore us, O God! O that you would tear open the heavens and come down!
Mark’s Gospel for today reminds us that even as we call for God to return, we do not know, we cannot know, when God will come again. And so what we do is live as people who expect God to return at any moment. And this is where we take a lesson from baby Maren. We don’t wait for God’s return with fear and trembling, we wait with eager expectation! Our heavenly Father…our loving mother, who gathers us like a hen gathers her chicks, is coming again! We believe this! We know this to be true!
A couple of weeks ago Dick Chapman told me that he had been giving a lot of thought to Jesus, Heaven, and Hell, as he journeyed through the final weeks and days of his life. I asked Dick what conclusions he had drawn and he told me that as long as we have Jesus, we know that we will have heaven, and hell will not matter. You see Dick knew, as we know, that through his life, death, and resurrection Jesus had made a way for us to God, our divine parent. And Dick lived and died in the knowledge and certainty of God’s presence with us.
And this is where we find the way the two parallels of Advent: that we are both a community of hurt and a community of hope. Advent, this time of waiting for Jesus, offers us the time and the space to acknowledge our presence in both communities. Advent offers us the time to recognize the differences between living as the Body of Christ and living as people in the world. That there is a difference in waiting in Advent and in a world that has merchandised Christmas. What we are waiting for, as the Body of Christ, in Advent is not a winter wonderland or the most wonderful time of the year. We are waiting for the coming of Christ into a world that is weary, into a world that is hurting, and into a world that is crying out for God’s return.
Eventually, Maren will come to recognize the signs that her parents are about to return. The gathering of her clothes and bottles as they are placed in her diaper bag or suitcase. The reaching for a coat or gloves. Signs that mom and dad are coming back. If we look around us, we too, can see signs of the inbreaking of the reign of God. We see signs that, although it feels as though God has abandoned us, God is truly present, always present, breaking through in unlikely and unexpected ways.
God is present in the ways the people work for justice and righteousness.
God is present in the strong Amen of a granddaughter, praying with her family after her Morfar has just died.
God is present in the ways a congregation welcomes homeless women into their midst.
God is present in the ways a meal is prepared and served by teenagers.
God is present in movements toward economic alternatives.
God is present in faithful Stewardship of our gifts and time.
God is present in water and Word as Archie’s great granddaughter, Jocelyn, was baptized this week.
God is present in bread and wine, at a table set for us.
Even as we cry out for God to return to us. Even as we wait in this time of Advent for Jesus to come and come again, we wait with certainty and we wait with knowledge that we are loved as and called beloved children of God, whose coming is promised and eagerly awaited.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
0 Comments