Sermon for 2 Sunday in Advent 2020

 

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Sermon for Sunday 6 December 2020

Lutheran Church of the Redeemer, Jerusalem

The Rev. Carrie Ballenger

Second Sunday in Advent

Mark 1:1-8

Let the words of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable to you, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer. Amen.

Over the past week I’ve had a series of dreams, each of them revolving around a trip I’m supposed to be taking, and especially how unpacked and unprepared I am for said trip. In one dream, it was my small children (who in reality are now grown) who needed their suitcases packed. But when the car came to pick them up, I hadn’t prepared a thing. The next night, I dreamt I was going away for several weeks, but when I got in the taxi to the airport, I realized I hadn’t arranged for anyone to feed my cat. And another night, all my dreams were about preparing snacks for an upcoming cross-country road trip. My mind was going through the shopping list again and again and again: Crackers. Cheese. Apples. Grapes. Water bottles. Pretzels. And wine…for when we arrived, of course.

Now, there are some easy explanations for why I would be dreaming about travel. It’s been 10 months since I flew on an airplane, and I’ve only ventured outside of Jerusalem a handful of times since March. Christmas is coming soon, and I’m thinking a lot about how this year I’ll be spending it here in Jerusalem, rather than seeing my faraway kids and parents and friends. Like you (and the rest of the world) I’m clearly missing the privilege to pack up and get away, even for a little bit.

But that dream theme of not being ready—I think this has to do with the fact that I feel unprepared for life in general these days. To be fair, there’s not much that could have prepared us for what the year 2020 has brought. As we look toward the new year, I imagine those dreams of not being packed, of not even having enough snacks prepared, have something to do with my trepidation about 2021 and what it might bring.

But aside from all of that, this week’s odd dreams have really made this week’s Advent Gospel text meaningful.  In the first chapter of the Gospel according to Mark, we read that the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, begins with John the Baptist. John, we learn, is the messenger prophesied by Isaiah. He is the one sent ahead of the Messiah, whose job is to announce: “Prepare the way of the Lord! Make his paths straight.”

The message of Advent is: Jesus is coming soon. In fact, he is always on his way! The love of God and the kingdom of heaven are being born into our lives every day—not only once a year, thanks be to God. But how exactly are we to be prepared for that? What does it mean to prepare the way, to make his paths straight? “Joy to the world, the Lord has come. Let earth receive her king!” says one of our favorite Christmas hymns. But maybe you, like me, are feeling ill-prepared to receive anyone at this moment.  Maybe you, like me, feel you need a little bit more time to pack, to clean, to gather snacks.

John appeared in the wilderness, preaching “Prepare the way of the Lord.” And then people from all over, including all the people of Jerusalem, flocked to the river Jordan to be baptized by him. When they arrived, John gave them a powerful message about confession and repentance and forgiveness of sins. Then he dunked them in the water and told them: “One who is more powerful than me is coming.”

When I read this passage, what I understand about John’s message is that being prepared for the Lord’s coming isn’t about having it all together. It’s not about being put together, either—after all, John was walking around wearing camel’s hair and eating insects. Wear those COVID sweatpants without fear, dear friends!

But what is clear is that being prepared for the Lord has something to do with confession and repentance. It has something to do with telling the truth about ourselves, about the ways in which we all fall short of the glory of God. We can have a beautifully decorated home, a perfectly balanced bank account, and a spotless reputation, but if we aren’t acknowledging the truth about ourselves, then actually there’s no room in the inn. Unless we confess and repent, we aren’t prepared to receive anything new, because we’re too busy preserving an old story. But when we come to the river, when we come to the waters of grace, we make space in our lives, and in our hearts. We make space for God’s Good News of forgiveness and mercy.

We make space for love.

We make space, even, for the unexpected.

Most of my childhood memories of Christmas are centered around my Grandma and Grandpa Nelson’s house in rural Iowa. Although my family moved a lot throughout the Midwest, we lived within a 2 hours’ drive of my grandparents’ tiny town of 300 people until I was a teenager.

One Christmas, when I was about 10 years old, we made it to my grandparents’ house just before a massive snowstorm swept into the area. As surrounding highways were closed due to ice and snow, and businesses shuttered early, we were grateful to be in a warm house, with plenty of food and nowhere to go until the storm passed.

In the early morning hours of Christmas Eve, as we were all sleeping, the wind and snow were swirling outside. It was what we called in Iowa a “white-out”—meaning it wasn’t actually snowing, but the snow was creating a curtain in front of you. You truly couldn’t see a foot in front of you.

In our comfy house, all was calm. All was quiet.

And then, something unexpected. A knock at the front door.

It was about 2 in the morning, but my grandpa jumped out of bed to answer the door, and was surprised to see standing there a husband and wife, a grandmother, and a tiny baby.

My Grandpa pulled them in safely out of the storm and into the warm living room.

I remember waking up at the commotion and joining them in the living room. We they were on their way from the airport in Omaha to Storm Lake, just a way up the road. When they realized the roads were impassable, they drove through my grandparents’ tiny town until they saw a phone booth. They called the sheriff, who told them they had no way out of the area. But he said:

“See that white house in front of you? That’s Bill Nelson’s house. He’s a good man. If you knock on the door, he’ll give you shelter tonight.”

And that’s how this little family found their way to our house on Christmas Eve.

If it sounds like a movie script, I promise it felt like it that to me, too.

My grandparents didn’t have a large house, but they made room for this little holy family. My grandma always made enough food for an army anyway, so we shared our Christmas feast, and told stories, and loved on the little baby.

When the roads finally cleared on Christmas Day, we said our goodbyes and they made it to their family Christmas at last. For 25 years after that day, my grandparents Christmas cards from that family, along with photos of the baby as she grew.

This story came to mind this week as I have thought about being prepared, and what that looks like. I have to say, if my grandma and grandpa had known they would be hosting a young family with a 6 week old baby for Christmas, they probably would have done a bit more in advance. They might have secured a cradle for the baby, and cleaned more thoroughly, and bought extra snacks. Being strangers, we all might have been a bit nervous to meet this family. Who knows, we might have even said: Sorry, there’s no room in the inn. We don’t need that extra drama.

But we didn’t know they were coming. We didn’t even know the storm was coming!  We weren’t prepared.

But there was room. There was room, as always, in my grandparents’ hearts and in their home. There was room for unexpected guests, for unexpected new friends, for unexpected love.

“Prepare the way of the Lord” says John.

This year, you likely aren’t expecting too many guests. Maybe none at all.

In fact, most expectations of this holiday may have been dashed or at least changed dramatically because of COVID.

But this year, as in every year: Jesus is on the way. Love is on the way. And perhaps this Advent, more than any other, we are reminded that we aren’t just waiting for parties and presents. We are waiting, hoping, and preparing, for the Kingdom of God. We are preparing the way, making room in our hearts and lives and the world, for the love, justice, peace, dignity, and abundance that God desires for every human being. For this reason, we pray. For this reason, we sing. For this reason, we add our hands and voices to the fight for a just and peaceful and healthy future for all.

Prepare the way of the Lord, dear friends. Put up your tree and lights whenever you want, but only if you want! Make some cookies, even if you’re the only one eating them. Breathe deeply. Sing a song.

And especially: Let go of those things that are taking up space in your life and in your heart—the burdens you’ve been carrying, the things you need to confess, and especially the lies you’ve believed about yourself. Lay them down at the feet of Jesus, crucified and risen, the one the world has been waiting for, the one John came to announce, the one Isaiah prophesied.

Prepare the way, dear ones. Make room! Love, the Guest, is on the way.

“For the grass withers, the flower fades; but the word of our God will stand forever.”

May the peace of God which passes all understanding keep your hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. Amen.