Advent Sunday,                                                Mr. Paul Jacobson

December 3, 2006

Zechariah 14:4-9 ,  Psalm 50:1-6 , 

1 Thessalonians 3:9-13, Luke 21:25-31  

Now when these things begin to take place,

stand up and raise your heads,

because your redemption is drawing near.

In the name of God-With-Us: Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

 

I look from afar;

And, behold, I see the power of God coming,

And a cloud covering the whole earth.

In the name of the God who comes to us relentlessly:

Father, Son and Holy Spirit. Amen.

 

It's always hard to figure out how to start, isn't it?

How to start a term paper?

How to start a musical composition?

How to start a difficult conversation with a loved one?

For that matter, how to start new liturgical year?

 

Sometimes it seems that the best way to start is to think about where you hope to end up. You have to accept that the road will curve along the way, but still, it's often easier to reverse engineer - to work your way backwards from the end. This is what the Church invites us to do today.

 

Here we are, bustling around, preparing for a serious holiday season. Don't we all want to skip forward a bit? To get to the beautiful prophesies of Isaiah? To the cherished Nativity stories of Matthew and Luke? And yet, here we are, all done up in blue and purple, slogging through another set of readings about the Second Coming. I mean, really, it makes us a little grumpy. After all, Advent is only four Sundays long - can't we just move on?

 

No, in fact, we can't. One of the challenges of living the Christian life is that we're an "already, but not yet" people. We are always looking in at least two directions at once - retelling our history and re-imagining our hope. Knowing and not knowing. Our ending is our beginning, and we always begin at the end.

 

It's truthful, if a bit trite, to say that it's all about the journey. What I want to suggest to you this morning is that it's all about the journeyING - the journey is a given. But it's how we start, what we put in the car, and how far we roll down the windows of our hearts that make the difference.

+ + +

How often, when we begin to hear the code words of apocalyptic writings - earthquakes, splitting mountains and roaring seas - how often do we turn our earpieces to the "do not disturb" setting? After all, these passages are slightly embarrassing, aren't they? Sure, we can process the thought of a glorious, not to mention well-garbed, Christ the King ruling over the whole earth. But all that judgment, all that agony - it's a tad bit too flesh and blood for us, isn't it?

 

On the other hand, many of us have been bludgeoned by fear-mongers in Christian clothing who spread a sort of brass knuckles "straighten up and get right with God or you'll get left behind" theology.

 

But either of these responses - dismissal or fear - result in the same things: paralysis and inaction. And as you look up the aisle of this church, you will see neither paralysis nor inaction among the virtues inscribed in the floor. There are other options. And to help us get there, let's look at these readings again, turning our earpieces back to the "on" position.

 

Zechariah foretells, imagines, hopes for the day when God is finally, well, all God, all the time. The Mount of Olives is split in two, but the basic elements of creation - light and water - once divided by God in Creation, are now brought together. There is no more night, and water flows constantly - winter and summer. This is cause for rejoicing.

 

Luke shows us a different facet of the much more familiar "woe to you" Jesus of his gospel. Yes, some people will faint with fear and foreboding, but we are told to STAND UP and RAISE OUR HEADS. Raise our heads? Surely not so that God can lop them off! We are commanded to raise our heads, to pull them out of the sand, so that we can see our redemption drawing near. This, too, is cause for rejoicing.

 

Let me be clear. I'm not talking about a "don't worry, be happy" theology. The judgment of Christ at the end of the ages ought to cause all of us some concern. All of us have sinned and fallen short of the glory of God - the glory that God created us to participate in, to enjoy, to be. And yes, it's true that there is something to fear - and some very real pain - at the convulsions and upheavals that come when God re-forms the earth, and our very lives. And, as we read in the NY Times this morning, even the Episcopal Church.

 

Now, I'm never accused of being a biblical literalist, but on this Advent Sunday, pain and agony are not what we have from Zechariah or Luke. So, if we can't respond with paralysis and inaction, what in the world are we to do?

 

The more we're stretched with the tension of trying to look both backwards and forwards at the same time, the grumpier we become. But I invite you this morning to hold both past and future together and to let your eyes linger for a moment on the present. The here. The now. Today's collect calls us to just such a stance - give us the grace to cast away the works of darkness.now in the time of this mortal life .

 

 

It's too easy, after all, to see only the cosmic in these visions, to make them theologically important and personally irrelevant. One of the temptations of Advent is to let ourselves off the hook - not to see the signs of the Lord's relentless and ever-present advent. It's relatively easy to believe that God has spoken and will speak again in the future. But do we dare to believe that God speaks now? To us? To you? To me? Do we dare to raise our heads out of the clutter of expectation and confusion to see that Jesus is continually invading our lives in ways both large and small.

Why isn't this a simple thing?

+ + +

One of the more pernicious legacies of Puritanism has been that desire has been rendered a defect, a weakness, a sin. I grew up in a religious and emotional tradition where simply wanting something was, in and of itself, sufficient reason not to get it. I'm not talking about greed or avarice. I'm talking about simple desire. God created us with desire - desire for union with Godself; desire to be in relationship with others - desire for communion. That desire draws us to this place, to this altar. For it is here, week after week, that we retell the history of our desire for God and God's desire for us, and re-imagine our hope for the time when our prayer

O Come, Desire of nations: bind in one the hearts of humankind , will be fulfilled, once for all.

 

So the challenge is to lift up your heads and dare to desire - and, more importantly, dare to believe that you are desired by the God who made you, and took on created flesh to make you free. Dare to take the Incarnation seriously - not only that Jesus is living and present in the Eucharist, but also that he is living and present in you and in each and every person we encounter, both the stranger and the deeply loved, in ways that shake and re-form and renew and redeem us.

 

Too often, my friends, I think we dare not believe that God desires us this much - or that we are actually worth being desired. For, desire and worth are intimately bound together. If we believe that there is a only a finite amount of good in each of our celestial bank accounts, why spend it now? You might need it later! Can you tell I was raised by Scandinavians? But I'm completely serious. If we go through life squirreling away the sparse scraps of goodness that we think are our lot, we will live sad lives indeed - lives that are not authentic responses to the call of the Gospel.

 

The more we clench, the more we hoard, the less able we are to be open to others, to be open to relationship, to be open to the working of God. So, as part of your new beginning this morning, take time - maybe as you receive communion, or in your prayers after - give yourself permission, take a deep breath and dare, even if for just a second, to believe that you are worth God's very life - God's very life! If you dare, and dare again and again, you will breathe more deeply, live more fully and, at the same time, be more open to others as they seek to find their own route to life in God. For ours is a God who relentlessly calls us out of the darkness of self-involvement into the light of self-offering. The bottom line is, do we hoard, or do we spend? Do we clench or do we relax? Do we tremble in fear or do we rejoice?

+ + +

In a few moments we will affirm that we believe in Jesus who will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead. But this judgment is not Jesus coming to "fry" those who are in some way deficient. No. We await the coming in glory of our Savior who will embrace everything in us that reflects God's image. Everything else - sin - is done away. For we believe that our sin, every sin, all sin, was nailed to the cross when Jesus was. It was paid for by his passion, and its lasting effect done away when he rose from the dead. The gift the church gives us every year is one more opportunity to encounter this deep truth -- and then to re-shape our lives in a continuous response to that self-giving, forgiving love revealed in the life and work of Jesus Christ.

 

So then, as you travel through this Advent, what will you make of those unexpected moments on your trip when your plans and expectations are shaken, when roads are closed, when the map has blown out the window, when the sun, moon and stars stand still, when the waters roar and the waves rush in? What will you make of these moments? For they will surely come. Will you dismiss them with a shrug? Will you roll up the windows and turn up the radio in fear? Or will you see in them signs of the Lord's coming to you in the midst of life and respond with repentance, trust and hope?

 

(9am) "When these things begin to take place," Jesus tells us, "look up and raise your head, because your redemption is drawing near."

 

(11am) When these things begin to take place, raise your head, look far down the road and, when you see the power of God coming, run, don't walk.

Run out to be embraced by the One who is our life and our light.

A blessed Advent to you all. Amen.