|
First
Reading
|
Psalm |
Epistle |
Gospel |
| Jeremiah 33:14–16 |
Psalm
25:1–9
|
Thesselonians 3:9–13 |
Luke 21:25–36 |
Perhaps it will happen when walking the trail around the pond at Sapsucker Woods. As you get away from the droning noise of traffic on Route 13, you gradually hear the song of numerous birds calling across the water. Perhaps this winter after a snow you’ll go to one of the state parks or down by the shore of the lake and as you walk and the snow crunches with each footstep, you begin to hear the drip of melting ice cycles off the pine trees or the rustle of gray waves slowly lapping across the frozen edges of the lake.
I've also had a reoccurring experience, when late on a cold night, I've carried the garbage can down my driveway to set out by the road. By the time I am halfway back, my eyes have adjusted and when I look up, because I live five miles from the city, I am able to see blinking satellites, bright planets, and thousands of stars, with the profound sense of being surrounded in the quiet darkness.
Neither the call of the birds, the crunch of snow underfoot, nor waves lapping the shore of a frozen lake began when I arrived. I didn’t call ahead to make it happen. The stars didn’t appear when I threw a switch nor icicles begin to drip at the moment I hiked by. They had been present all the time. Because I allowed my senses both space and time to adjust, because I was willing to leave a warm house or car and walk into the woods, or walk away from the streetlights and raise my face to the sky, I was prepared to enjoy distinctive sounds of winter, hear the small voices of birds, and admire the Milky Way.
In the same way, while Advent is a season of preparation, Christmas does not arrive among us because we have prepared. The secular world would like us to believe that it just would not be Christmas if we didn't bake those cookies, send a lot of cards, and purchase more gifts than last year. Oh, and of course we have to be the first to have that latest game or electronic gismo that we have been told is the latest thing and for the next six weeks will be in short supply. (Of course going out to find a cabbage patch doll to give to a child would be considered a cruel joke today.) Yes, this is the season when the world talks much nonsense. However, people of faith prepare because God promises to be among us and Christmas will arrive. Nothing will prevent it, not a UPS strike, not even a computer shut down at L.L.Bean. God's birth in this world can be counted on and that's the reason we prepare and make room.
The Gospel lesson today, like the Gospels from the past two previous Sundays, is cast in a type of writing that was very common in the ancient world during periods of great upheaval and change. Most commentators believe this and similar passages in the other Gospels are in reaction to the destruction of the Temple and virtually all of Jerusalem by the Roman army in the year 70. While well after the resurrection, the devastation of this city, holy to both Jew and Christian, was a severe shock. It was tempting to draw back, to become cynical and disillusioned so the Gospel writers wanted their readers to know that this is just part of the picture. Yes there will be earth-shaking things, but God still keeps promises. God's new earth means the healing of the nations, the healing of nature, of unimaginable reconciliation. God has made an immense commitment, and that's why, even events that threaten the foundations of our cultural and political institutions will not prevent the birth of God in our world. Herod tried his best to extinguish the light of the Christmas star and he failed. So it will be for every tyrannical force that tries to thwart God’s new birth upon this earth.
For Advent, the church offers us images of fig trees sprouting leaves, of dead stumps coming alive with shoots, of dry bones rising up and being joined together and transformed into a living community, and of people of faith being gathered together after generations of exile. We all are invited to unclog the hard drive of our senses, to stretch our mind, to empty our agenda, and give our soul plenty of space to hope. There are all sorts of ways to do it, of course. One or two ways don't fit all.
Advent calendars are wonderfully clever, yet simple, things. You open one small door every day, and at the end of Advent you have two dozen doors open, all ready to accept good news. That's the message of advent. God is coming near, new birth is about to take place. now is the time to open our gates, to remove obstructions in our way, to clear a path. That is why the cover of our bulletins during Advent shows a drawing of doors. This is a gift of time to prepare our senses, our minds, and our spirits. Advent calls us to prepare and face the future, not deny or fear the future.
I know that the birds will be calling, the squirrels chattering, ice dripping off the pine branches, and the waves continue to touch the jagged icy shore, even if I never get out to all those places this winter. I know the Milky Way is always there; but when I'm rushing from Wegman's parking lot to get home on time for dinner or to drive to a vestry meeting, it's so easy to forget. Advent season is often the rediscovery of the mystery of God's presence and the dawn of new births in the middle of night, and yet has been waiting for us to perceive its presence all the time.
And I offer this to you in the name of the Living God, Amen.
