Getting Ready for Wonder

November 27, 2016
Isaiah 2:1-5     Romans 13:11-14

Happy New Year! Happy Advent!

I was talking this week with a retired pastor who admitted that she’d been a bit startled to realize that Advent would begin this week. “How could I have missed it?” she asked. Well, good question … except that if you’re not pretty much in tune with church (and to give her a break, she’s been stuck at home after surgery), there’s not a whole lot in the world to remind us about Advent.

I was in Home Goods yesterday looking at candles. Nope. Not a single set of Advent wreath candles.

Advent carols don’t ring out at the local mall—when’s the last time you heard “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” except in church?

No, the world around us is rushing toward Christmas. And most of us are right there with it. I’ve got a lot of my gift-buying taken care of, and I’ve ordered the ingredients for the holiday cakes I love making. I know some families that spent part of the last few days constructing gingerbread houses. I’ll bet some of you have your outdoor lights up. Even the church is decorated for Christmas!

And you know what? I’m okay with that. The way most of us celebrate Christmas does require a lot of planning and preparing. And it’s fun! You should have heard me laughing when I arrived home last Tuesday evening to find not one, not two, but eight delivery boxes piled on my front porch!

 

But here in the church we have Advent. And Advent isn’t necessarily what we expect. I have to admit that when I first became a minister I was bewildered to find all these depressing, apocalyptic passages in the lectionary for Advent. Most of them aren’t about the Baby Jesus at all!

Because Advent isn’t just about preparing for the coming of the Baby Jesus. It’s preparing for the second coming of Jesus at the same time that we prepare to celebrate the first coming. It’s like a double-exposure—two images superimposed on each other. Two for the price of one. Looking backward and looking forward at the same time.

Jesus’ birth 2000 years ago was God’s answer to people’s long need for a Messiah. Jesus brought hope. Jesus brings hope to us now. And the idea that we can look forward to Jesus coming again gives us hope for the future.

The very earliest Christians, including Paul, believed that Jesus was coming again, well, any day now. (That is why, by the way, Paul discouraged people from marrying. He really thought that Jesus would be showing up soon, right away, certainly within his lifetime, and he figured that people should be concentrating on that instead of on settling down and having babies.)

We can see that “any day now” understanding of Jesus’ return in our passage from Paul’s letter to the Romans:

You know what time it is, how it is now the moment for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we became believers; the night is far gone, the day is near.

Nowadays we don’t have that same sense that Jesus is about to come any day now, any night, surely in our lifetimes. We kind of laugh at people who are convinced that they know when that time is going to be, what date the second coming will occur. After all, we’ve seen those dates come and go, with no rapture, no end of the world, no Jesus riding in on clouds of glory.

And haven’t we been told from the pulpit, over and over again, that no one will know when the time is … and that we shouldn’t worry about it?

I’ll add my voice to all those other preachers to say exactly that. No one knows when the time will be. And don’t worry about it.

I’ll go a little farther with that, actually, to say that, no, we don’t know when it is that Jesus will come again, except that, really, Jesus comes again every day, every hour, every moment.

I had one of those moments last Sunday afternoon at a BSO concert. I’d bought my ticket months ago and really wasn’t paying a whole lot of attention to what I’d be hearing, though I did remember that it was to be Beethoven. Actually it was Beethoven’s 9^th. And they started by teaching the entire audience to sing the famous section from the Ode to Joy.

Freude, schöner Götterfunken
Tochter aus Elysium …

You may not know the words, but you can probably hum along!

Joy, bright spark of divinity,
Daughter of Elysium,
We are lit with fire as we tread
Within your holy place.
Your magic power re-unites
All that the world has divided,
All men become brothers,
Under the sway of your gentle wings.

All men become brothers—all people become family—under the sway of Joy, that gift of God.

When it came time in the piece for this section, Conductor Alsop turned to us and we sang—hundreds and hundreds of people sang about joy uniting us, and my eyes welled with tears. Jesus stirred in my heart.

When is it that you feel Jesus in your heart? Think about it. Jot it down if you like. And be prepared to tell someone today about how you know that Jesus has come to you.

 

Paul has some advice, in this letter to the Romans, on how we act—how we live our lives—when Jesus’ advent is important to us.

Let us then lay aside the works of darkness and put on the armor of light.

Lay aside the works of darkness. Works of darkness. Things that separate us from love—from the people we love and from God. I can’t give you a comprehensive list of works of darkness—you can probably come up with your own. Paul mentions reveling and drunkenness, debauchery and licentiousness, quarreling and jealousy … our own lists might include backbiting and cheating, condescension and scrabbling for power, cynicism and self-centeredness. Works of darkness—ways of living that separate us from joy.

Paul says we must lay aside the works of darkness and put on the armor of light. The armor of light. Picture it: there you stand clothed in light. In Love. In Truth. Integrity. Peace.
The kinds of things that keep you walking with God. The kinds of things that in and of themselves protect you from works of darkness.

One element of the armor of light—one that I hope we’ve all practiced this week—is gratitude. Being thankful. What are you grateful for this morning?

I want us to try a Gratitude Breathing exercise. Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. Breathe Jesus in. Breathe gratitude out.

Jesus in, gratitude out. It’s a second coming.

It’s nothing to be scared of, is it. Jesus comes again:
Jesus in, gratitude out.
Jesus in, peace out.
Jesus in, love out.
Jesus in, joy out.
Jesus in, wonder out.

Advent flies in the face of what the world tells us. The world says taxes, droughts, hunger, shootings … election fraud, fake news … rising sea levels, the KKK, ISIS. And Advent says Jesus in, love out. Peace out. Joy out.

Jesus in, loving your neighbor out.
Jesus in, teaching peace out.
Jesus in, spreading joy out.

 

There you are. The message of Advent. Go out and be a candle shining in the darkness. Jesus in. Light out.

Hope, and Love

November 13, 2016
Isaiah 65:17-25      Luke 21:5-19

Well. It’s been quite a week. Some people are giddy with glee; others are in deep mourning. For some people, the results of the election seem like the kind of good news we see in our Isaiah text this morning, where God says:

I am about to create new heavens and a new earth; the former things shall not be remembered or come to mind. But be glad and rejoice forever in what I am creating; for I am about to create Jerusalem as a joy, and its people as a delight.

For other people, the results of the election seem more like the message from Luke, where Jesus says:

Nations and kingdoms will fight against each other. There will be great earthquakes and wide-scale food shortages and epidemics. There will also be terrifying sights and great signs in the sky.

 We’re seeing “Not My President” protests, some of them including violence. Violence is never okay.

I am concerned not so much with these protests, though, as I am with the many, many incidents of violence and threat against marginalized people. Swastikas painted on buildings … hijabs torn from Muslim women’s heads … African-Americans called vulgar names, with the comment, “It feels so good to be able to say that in public.” The gay Presbyterian pastor who found a note on his windshield that started with “So, father homo.” I can’t tell you what the rest of the note said because I refuse to use that language, but his marriage and his person were menaced.

And schools! Children painting the N-word on bathroom walls, children taunting their classmates that they will be sent back to Africa or Mexico or Iraq. Students threatening lynchings to come. Students at a women’s college mocked by young men shouting that now it’s okay to assault women again.

I know that many of us did not vote for President-elect Trump, and many of us did. I trust that the Trump supporters voted for him for reasons far more honorable than his tirades against gays, immigrants, Muslims, the disabled …. but the reality is that the rhetoric of his rallies and speeches have emboldened hate and bigotry amongst many Americans. Not all, by any means, but many.

The question before us now, though, has nothing to do with who we voted for. The same question is before all of us: What do we, as Christians, do about the discrimination, hatred, and general ugliness around us? How do we care for our brothers and sisters who are endangered and terrified?

How can we not just tell but show these frightened people that there is hope, that the worst will not happen, that we, we Christians, will be there for them?

That’s what the Bible calls us to do, of course.

The Old Testament is filled with reminders like the one in Deuteronomy 10:19: “You must … love immigrants because you were immigrants in Egypt.” All of us are immigrants or are descended from immigrants. We are called to love immigrants.

And then there are passages like this one from Paul’s letter to the Romans, explaining how Christians are to live:

Let love be genuine; hate what is evil, hold fast to what is good; love one another with mutual affection; outdo one another in showing honor. … Contribute to the needs of the saints; extend hospitality to strangers.

Bless those who persecute you; bless and do not curse them. Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep. Live in harmony with one another. … Do not repay anyone evil for evil, but take thought for what is noble in the sight of all. If it is possible, so far as it depends on you, live peaceably with all.

Beloved, never avenge yourselves, but leave room for the wrath of God; for it is written, “Vengeance is mine, I will repay, says the Lord.”

If your enemies are hungry, feed them; if they are thirsty, give them something to drink. … Do not be overcome by evil, but overcome evil with good. (Romans 12:9-21, selected verses)

Overcome evil with good.

And then there’s the witness of one of the 20^th century’s most famous and most honored theologians, Dietrich Bonhoeffer, who died in prison after opposing Hitler. “Silence in the face of evil is itself evil: God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act.”

Northminster Presbyterian Church has a vision statement—a motto, if you will. Because of the radical love of Jesus, we make a difference. Because of the radical love of Jesus, we make a difference for the good. We overcome evil with good. For the cause of love.

And we start, I believe, by deciding each day that today we will stand on the side of love.

At the very least, this means common courtesies. Opening doors for people, allowing cars to merge ahead of us. It means “paying it forward.” It means reaching out in friendship to people who may be feeling vulnerable and afraid.

We will stand on the side of love.

That may mean standing up for people who are being discriminated against or attacked. Here’s a story from this last Wednesday, from a woman named Sheri Wanderer.

Tonight driving home from work I stopped to get gas. There was a man, I’m guessing early 60s, pumping gas. He appeared to be Arabic. I pulled in just as two young (early to mid 20’s) white men approached him. They begin to verbally assault him—yelling that he was not welcome here, and that Trump will send him back to where he came from.

I pulled up close, got out of my car and went and stood beside him. At first I said nothing. I just stood next to him facing the two young men. My presence seemed to confuse them and as they hesitated I asked (hopefully not unkindly and hopefully without snark), “Why are you doing this?” One looked down and they both started to walk away. As they did one turned and spat at the man standing beside me. I stepped in front of him, getting spat on instead. … The spitter looked uncomfortable for a moment. Then the two young men left.

I spoke just briefly with the man who was targeted with such hatred. He is from Jordan and has lived in Michigan eight years. His children were born here. He was so grateful. I had done so little, yet for him I guess it meant a lot. I came home and cried. [Sheri Wanderer, Nov. 9, 2016, Facebook post]

This woman didn’t plan to stand up for someone being tormented when she stopped for gas … but she was ready.
I hope we all will be as ready, if and when we encounter such a scene, to stand on the side of love.

Perhaps we want to do something proactive now rather than waiting for a situation like that one to arise. I’ve heard of churches handing out sidewalk chalk and inviting members to write messages of support. What if we did this across the street on the sidewalk in front of the high school?

We will stand on the side of love.

Perhaps that means “buying a field.”

The Old Testament book of Jeremiah tells a story of the people being forced into exile. Imagine it: the conquering authorities have said, You’ve got a week to get things together, and then we’re marching you to Babylon. What do you take with you? How can you pull together enough money to live on in a strange land? What if you’re being separated from family? Panic! Chaos. Amidst all this, God tells Jeremiah to buy a field, which he does.

For thus says the Lord of hosts, the God of Israel: Houses and fields and vineyards shall again be bought in this land. (Jer 32:15)

If you are afraid, if you feel that the country you thought you knew has been overtaken and sent into exile, take heart. Buy a field. Stand for hope. What group supports the country you want to see? Support them. Volunteer. Send money.

This might be a secular organization. It might be church organizations, like the PC(USA)’s Compassion, Peace and Justice ministry. It might be this church right here, as we prepare to start Celebrate Recovery in January and sometime in the new year to begin with a new pastor. Is this where hope rests for you? Buy a field.

We will stand on the side of love.

It may not be easy. It may get us into hot water with our neighbors, our relatives. We may risk money and security and social standing.

But isn’t that what Jesus said would happen, in the prophetic language of Luke 21?

There will also be terrifying sights and great signs in the sky. But before all this occurs, they will take you into custody and harass you because of your faith. They will hand you over to synagogues and prisons, and you will be brought before kings and governors because of my name. …

You will be betrayed by your parents, brothers and sisters, relatives, and friends. They will execute some of you. Everyone will hate you because of my name. Still, not a hair on your heads will be lost. By holding fast, you will gain your lives.                                  (Luke 21: 11b-12, 16-19, CEB)

This standing on the side of love thing may cost us. This following Jesus thing is risky.

And it’s worth everything.

That’s the promise: You will gain your lives. Lives, as Isaiah said:

where no more shall the sound of weeping be heard, or the cry of distress. Lives in which no infant will live just a few days, and all old people will live out their lifetimes. Lives where no one labors in vain or bears children for calamity.

Lives in which no American need live in fear.

Amen. And amen.