Sermon for 1st Sunday of Advent: 30 November 2014
Sermon
Sunday, 30 November 2014
The Rev.
Carrie B. Smith
1st
Sunday of Advent
"O, that you would tear open the heavens and come down..."
"O, that you would tear open the heavens and come down..."
Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus
Christ.
This is the first Sunday of Advent, and so we begin a season
of anticipation and preparation. In the church, in our homes, and in our
hearts, we are making space for Emmanuel, God-With-Us. As the days are getting
shorter and the nights longer, more than ever we need the light of Christ to
shine in the darkness. Like the Israelites in today’s Isaiah reading, who longed
for a sign that God was still on their side, we also long to know God’s
unmistakable presence with us today. We want to see Jesus! O Come, O Come,
Emmanuel! Stir up your power, Lord Christ, and come!
It may be difficult for others to imagine how God could ever seem
far away when you live in Jerusalem, the holy city. After all, people come here
from around the world to feel closer to God. As early as the 4th
Century, Paulinus of Nola wrote, “No
other sentiment draws people to Jerusalem than the desire to see and touch the
places where Christ was physically present … and to say 'We have gone into his
tabernacle, and have worshipped in the places where his feet have stood.'"
Indeed, if ever there was a place that should feel awash in the presence of the
divine, this is it.
But too often, God shows up in this place chiefly in political
rhetoric or on newspaper opinion pages. God’s name is invoked both as
justification for violence and as the root of all that is wrong in the Middle
East. It can seem at times that God is only “with us” in Jerusalem as the star player
in a dangerous game of “whose city is it anyway?”
There are other reasons, too, why God may seem distant or out
of reach. We’re entering a new church year today, and to be honest, the last
year is one we might be glad to bid farewell. This year has brought us the
tragedy in Gaza and its ongoing aftermath; Christians persecuted across the
Middle East; the devastating losses and continuing threat of ebola in Africa;
and the increased violence and fear here in Jerusalem. These are just a few good
reasons why we might join the prophet Isaiah in crying, “Where are you, God? O
that you would tear open the heavens and come down!”
Although the prophets warned “Woe to you who long for the day
of the Lord!”, it’s tempting to imagine how a good display of divine fireworks might
be just the thing to disrupt the conflict machine in this city.
O that you would tear open the heavens and come down! O that
you would part the sea, or speak to us from a burning bush, or send a whale to
swallow up the many self-appointed prophets in this place. O that you would
send us a choir of angels and a star to guide our way.
O that you would just show up, God, the way you used to!
Henri Nouwen echoed this sentiment, writing:
"I keep expecting loud and impressive events to convince
me and others of God's saving power...Our temptation is to be distracted by
them...When I have no eyes for the small signs of God's presence--the smile of
a baby, the carefree play of children, the words of encouragement and gestures
of love offered by friends--I will always remain tempted to despair. The small
child of Bethlehem, the unknown man of Nazareth, the rejected preacher, the
naked man on the cross, he asks for my full attention. The work of our
salvation takes place in the midst of a world that continues to shout, scream,
and overwhelm us with its claims and promises."
It might be true that things in this city—and in the world—would
be clearer if God revealed God’s self in a more dramatic fashion today. In a
world that prefers grand parades, spectacular fireworks, and displays of great power,
our Christian witness is odd! We proclaim something quite scandalous, in fact: We
proclaim that God, the creator of all things, is with us as a defenseless baby.
God is with us as an ignored prophet. God is with us as a convicted criminal. Furthermore,
we believe God didn’t just act in the world once, a long time ago, but is still
coming to us today—not only in the manger, but in our hearts, and in the bread
and wine, and in our neighbor. Behold, God is doing a new thing: God is with
us!
It’s a shame, really, that we save hymns like “O Come, O Come
Emmanuel” for just these four short weeks in Advent. After all, “O Come
Emmanuel” –come, God-with-us – could be the theme song for the whole of the Christian
life! As we heard in the Gospel according to Mark today, we are always to keep
the Advent spirit of preparation and anticipation. We are to keep awake and
watchful for the coming of the Lord, for Jesus said: “About that day or hour no
one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.
Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come.”
We are always to be on the lookout for the coming of Christ—whether
he is coming in the clouds in great glory and power on the last day, or whether
he is being born in our hearts, every day. So when we arrange and display the
manger scenes in our homes, complete with Mary, Joseph, the shepherds and wise
men and all the other important characters, we aren’t just remembering an event
that happened 2,000 years ago. And when the youngest members of Redeemer present
the Christmas Pageant in a few weeks, they won’t be reenacting a fairy tale.
Rather, whenever we tell the story, or set up our crèche scenes,
or visit the sites of those long ago events, we are preparing ourselves to
encounter God-with-us again. Whenever we contemplate the humble place where the
divine came to us in the flesh, we attune our hearts and minds to see him born
again. Awake and alert, we are ready!
Awake and alert, we see how Christ comes as the forgotten
families in Gaza with no roof, no electricity, no food, and no future.
Awake and alert, we see how Christ comes as your neighbor who couldn’t
access critical medical care because he was stuck at the checkpoint.
Awake and alert, we see how Christ comes as the children of
this city, caught in the crossfire between extremists of every kind.
Awake and alert, we see how Emmanuel, God-with-us, comes to
us, again and again, as the outcast, the refugee, the child, the accused, and
the condemned.
And so, as we begin these four weeks of Advent, anticipating and
preparing for Christmas, here in Jerusalem we are not waiting for the next act
of violence. We’re not waiting for the next words of hate. We’re not waiting
for the next shoe to drop.
We wait, we hope, we pray, and we sing, preparing our hearts
to receive again the God of the parted sea, and of the burning bush, and of the
giant fish, who was revealed to us as the God of the manger, and of the cross,
and of the empty tomb. O come, O come Emmanuel! Stir up your power, Lord
Christ, and come.
Let us pray.
God of hope, when Christ your Son appears – whether today, or
on the last day – may he not find us asleep or idle, but active in his service
and ready. Amen.
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