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Advent 1C
November 28, 2021
Luke 21:25-36
INTRODUCTION
“The world is always ending somewhere.” This quote from poet Jan Richardson is the basis for the series we are using during Advent, called, “My Heart Shall Sing.” The writers of the series go on to point out, “[The world] is always beginning somewhere, too… perhaps right in the same place.”
This is indeed the feeling of this Advent season. It starts each year with a bang, with texts about the second coming of Christ, and the terrifying signs that go with that time. Advent 2 moves into John the Baptist telling us to repent – which as I mentioned a couple weeks ago is its own sort of apocalypse, a moment of asking God to disillusion us about the lies we tell ourselves and unveil the truth. Not until Advent 3 do we start to get some of the joy characteristic of this season (though I warn you that in this liturgical year, that week’s Gospel includes the phrase, “will burn with unquenchable fire…” so…).
And yet, with each of these endings, there are, as our series highlights, beginnings, sometimes right in the same place. And so, our hearts shall sing – sing of the ways that God brings about new beginnings from all our endings. As you listen to today’s texts, and throughout Advent, listen for the endings and for the beginnings, and think about endings and beginnings in your life, and hear what song might burst forth from your heart in response. Let’s listen.
[READ]
Grace to you and peace from the one who is and who was and who is to come. Amen.
Decorations are going up, the Christmas music is in full swing, it is officially the Christmas season. Except at church – at church, we begin Advent, and we get to hear these terrifying texts! Yikes! Instead of the peace and calm we often associate with the story of Christmas, we hear today about distress among nations, fainting from fear, the powers of heaven being shaken. Quite a rude awakening!
Rude, maybe, but also honest. Because even as we may get caught up in this season of good cheer, there are plenty of other things going on in our lives that are not cheerful. We are grieving, and stressed emotionally and financially, and struggling with our mental or physical health, and dealing with broken relationships. And even if your life is full of joy and delight right now, we also cannot help but be painfully aware that at any moment, everything could change. One misstep, one dreaded phone call, one angry word – and your life could be changed forever. So in that way, the rude awakening the first Sunday of Advent, provides us with a gift. A text like our Gospel today echoes the precariousness and complexity of life and the emotions we experience, and it reminds us of why we need a savior. And, it shows us the hope and joy that this savior brings. Yes, we need an interruption to the struggles we face, but in order to make itself known, to draw us out of what can sometimes feel all-consuming, that interruption had better be pretty dramatic!
Pastor Emory Gillespie tells a story about her first Thanksgiving in a new parish. She had been invited to preach at the ecumenical Thanksgiving service in town. Wanting to look professional and impressive, she went to pick up a new pair of black pumps in time for the service. Her 2-year-old son strapped in his car seat, she was on her way… but instead of getting new shoes, she got in a car wreck. She writes, “In November’s freezing rain, a semi-trailer stopped behind us. Its headlights blasted into our car, showing me the broken glass and blood among us. As the truck driver lifted us into his rig I remember thinking, ‘Something had better interrupt this scene, and it’d better be immediate, and it’d better be big.’ Traffic wound its way around us. I worried for my son’s life. Finally, we heard sirens. The discordant, high-pitched screeching came at us like a symphony. Only in this and in a handful of other traumatic circumstances in my life have I heard something akin to an Advent invasion as it was intended to be – those sirens were Good News with capital letters.” (Christian Century, Nov. 28, 2012)
And that’s what Advent can be – is meant to be – in our lives: a loud, even obnoxious interruption into whatever trauma or fear we might be experiencing, one that promises to bring us our salvation. This reading from Luke reminds us of that, with all its drama and fear and discomfort. It reminds us that life is like that sometimes – distress, and fainting from fear and foreboding, and feeling the heavens shaken. But more importantly, it reminds us that even in the midst of all of these things that interrupt our lives and change them in an instant, we will find an even louder, more powerful interruption: sirens, announcing the Good News of our salvation.
The interruption on this first Sunday of Advent is another apocalypse – but these apocalyptic texts are not really about the end of the world so much as they are about finding hope in the midst of struggle. I remember when I was making decisions about cancer treatments, now almost 10 years ago, and so many statistics were framed negatively: “with this treatment option there’s a 20% chance cancer will return…” It felt like I was making decisions based on my reaction to fear, not the hope of recovery. So instead, I started framing them positively: “this option gives me an 80% chance of living a cancer-free life!” It allowed me to live in hope instead of fear. The cancer was still there, but this gave me a way to look beyond it.
And this is the lesson of Advent: to live in the hope of what is to come, trusting that, come what may, God is there in the midst of it. Yes, fear happens. Life is full of the unknown, the frustrating, the scary, the devastating, and things can turn for the worse in an instant. But in that, we have a hope we can cling to, an interruption that is louder and more powerful than anything life can deliver, and that is the hope that comes along with that babe in a manger. This is the salvation we experience right now. It is the salvation that Jeremiah promised in our first lesson today. And it is the salvation for which we still wait, as we await Christ’s second coming. That is why we call Jesus the one who is and who was and who is to come.
Well that’s all well and good… but how do we open ourselves to the possibility of that hopeful interruption? Or, in Advent parlance, how shall we prepare our hearts to notice and receive what God is giving us? Jesus gives us three ideas. First, he says, “don’t let your hearts be weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of life.” A practice I always move toward when I’m worried or stressed is one of more intentional gratitude, finding ways to give thanks not only in the midst of stressors and worries, but even for those things, because that helps me to see how God is working even there. When I find the gratitude in them, I can feel my heart soften, as it encounters there the living God.
As for dissipation and drunkenness… well, we can and should strive to avoid those literally, but also think of them metaphorically, as representative of all the distractions that bombard us this season. To get away from the persistent distractions, perhaps try to find a little bit of quiet each day, time for you to focus and not feel rushed – even if it is just sitting in your car in the garage for a few quiet minutes before walking into the house, or with your morning coffee, or before you fall asleep. Let this be a time just to breathe a few deep breaths, breathing in hope, and breathing out everything that would get in the way of that hopefulness.
The next thing Jesus urges us to do is to “be alert at all times.” Even as we strive to find some time to ourselves to look internally and find peace and focus, we never stop paying attention to what is outside. “Look at the fig tree,” Jesus says. Notice this very ordinary thing in your midst, and be attentive to the details. God isn’t only present in church, or in those most dramatic moments of life. Notice God in the sprouting leaves, the subtly changing sky, the sights and sounds of your daily life, and the tiny movements of your soul and spirit. If God can show up in a teenager’s womb, God could show up anywhere! So pay attention!
And finally, Jesus tells us to pray. Pray for strength, for endurance, for patience as we wait. Really, this should be the first thing – for how can we do anything without the power of prayer to fuel us? Maybe you can pray during that time you’ve set apart for yourself. Maybe in your car between errands, or at red lights. Maybe you could pray through setting up your nativity, or whatever other Advent and Christmas themed décor you have in your house, or while you’re reading this year’s congregational devotional. Find God in these ordinary things, too, and let them inspire you to prayer.
We’re still several weeks away from the Peace that is born in a stable, that angels will sing and that brings shepherds and kings alike to their knees. During this time, this Advent season, we are given a great gift: an opportunity to really think about why that baby matters, about why we need that kind of hope in our lives, about what situation in our lives needs a loud, saving, hopeful interruption.
Let us pray… Lord of Hope, you are the one who is and who was and who is to come. Help us to notice the blessings you bring, to be alert and ready for your presence among us, to pray for strength as we wait, and to live in the hope that is our Lord Jesus Christ. In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.
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