"This is our wake up call!" Sermon for 1st Sunday in Advent 2020
Sermon for
Sunday 29 November 2020
Lutheran
Church of the Redeemer, Jerusalem
The Rev.
Carrie Ballenger
“Wake up
call”
Let the words
of my mouth and the meditation of my heart be acceptable in your sight O Lord,
my rock and my redeemer. Amen.
On Friday of this week, I walked into the Old City through
a new COVID checkpoint at New Gate, carrying an umbrella against the impending
rain, with just one thing on my mind: CANDLES.
You see, in an ordinary year, our church member Nicola
brings us special blue candles from Germany to be used for our church’s Advent
wreath.
Also in a so-called “ordinary” year, on the Friday
before Advent begins, Redeemer church members Diet and Marianne wrap our huge
metal Advent wreath with fresh greenery, place the blue candles from Germany on
its metal spikes, and then hoist the wreath up into the air to hang just below
the ceiling of our 12th century chapel.
But of course, this year most of us haven’t been
allowed travel, so Nicola wasn’t able to bring the candles.
And Marianne, age 89, who has been coming to Jerusalem
at Christmastime for 47 years, wasn’t able to travel to us either.
On top of this, fresh greenery has been scarce around
these parts for the last few years.
All of this means that on this Friday before Advent, I
was walking through the Christian Quarter carrying an unwieldy bag of ancient artificial
greenery inherited from a former missionary, and I was looking for candles.
Now, the opening of Samir’s Christmas shop on St.
Francis Road is one of the signs I look for to know that the holiday season has
officially started. I’m happy to report that this year, he has not disappointed
us. Samir’s Christmas cheer spills out of the shop and into the street: silver garland,
lights and trees, ornaments and chocolates and whiskeys, and of course a mechanical
saxophone-playing Santa, all announce to anyone who passes that Jesus,
Emmanuel, is on his way! Thanks be to God.
I interrupted his breakfast when I entered the shop,
but Samir didn’t mind. I picked out four white pillar candles—not the same as
other years, but just the right size for our congregation’s Advent wreath—and I
brought them to the checkout counter.
“That’s it?” he asked me.
“That’s it” I answered, almost apologetically.
Samir sighed, and gesturing toward the goods around
him said: “I’m sorry. I didn’t order anything new this year because…well, you
know. Inshallah, next year.”
I looked around at the twinkling lights, the glitter
and sparkle and Christmas joy oozing from every inch of Samir’s shop and
wondered if I would be his only customer this day. Or even this week.
I also wondered how he could possibly fit one more
thing into that tiny room.
Nothing new this year, he said.
Inshallah, next year, he said.
With my fresh white candles (not blue) and my
artificial (not fresh) greenery in hand, I made my way to the church to do my
best at preparing this year’s Advent wreath. It’s not the same. It’s maybe not
the most beautiful. But listen, we’re all just doing our best this year! Amen?
For the past few days, I haven’t been able to get
Samir’s comment out of my mind:
“I’m sorry, we don’t have anything new this year.
Inshallah, next year.”
I know he was talking about the goods in his store, but
Samir’s comment felt spot on for how I’m experiencing the 2020 holiday season.
“I’m sorry” and “Inshallah, next year” are two phrases
I’ve uttered (or have at least thought) more times than I can count in the last
weeks.
Not much about this year is the way I wanted it to be.
I’m sorry for that.
Not much about the holidays are the way I wanted them
to be. I’m sorry for that.
Next year, the wreath will have blue candles.
Next year, we’ll have church Advent suppers in my home
again.
Next year, we’ll be with family.
Inshallah, next year.
But as we begin this season of Advent, I wonder: what exactly
are we waiting for? Is “inshallah, next year” what these four weeks are about?
Is “Inshallah, next year” what our lives of faith are to be about?
In our Gospel text for this day, Jesus says: Keep
awake!
To be honest, I’d like to just take a long nap until
2021. Or maybe 2022. Or whenever this mess is over.
But Jesus says:
Keep awake! Be watchful! You never know what might
happen!
Keep awake, because God is doing something!
Learn a lesson from the fig tree, says Jesus. When you
see that its branch is tender and the leaves are sprouting, you know summer is
coming.
When Samir puts out his saxophone Santa, you know
Christmas is coming!
When our eyes and ears and hearts are open, we can see
the signs. We know when change is coming.
In the same way, we can be awake and alert, watchful
for God’s activity in our lives and in the world.
Therefore, the Advent season is not a time to just
wait for next year to arrive.
Advent is not about biding time.
Advent isn’t about holding our collective breath until
everything goes back to something resembling normal.
Yes, this is a season of waiting, but as people of
faith, we are not called to passively wait for the world to be “great again.”
We don’t light candles and sing and hope and pray and
wait for time to run in reverse.
No: As followers of Jesus, crucified and risen, we
light candles and sing and hope and pray and wait for the One who was, who is,
and who is to come. We wait expectantly for the One who is always being born
among us: the Prince of Peace, the King of Love, Emmanuel, God-with-us.
20th century theologian Paul Tillich said,
“Our time is a time of waiting; waiting is its special destiny. And every time
is a time of waiting, waiting for the breaking in of eternity. All time runs
forward. All time, both history and in personal life, is expectation. Time
itself is waiting, waiting not for another time, but for that which is
eternal.”
Dear siblings in Christ, at this particular time, and
in this particular year, what these words mean to me is this:
Yes, we are in a time of waiting, for many things:
For a vaccine.
For the time when we can gather safely with friends
and family.
For when the tourists come back to the Holy Land.
For when business is thriving again.
For when our health returns.
Yes, we are waiting.
But, as Tillich says, all time runs forward.
We are not waiting for what was.
We are waiting for what is to come.
These candles, these lights, these wreaths, these songs,
this food, these Scripture readings: This is our wake-up call.
Now more than ever, this season of Advent can be a
time when our whole selves become activated, awake, alert, and aware of God’s ongoing
power and presence among us.
We aren’t waiting for 2021.
We are awake for 2020!
We are awake for each day we are given!
We are awake for love, for redemption, for justice, and
for the Kingdom of God, which is being born among us even now.
After preparing the Advent wreath, with a little help
from Jacoub, Johnny, and Ashraf at the church, and after hoisting it up into
the heights of our little chapel, I got on the train to go home. To be honest,
I was a little exhausted. Everything about this year seems to require twice as
much effort for half the result. I needed a nap.
As I was standing there near the doors, thinking about
what else needed to be done to get ready for Advent, my ears perked up at a
conversation happening next to me. I’m not sure what it was that caught my
attention, but I looked over to see three women engaged in an intense
discussion.
Two of the women were seated. One was wearing a
knitted hair-covering popular in the Orthodox Jewish community. The woman
seated next to her, with her arm draped behind her back, was wearing a Muslim
hijab.
And the third woman, standing in front of them and
leaning into their animated conversation, was also Muslim, but was wearing
niqab—her head and face were completely covered, with only her eyes showing.
(Side note: it’s interesting how this look seems less
unusual to me in this time when we are all covering our mouths and noses!)
It was something about their intensity and their
intimacy that drew me in. it was obvious that they were from such different
communities, from different worlds that exist side by side and just barely
tolerate one another in this city, and yet here these three women were, deeply
invested in conversation. They were speaking Arabic, with a bit of Hebrew
thrown in. They talked about their husbands. About their children. About
shopping. They talked about Abraham and Moses! They were smiling and laughing
quietly.
And I wondered: How did this conversation even begin?
I had walked onto the train with the two Muslim women not long before. It
wasn’t a long train ride. But in the few moments when I was half asleep,
fretting about Advent wreaths and candles and church bulletins, something had happened
between these women.
Something was born!
And I almost missed it.
The doors opened and it was time to exit the train.
The women were still talking as I stepped out onto the
street.
I thought to myself:
Keep awake, Carrie.
Keep awake. Be watchful.
You never know what might happen.
The God of love, of hope, of reconciliation, of
justice, of peace, is being born among us all the time.
Even on the train.
Even in Jerusalem.
Even in 2020.
As French theologian Jean Danielou once wrote:
“Since the coming of Christ goes on forever—he is
always he who is to come in the world and in the church—there is always an
Advent going on.”
Stir up your power, Lord Christ, and come!
Amen, thanks be to God.
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