Sermon - December 1 - First Sunday in Advent

First Sunday in Advent – Year B
Mk 13:24-37 (Mt 24:42)                                                        

A More Glorious Future

One of the periodicals I subscribe to is The Christian Century.  It is a collection of articles, written by various people covering a wide range of contemporary issues.  Pastor Honeycutt is a regular contributor.  If you have not read the articles he has published, I encourage you to do so. 

Included in each issue is a bible study.  Suzanne Guthrie is an Episcopal priest and writer from Accord, New York.  She included in her study a story about the Northern Lights.  If I had never left the Carolinas, I probably would not have understood what she was talking about.  But having lived in the Upper Peninsula of Michigan for eight years, I developed an appreciation for the wonder of that which she describes.

Pastor Guthrie's comments are a response to her reading of the Advent Gospel texts.  In particular, her words relate to the parallel passage in Mark 13:33 – Beware, keep alert;  for you do not know when the time will come.

She writes:  "Once, in my childhood, the sky opened its mysteries.  My mother woke up the whole family, and told us to put on our coats and come out on the front lawn.  The sky blazed with luminous pictures.  Moving light like massive theater curtains billowed in a silent storm, suspended over us from somewhere deep in heaven.  Random lights exploded like fireworks, and confetti streamers...

"The stormy sight should have been deafening, for the lights filled the sky from just above us as far into space as we could see and the movements were as wide as the horizons.  But the aurora was silent.  We would have slept through it but for my mother's wakeful eye.”

She continues, “That night we simply beheld what is often there, but is obscured by sleeping senses, like the silent presence of seraphim blazing amid the smoky train of God's mantle.  That night we saw what is there but what we often cannot see…  When the northern lights faded we went inside."

"That night we simply beheld what is often there, but is obscured by sleeping senses."  Juxtaposed with Mark 13:33, Beware, keep alert;  for you do not know when the time will come,  Guthrie's writing allows us to imagine all that we miss simply because we are not wakeful enough to see it.  It is there, but our sleeping senses do not perceive.  It is given, but our numbed limbs cannot reach out.  Without a wakeful, watchful guide, we allow that which is spectacular to peacefully pass us by.

It's Advent once more.  That time in the life of the Church where we forget about the Christmas and Easter stories and focus instead on the anticipation of Messiah's arrival.  It is time for preparing, a time to practice waiting, a time to shake sleep from our droopy eyes and look for the One who comes.  It is a time to call forth all the places in our lives and in our world where Christ's presence is still needed.

Some people claim that Lent is more personally painful.  But I believe it is Advent.  In Lent, those fifty days prior to Jesus' crucifixion, we look at what we have done wrong, of how we have disappointed God or our neighbor.  But during Lent we are at least given hints of what we ought to do to make the whole thing work out.

But Advent, this time of waiting, is more demanding.  Here there are no simple solutions of what we ought to do or what we ought to avoid.  During this season of the year we are challenged to look for that which is lacking, to focus on the places in our lives where there is a void or a need.  Even when we do discover them, we cannot act - we can only wait, and watch and hope that Messiah will come and fill the emptiness.  I think that Advent is more personally painful, more spiritually demanding, more faith centered.

The season of Advent mimics the centuries during which the people of God waited for the promised savior.  The time between Isaiah's prophesy and the birth of Jesus in Bethlehem was at least 700 years.  But the hope Isaiah expressed was even older.  The promise of Messiah was already popular by the time Isaiah prophesied.  Even before him there were those who had begun to look for the arrival of one who would bring shalom – peace - to God's people.  They waited, and watched and anticipated;  hoping that each birth would be the One who had been promised by God.

Our wait stretches over four Sundays, the four Sundays prior to December 25.  During these few short weeks we mimic their wait of centuries.  Like them, we are called upon to use this time to dream, to imagine what our lives would be like if Messiah were to come.  What would be different, what would be changed, where would the improvements occur? 

We sometimes grow impatient with those whose expectations were not met in Jesus of Nazareth.  We blame them for rejecting him and insisting that he be hung upon a cross.  But remember that these were people who had spent their entire lives waiting and imagining what it would be like when this Promised One arrived.  They had had a lifetime to imagine what it would be like.  They had devoted tremendous spiritual energies to picturing what would occur at that magical moment.  No wonder some of them were disappointed.  The opportunity for misunderstanding was tremendous. 

Waiting, and watching, and anticipating causes one to develop strong ideas of how things will be different.  Focusing on all the places in one's life where Christ is needed builds within one a powerful expectation, a hunger or thirst that cannot be denied.  For hundreds of years mother had told son, father had shared with daughter their hopes and expectations.  Finally, when one comes who looks like he may be the One, all those expectations come crashing forth. 

Maybe it is the experience of what happened the last time that causes us to be shy about our expectations.  We remember how those who had anticipated Messiah became those who turned and insisted upon his death.  We do not want to repeat their mistake.  And so we tell ourselves that if we do not "expect" then we cannot be disappointed and thus we could never turn.   

Advent is personally painful because observance of this season means that we look at the places where we do need Christ.  We focus on voids in our lives, in our world, and we lift them up in the hope that God will see, that God will come, that our need will be met.  It is a painful experience.  It is risky business.  

But unless we offer the emptiness of our lives, God can never fill it.

Where do you need Christ?  In your marriage;  in your relationships with co-workers;  in dealing with your kids;  in accepting illness and death;  in remaining hopeful for a starving and warring world;  where is Christ needed?

If we spend our time trying to create wonderful celebra­tions, the best we can hope for is the opportunity to forget a few of our troubles for a little while.  Only if we give over our lives and our needs can Messiah ever come and complete that which is lacking.

I should acknowledge that even though I lived in Northern Michigan for all those years, I never saw a full display of the Northern Lights.  I could follow the lead of the pastor who wrote the article in Christian Century and blame my inability to see upon the street lights or the positioning of my house.  But in the end I know that the reason I did not seen them was that I didn’t make an effort to look.  I didn’t go out on the porch each evening before bed.  I didn’t take late night walks through the darkened neighborhood.  The awesome sight was often there, I simply allowed my senses to be obscured by sleep.

Advent is a time to wake ourselves, to open our eyes and look so that we might never again miss the visit of the One who does come into our lives, into our homes, into our world.

Amen.