How Can This Be? Fourth Sunday of Advent

 

Luke 1:26-38

December 20, 2020

 

            “Mary, did you know that your baby boy will one day walk on water?

            Mary did you know that your baby boy will save our sons and daughters?

            Did you know that your baby boy has come to make you new?

            This child that you delivered will soon deliver you.”

            The first time I ever heard this song was on my now well-played Kathy Mattea Christmas Album. With all due respect to other groups who have recorded this song, Mattea’s version is my favorite. I admit that the first time I heard this song I did not give the larger theological implications of the lyrics much thought. The question of whether Mary knew the fullness of her son’s identity was not an issue for me. When I listened to the lyrics, I just thought,

            “This is such a pretty song, especially in Mattea’s rich alto. And the questions posed are interesting. They make me think both about this tiny baby and the larger scope of who he was, who he grew up to be, and who he is right now to all of us.”

            However, the question, “Mary did you know?” is a much larger issue than I ever realized. I even think it is fair to call it a controversy. Every year about this time I see emphatic statements on social media,

            “Mary knew!”

            “Of course Mary knew. Gabriel told her.”

            I think this goes beyond loving or hating this song. It seems to me that the question of Mary knowing or not knowing points to a deeper theological question about Mary, who she was and the part she played in bringing Jesus into the world – literally and figuratively.

            So, I am going to wade into the controversy and say definitively, without hesitation, without vacillation – that I think it is both and. Mary knew! And … Mary didn’t know!

First, Mary knew what Gabriel told her. Gabriel was sent to Mary by God, and he began this tremendous announcement by saying,

“Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you!”

In what is perhaps the greatest understatement of all time, Luke wrote that Mary was,

“much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be.”

I too would have been perplexed … and baffled … and confounded … and terrified. Did

Mary turn around to see if her heavenly visitor was addressing someone behind her? Did she pale and begin to shake when she realized he was speaking to her? Did she grow faint or bow low to the ground in terror? Perhaps she did all the above because Gabriel’s next words were,

            “Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And now you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.”

            Mary responded with only one question,

            “How can this be?”

            Unlike Zachariah, John the Baptist’ father, Mary did not protest or question the angel’s words. Richard Rohr wrote that while Zachariah sought knowledge, Mary sought wisdom. But I suspect that still she could not fathom, could not begin to imagine how what the angel was saying would be or could be accomplished. How can this be?

            The angel explained to her that through the power of the Holy Spirit she would conceive, and because the child she would carry was created this way, he would be called the “Son of God.”  And remember, “Nothing is impossible with God.”

            Mary knew. Mary knew. She believed Gabriel’s words that God regarded her, God favored her. Mary accepted and understood that God was doing something amazing, miraculous, and incredible through her, and that the son she would bear would be the king, the savior for whom her people had so long waited. He would sit on the throne of his ancestor David. His kingdom would have no end. She, a lowly, poor, insignificant young girl, was favored by God. She would bear the Son of God into the world. Mary knew.

            I understand how important it is theologically and spiritually that Mary knew. Mary was not just an empty vessel or a mindless pawn that God used to fulfill God’s purposes. Mary was a flesh and blood person. She had a mind and a heart. She had a will. She had a voice and a conscience. Mary heard the angel’s words. She asked her question, and she accepted the answer. Mary knew she was going to have a baby, and that this baby was born of God and destined for an unimaginable greatness. She was favored by God, and this baby would be God’s own. Mary was a flesh and blood person, and Mary knew.

            But … Mary was a flesh and blood person, which meant that she had limits. She believed the angel Gabriel, and she could grasp the bigger picture of who her son would be. But Mary was also finite, and she – like any of us – could only grasp so much. Gabriel gave her a general outline of who her son would be. The fullness of his identity, his detailed, lived truth would be revealed over time. Mary was a flesh and blood human being. While she knew and believed that the child she was about to bear would be special, God’s own Son, could she see beyond that? Could she fully understand what being God’s Son would entail? Could she see what was to come? Could she envision how his life and her own would unfold? Did she know, really know, what lay ahead? Could anyone really know? Mary could grasp the bigger picture, but that did not mean that she could foresee the details. In that moment when Gabriel gave her this amazing and overwhelming news, I cannot imagine that she could fully know. Mary did not know.

            Mary both knew and didn’t know. It seems to me that what is really important, really necessary, about this passage is not so much the depth or expanse of Mary’s understanding at that moment. What matters is how she responded.

            Mary said, “yes.”

            Mary was a flesh and blood person with a mind, a heart, a will. We Presbyterians believe both in predestination and free will. Free will suggests that Mary could have said, “No.” She could have said, “No thank you, Gabriel. Not me.” Think about it. Isn’t it possible that Mary could have said, “No.” She had a will. She had a mind. She was not just an empty vessel or a pawn to be manipulated by the divine. Think about why God worked through Mary in the first place. Wasn’t it so that God would become one of us? God would take on our flesh. What that says to me is that God does not just value our eternal souls. God values our flesh, this flesh, all flesh, right here and right now. And if God values flesh as well as souls, wouldn’t God have valued this young woman enough to bear her “no,” if she had said it?

            But that is what makes this story so amazing, even beyond this visit from an angel. Mary said, “Yes.” And listen to her yes.

            “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.”

            Here am I. These are the same words Isaiah spoke in response to God’s call.

            “Whom shall I send? Here am I, send me.”

            Mary’s response is no less a response to a call from God than Isaiah or any of the prophets, any of the people God worked through over the course of history. She said, “yes,” to God’s call. She said, “yes,” to God’s purposes. She may not have known fully what was to come, but then again, do any of us know that when we answer a call from God? If we knew everything that lay ahead, every detail of what following God’s call means, what would our answer be? Mary knew, but what Mary knew was enough. She knew enough. And more importantly than that, is that she trusted. She trusted God completely. Whatever Mary knew or did not know about the future and this child she would bear, she knew something about the God who called her. She knew God and she trusted God.

            She trusted God and she said, “Yes.” She trusted God and she said, “Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word.” Let it be with me. Here am I.

            I’m a pretty solid protestant, but I think we have something to learn from our Roman Catholic brothers and sisters. I think we need to stop relegating Mary to this one Sunday of the year: The Annunciation Sunday, Mary’s Sunday. It seems to me that Mary is a role model for all of us when it comes to answering God’s call. She embodies what it means to trust God. She models what it means to step up, to say, “yes,” to have the courage to say, “Here am I; let it be with me.”

            Mary lived in troubled, tumultuous times just as we do. She lived as one was marginalized and overlooked. I suspect that sickness and death was as much a part of her world as life was. In this past year, haven’t those things become equally as real to us? Mary was a real person, with a real spirit, a real will and mind and heart. She was young, she was poor, she was female, and those factors increased her vulnerability. She would have been considered insignificant by the powers and principalities of that time and place. But her courage was as great as any warrior of her day or our own. Whatever Mary knew, whatever Mary didn’t know, she knew enough, and she trusted more. How can this be? With God, how can it not be?

            Let all of us, God’s regarded and loved children, trust God as Mary did. Let all of ustrust God enough to say, “Here am I.” Let all of us say, “Alleluia.”

            Amen.

 

           

Oil of Gladness -- Third Sunday of Advent

 

Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11

December 13, 2020

 

            During the peak of the lockdown last winter and spring, I realized that if I was going to be washing my hands frequently during the day, I wanted hand soaps that both cleaned well and smelled good. Essentially, I wanted aroma therapy while I washed my hands. I was using a brand that does all this and that I liked just fine. It is plant based, cleans well and it smells good, but I was running low. When I ventured out to the store to buy some more, I discovered that the store was also running low of this brand of cleaning products. Running low is an understatement. The shelves were bare of this product. So, I chose another brand that I had heard about, still plant based, still non-toxic, but I had never tried.

            Oh. My. Gosh!

            I know it is just soap, but oh my gosh. The fragrances are amazing! They have made washing my hands, perhaps not a heavenly experience, but a floating-on-a-cloud just below heaven kind of experience. I have to resist the temptation to hold my freshly washed hands up to my family and say,

“Quick! Smell my hands! Don’t they smell amazing?!”

I don’t do that, something for which my family should be grateful. But I am hooked, and I admit, a bit obsessed. We have this hand wash in the kitchen and both bathrooms. I buy the laundry detergent. I have the multi-purpose cleaner, the bathroom cleaner, and I have some dish soap ready to go. I am obsessed. I know I am. From that initial purchase of hand soap, I have tried to bring aroma therapy to every corner of our house.

And it is aroma therapy. It is. During this long, difficult, and painful year, having hand wash that smells like Iowa pine and laundry soap that smells like basil has made other things more bearable. It is aroma therapy.

When I read the words “oil of gladness” in these verses from the prophet Isaiah, I thought of aroma therapy. The oil and oils that are so often referred to in scripture would have been oils with scents. Some of the oils mentioned in scripture would be comparable to what we know as essential oils today. There would have been myrrh and frankincense and lavender oil and olive oil. If I remember my brief research into this correctly, the nard that we read about would have been similar to what we know as lemongrass. The oil and oils that are spoken of in both the Old and New Testament would have had fragrance and aroma. They would have smelled of spices or flowers and grasses or of wood and tree.

I’m not entirely sure what specific oil was being referred to in our verses today. I don’t know if it would have been frankincense or lavender or olive, but I do believe that this oil of gladness would have had a particular, defining scent. And maybe when the original audience for these words heard them, they would have known exactly what that aroma was. And when they thought about that oil, they would have been able to conjure up in their imaginations its scent, its aroma. And even if the fragrance was limited only to their imagination, it would have helped them to remember.

Remember what you may be asking. Maybe even just imagining the aroma of the oil of gladness unlocked their memories of the time before the exile, the time when they still lived and worked and harvested from their own land. Maybe it helped them remember times when they were joyful and hopeful. Perhaps the scent of the oil of gladness helped them remember who they once were and who they were called to be. Maybe it helped them remember the One to whom they belonged, the One who called them, the One who was assuring and reassuring them that they were not forgotten, not abandoned, still beloved children.

Perhaps even just the memory of the scent of the oil of gladness evoked other memories, memories of life before loss, before mourning. That memory of scent, of fragrance, may have helped them remember loved ones who had died, and friends who were far away.

If the complex mechanics of the human body is not enough to convince us that there is a God, then the power of our senses should. Think about the power of scent to unlock memories.

Close your eyes just for a moment, and try to remember a smell, a scent, a fragrance. I know it may not be easy but try.

What comes to mind? Who comes to mind?

(pause and let them try and remember)

Were you able to remember something? Were you able to remember someone?

The smell of Old Spice will be forever linked to my dad.

The aroma of vanilla and fresh butter is my mom baking for Christmas.

The sharp tang of licorice and peppermint is the Christmas candy we would make every year.

The smell of freshly sharpened pencils reminds me of first days of school.

And when I am lucky enough to hold a baby, the smell of milk reminds me of cradling my own babies.

I know that our sense of smell can bring back other memories, sad memories, traumatic memories as well. But in this moment, remember the joy in your life. Remember the smells and scents attached to those moments of joy. Focus on the oil of gladness that is promised in these verses.

For the point of these verses from the prophet is to tell the people that God is doing a great reversal. To all those in exile, take heart. The anointed One, the One who has been touched by fragrant oil, the oil of the Holy Spirit, has come. And with his coming, he brings good news to those who are oppressed, beaten down by life and those in power.

And this anointed One, this One who has been touched by fragrant oil, the oil of the Holy Spirit has come to bind up the brokenhearted, to bring back together their hearts which have been rendered in two.

This anointed One, this One touched by fragrant oil and the oil of the Holy Spirit, has come to release the prisoners, those locked behind walls and those locked in the darkness of despair.

This anointed One, this One touched by fragrant oil and the oil of the Holy Spirit, has come to proclaim the Lord’s favor and the Lord’s vengeance. This anointed one has come to bring comfort to those who mourn, to wipe away their tears, to give them a garland instead of ashes, something growing and green instead of brown dust. This anointed One has come bearing the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the aroma of life and love and joy instead of the acrid smell of death. This anointed One has come to lay the mantle of praise on their shoulders, to rest the cloak of courage upon them and replace a fearful spirit that faints within them.

These verses in Isaiah and throughout our sacred texts speak of reversal. They speak to the world turning upside down, not in chaos and tragedy, but in joy and hope. They speak of the growing Light of God shining brighter and brighter even as the darkness of the world deepens. This oil of gladness reminds us of our need for joy. For that is what today is about, this third Sunday of Advent. That is what we celebrate and remember and hope for this day, when we light the pink candle, and remember that joy bursts forth even in the darkness.

And the world does feel dark and growing darker. In this country we near the grim milestone of 300,000 deaths due to Covid-19. Protests and violence continue to erupt on the streets of our cities. People are angry and they are scared and they are grieving. But on this day, when joy is the watchword, we close our eyes and smell the oil of gladness. The oil not designed for burial but for living. We close our eyes and let the aroma surround us. We close our eyes and let the scent of this oil fill us and delight us and carry us. We let its rich aroma fill us with hope and peace and joy. God’s oil of gladness is here to give us joy. It is here to give us life. God gives us life, even as death and darkness threatens, God gives us life in this sweet, fragrant oil of gladness.

Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

Amen.

Speak Tenderly -- Second Sunday of Advent

 

Isaiah 40:1-11

December 6, 2020

 

            I don’t remember what words I spoke to my children when they were little and they would wake in the night, scared from a nightmare, or sick or convinced that monsters hid in the shadows and dark recesses of their rooms.

I don’t remember what words I would whisper to them, when I would pick them up from their beds and hold them close. I do not remember the exact words that I would whisper into their ears as I would rock them back and forth, but I know that they were words of comfort, words that soothed and calmed. I would reassure them that I was there, that they were safe, that they were loved.

I would speak tenderly to them, I would speak tenderly to them, telling them it all right, and that the long night would soon be over. They were safe. They were loved. I was there.  

            When you’re little and you wake in the darkest hour of the nigh, and the world seems so big and frightening, you need someone to speak tenderly to you. And when you’re older, even much older, and you wake in the darkest hour of the night, and the world seems so big and frightening, you also need words of comfort and reassurance. You need someone to speak tenderly to you.

            When I read these verses from the fortieth chapter of Isaiah, I imagine them in this kind of moment –waking up in the darkest hour of their long night of exile and feeling alone, abandoned, and afraid of the world that was so big and so threatening. Then into the darkness comes these words,

            “Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that she has served her term, that her penalty is paid, that she has received from the Lord’s hand double for all her sins.”

            The people need these words of comfort. They need, desperately need, God to speak tenderly to them once more. These people, the Israelites, had gone from the wilderness to prosperity to exile. They were the chosen people yet even as God had chosen them, God had also let them feel the full wages of their sins. God had not prevented them from suffering the consequences of their actions. So, these words, these tender words were spoken to a people long exiled from their homes and homeland. They were announced to people who had lived generations as strangers in a strange land. These words were told to those who may have no longer believed that there was any comfort to be had.

Perhaps, once, they felt cherished by God, truly chosen by God, but they had forgotten what being chosen meant and what it required of them. These first verses were spoken to those who were lost and who believed they would never be found again.   

            "Comfort, O comfort my people."

What wondrous and incredible news to hear! There is comfort to be had. There is reassurance to be found. They were not alone after all. They were not forgotten or abandoned by their Maker. These words of comfort were astonishing to hear, especially as they follow 39 chapters that mainly speak words of judgment and condemnation for the ways the people turned from the Lord and neglected the least of those in their midst. Certainly, we find words of comfort, moments of hope in those 39 chapters -- I think specifically of the verses we hear around this time of year, the words from chapter 9 about the Prince of Peace. Yet even those beautiful verses are couched in judgment.

            So, the 40th chapter of Isaiah marks a significant change and turning point, not only for the relationship between God and God's people, but also in the book of Isaiah itself. Biblical scholars refer to this as Second Isaiah. This second Isaiah was most likely a different prophet writing in Isaiah's name. Regardless of who uttered them, these words of comfort must have felt like a healing balm flowing over the wounded hearts and weary souls of those people far from home.

            These words of comfort signify a new call as well. The Lord is calling his prophet not only to tell the people this news, but to herald them, to preach them. Preach to them that not only are they to be comforted, to know that their time of judgment is ending, but that everything will be changed. Even the physical landscape will be changed. Crooked roads through the desert will be made straight. Mountains will be brought low. Valleys will be lifted up. The uneven ground will be made level. The rough places will become a plain.

            Isaiah’s first response to this call is to question, as other prophets have questioned the call they were given. In response to being told to "cry out," he asks,

            "What should I cry?  All people are grass, their constancy is like a flower of the field.  The grass withers, the flower fades, when the breath of the Lord blows upon it; surely the people are grass."

            I wonder if the prophet is asking, "What’s the point? “

What is the point of preaching these words of comfort to them? Why bother telling them any of this good news? People are no more constant than the grass or flower that blooms for a short season then fades away. They are fickle. The word of the Lord has been given to them over and over again. They have been warned, exhorted, urged, even condemned, but they never seem to learn. They just don't get it. So, what is the point of speaking these comforting words to them, Lord? Why would God even bother?

            Why bother? What’s the point?

"The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God will stand forever."

Yes, the people are like grass, God responds. Yes, they are inconsistent and fickle, but I am not. They may wither, but I do not. They might fade, but my words remain. I remain. So, preach these glad tidings. Preach this good news. Tell the people, "Here is your God!"

            Here is your God.

            Here is your God. Perhaps these are the tenderest words of all. It seems to me that these four words sum up Advent, this time of waiting, this time of yearning and watching and hoping. Here is your God is the answer we have been searching for, longing for. Here is your God are the tender words we need to hear.

            When I really ponder these four words, hear them, feel them, I am overwhelmed.  Because I realize that my preparations for Advent and Christmas are often a distraction from what I should be focusing on. But this year, the distraction feels necessary. The preparations we make, here at church and at home, distract me from my worries and my fears about the larger world and my family’s place within it. The last eight months have felt like a very long night, and the decorations and the lights are a bright spot in the darkness.

            But the real light shining in the darkness comes in these four words spoken tenderly to us in our time of such great need and fear. Here is your God. Here is our God.

            Here is our God coming to dwell in our midst once again. Here is our God, right next to us, whispering words of comfort in our ears. Here is our God. And when I can focus on these words, on this truth, then I remember another truth. I think my preparations, my decorating, my baking, my gifting, my sending makes Advent and Christmas happen. But the truth is that Advent happens to us. God comes to us. God changes the landscape. God alters the course of history. God breaks in and breaks through and God comes to us. God comes to us in our darkest night. God comes to us in the midst of our fears and our worries. God comes us speaking comfort, speaking tenderly. God comes to us and renews our hope and inspires our peace. These words, “Here is your God,” was a balm to the exiles so far from home and it is a balm to us in this darkest hour.

            "Comfort, O comfort my people." "Here is your God."

            Speak tenderly to us, O God. Speak words of comfort, words of hope, words of peace. Speak tenderly and open our eyes, our minds, our hearts so that we see you, feel you, know you. Speak tenderly so that we can proclaim with joy, “Here, here is our God!”

            Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.”

            Amen.

In Those Days -- First Sunday of Advent

 

Mark 13:24-37

November 29, 2020

            On Thanksgiving, we were reminiscing about all sorts of things. Besides eating too much, reminiscing is what you do on a holiday like Thanksgiving. I told the story about the first time my parents left me alone in the house when they went on a trip. My dad was adamant that I would not stay alone until I was 18. I turned 18 in October. They went to Minnesota the next summer. That meant I had at least 8 months to plan the party.

            Now before you think I’m completely brazen, you need to know that my parents knew I was having a party before they’d even packed their bags. I told them. I might have said,

“I think I’m going to have a few friends in while you’re gone.”

I may not have clarified that a few meant 30 plus. But I doubt that my parents were under the illusion that I was going to have a small, quiet dinner party either. They were a little hipper than I gave them credit for. 

            As they drove away, my dad said,

            “Just don’t burn the house down.”

            I didn’t. But it was a great party.

            In fact, the house was spotless when they came home. But I was helped with this because I knew when my parents were coming home. I was prepared. I was ready. I had friends who weren’t so lucky. One friend of mine had parents who would leave her in the house alone while they went out-of-town, but they would never tell her exactly when they were coming back. They might go for a couple of days. They might leave for a week. Not telling her was supposedly a way to prevent wild parties and a trashed house. I spent a weekend with her when her parents were out of town and we cleaned everyday just in case her mom and dad pulled in unexpectedly.

 Mark 13 says that the master of the house is a lot more like my friend’s parents than mine. No one knows when he’s going to return from his journey, so stay awake. Do not drift off.  Watch. Stay conscious. Stay awake. For the master could return at any moment. No one knows.

Warnings to stay awake. Stars falling. A darkened sun and moon. Heavenly powers shaken up.  Not exactly images we normally picture at the beginning of Advent. There’s no babe lying in a manger for Mark. No cattle lowing, no shepherds being led to the child by a host of heavenly messengers. 

Instead on this first Sunday of Advent, we have what is known by Biblical scholars as Mark’s little apocalypse. This chapter begins with Jesus’ predictions about the destruction of the temple. Then Jesus and a few of the disciples – Peter, James, John and Andrew – retreat to the Mount of Olives, look out over the temple and discuss the end times.

The disciples question Jesus.

“Tell us, when will this be; and what will be the signs that all these things are about to be accomplished?”

Jesus tells them about many signs. False prophets and false messiahs. Beware those who come in his name, making claims in his name, yet in reality lead the faithful astray. Wars, nation rising up against nation. Earthquakes, famines, natural disasters.  Don’t be alarmed, these are the beginning of the birth pangs.

There will be suffering, Jesus warns them. The disciples will be forced to testify to the good news in front of councils and governments. But don’t worry, he reassures them, the Holy Spirit will speak through them. And again, there will be false prophets and false messiahs pointing the people in the wrong direction. Leading the elect astray. So, wake up! Stay awake! 

Then we come to our verses. When the end times truly arrive, cosmic signs will fill the sky. Stars, sun, moon. Then Jesus, the Son of Man, will come surrounded by clouds in his power and glory. Angels will be sent to bring the elect from every corner of heaven and earth. All this will happen in God’s time. Not even the angels or the Son himself know when the end will come.  Only God the father, and he is not telling. So, stay awake! Remain on watch, wait open-eyed for the master’s return. Because no one knows when he will come.

Apocalyptic literature and predictions about the end times, such as what is found in Daniel, the book of Revelation and this chapter in Mark, usually come out of a community that is oppressed and under siege by political, religious or military leaders. The situation in the community seems so utterly dire and desperate that their only hope is in divine intervention. No mortal means can end their suffering. Only action from God and God alone. Then their suffering will be justified. A new world will be issued in.

The word in Greek that gives us our word Apocalypse does not refer to the end of the world. When Jesus speaks about end times, he is not talking about the earth blowing up on God’s orders with nothing remaining. Apocalypse means an unveiling, a revealing. The end times that Jesus refers to is when God will be fully revealed, completely unveiled. They will see God. And when you are living in a crisis moment, when you are living with catastrophe all around you, what more do you want than to see God; to see God revealed and unveiled? What more do we want than to know that God is right here with us? Look, there is God! Can we see God? Can we finally see Him?

Can we finally see God?

Do you remember about twenty years ago at the beginning of 2020? At New Year’s I saw so many pictures of folks dressed up for Roaring 20’s parties. They were all so cute and fun. But amid all the revelry, we were hearing news stories about this strange new virus that was sweeping across Asia. It sounded concerning but it was 2020! A new decade! A new start! Whoo hoo! Then in March the world changed. Everything began to be cancelled or shut down. We cancelled in-person church services and switched without really knowing what we were doing to livestream. I say “we.” I mean “me.”

I remember dreaming about the huge party we would have when we could finally return to in-person worship. Easter didn’t happen, but Pentecost? Surely by Pentecost we would be able to come together fully, to hug and sing at the top of our lungs and joyfully celebrate the birth of the church grateful for this new life we would now have together …

Yet here we are. In person for some of us, livestream for others. We wear our masks and douse our hands in sanitizer and socially distance ourselves. When the Lord’s Supper happens next week, we will partake with our individual pack of juice and wafer. And while worship does not have to be a blow out extravaganza to be worship, there are days when the quieter nature of our worship makes me long for the singing-at-the-top-of-our-lungs worship we once shared.

And if apocalypse has its etymological roots in a word that means to unveil or reveal, then what has this pandemic revealed? In our country it has revealed disparity and inequity in resources and access. It has unveiled the isms, particularly our original sin of racism, that lurk and fester underneath the surface. It has revealed the depths of how kind and giving humans can be to one another. And it has unveiled how we can also be quite the opposite. Ultimately, the pandemic has revealed that we humans are more vulnerable and frailer than we like to believe. To quote Dr. Burger, “a relatively simple virus has brought us, humanity, a complex system, to its knees.”

Please know I am not trying to bring everybody down. I know that we all need the joy that this holiday season can bring – we need joy more than we ever have before. But in the church calendar, this is our New Year. The first Sunday of Advent is the first Sunday of the church year, and this first season is our time of waiting. But what are we waiting for? Are we waiting for Advent to be over so we can hurry up and celebrate Christmas? Or are we waiting for God to be revealed; to be unveiled once more?

And how has God chosen to reveal God’s self? In the most vulnerable way possible. God came into this world in the way of all creatures – as a baby. When that baby had grown into manhood, how did God choose to reveal God’s full glory and new life and everything? Through war and violent overthrow? No. Through death, but not just a natural dying in one’s sleep, but death on a cross. In those days, God revealed himself to the world through the birth of a baby, and through that grown up baby going to the cross. In these days, God meets us in our vulnerability with his own vulnerability. God meets us, not with a warrior’s strength but with a divine weakness. God meets us, not with oppressive power but with holy vulnerability.

So, what are we waiting for? Are we waiting for celebration? Are we waiting for the end? Or does Advent remind us that we are waiting to see God anew? Does Advent remind us that what we wait for is not the end of the world, but the end of the world as we know it, and the beginning of the world that God created from the beginning?

And what this day reminds us of is that we wait with hope. The crisis and the catastrophes all around us cannot diminish our hope. Because our hope does not lie in what we do or do not accomplish. Our hope does not lie in the world that we can make. Our hope lies in what God has done, and what God is doing, and what God will do. We wait and we watch with hope because God is revealing himself to us, everyday, every hour, every minute, so in these days we wait with hope.

Let all of God’s children say, “Alleluia.” Amen.