Something New -- Christmas Eve: Christ

Luke 2:1-20

December 24, 2023

 

On that night there was fear.

There must have been. On hillside and in stable,

fear permeated the darkness.

Fear was a presence around the fire,

Held at bay by the flame’s dim light.

Luke tells us of the shepherds’ fear.

Startled by angels, surrounded by glory,

Those shepherds trembled and shook

while the sky and stars exploded into heavenly choruses

overwhelming their senses.

Was this a dream, these angel voices,

This dizzying brightness, celestial praises?

Was this a dream?

But the shepherds were not the only fearful ones.

Mary and Joseph, consigned to an animals’ stall,

Both must have feared what that night would bring.

For mother and child, birth is a dangerous thing

And the journey from womb to world

Is harrowing.

On that night, Mary, so young,

should have been encircled by other women,

Midwives and mothers crooning their wisdom

Concerning this woman’s work. 

But only the deep snuffling sound of animals could be heard

As Mary labored for Love to be born.

And on that night, surely Joseph was also afraid.  

Maybe he swallowed back his fear and held Mary’s hand,

Whispering words of comfort.

Maybe he fought back his fears of what could go wrong

By reassuring her of all that was right.

Was he overwhelmed by her pain on that night,

Desperate to take it from her but helpless

As she endured alone?

There was fear that night, on hillside and in stable

when the sky filled with glory of the heavenly host,

But that band of angels came not with news of terror

but with glad tidings of great joy.

Do not be afraid!

A savior is born. God is with you.

God is doing something new.

Do not be afraid!

There was fear on that night,

But it was swallowed by the angels’ song.

On this night in Bethlehem

The nativity sits on top of rubble,

Surrounded by destruction, cracked concrete and wire.

And hatred still causes fear in hearts and minds.

And how can we not be afraid

When wars rage on and on

And a little child tries to lead us

But the grownups refuse to listen ?

 

But on that night,

Jesus was born into that fear

Into that messiness

And sadness

And into a weary world

That did not know how tired it was.

And on that night Light pierced the darkness

And Love disrupted hate

And Peace refused to be silenced by war

And Hope would not lose heart.

 

And on this night

Jesus is born into our messiness

And our soul-deep sadness

And Jesus is born into this weary world

that still does not know

How tired it is.

And on this night, if we can only tune our hearts to listen,

We can hear the heavens resound with angel song

And glad tidings of great joy

And on this night, God still works through

the improbable

And unlikely

And on this night we hear again

these ancient words

And ageless story

And in them we see God

Doing something new

Something wonderful

Because God will not be kept

From loving us

And God will not be stopped

By cracked concrete or wire

And God will not forget

The promises made

and the heavenly hosts

will not be silenced

and the good news

is still good news

for in Bethlehem

on that night and on this night

a child is born in the way that all children are born

and on that night and on this night

a baby’s cry is heard

and joy and love and peace and hope

are more than words,

because God is doing something new

and God is doing something wonderful

so do not be afraid

God is here

God is with us

On that night and on this night

Love is born.  

Alleluia.

Amen.

Here Am I -- Fourth Sunday of Advent: Love

Luke 1:26-38

December 24, 2023

 

            There is a legend that claims that Gabriel visited several young women with his announcement that they would be the favored one, the theotokos, the God-bearer. But these other young women said “no.” Discouraged but not defeated, Gabriel appeared before a young woman named Mary. Just as he had with the others, he greeted Mary saying,

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

            And then he told her that she had found favor with God, that she would bear a child, that the child would be holy. There was a name already picked out – Jesus. And this baby boy would not be just any baby boy, but the Son of the Most High and he will be given the throne of his ancestor David.

            I don’t know if the legend specifies at what point in this encounter with Gabriel the other young women made their apologies saying, “No. No thank you. Not for me. I don’t think I’m ready to be the mother of God this year, but maybe next year we can talk again.” But unlike the other young women, when Gabriel appeared to Mary and told her what would happen Mary said, “Yes.” Mary said yes.

            Obviously, this is just a legend. I don’t know where it comes from and certainly, if there were any truth to it, it would be impossible to prove. But what I think is interesting about this is that it makes the point that there was a choice involved. Where others said no, Mary said yes.

            Even if the legend isn’t true, Mary said yes. Why? Why did she say yes? Was it because she was predestined to say yes? Was it because Mary was the only one who could?

            Today’s story is known as the annunciation. The angel, Gabriel, shows up on Mary’s doorstep and announces that she will bear the Son of God.

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

            Mary is understandably confused by the angel’s words. In fact she’s more than confused, she’s greatly disturbed by his words. In the story of Zechariah, which immediately precedes our story this morning, Zechariah is described as disturbed by Gabriel’s words. But he isn’t as disturbed as Mary is, yet his questioning of Gabriel results in his inability to speak for the length of his wife Elizabeth’s pregnancy. 

What does this mean? Mary is a young woman, a young girl really. She does not have an exalted family lineage. She comes form a non-descript little town. She is not rich nor is she royalty. She is just Mary. But here this angel of God comes to her and calls her favored. He announces to her that the Lord is with her. Not only is the Lord with her, but she has found favor with God. God has sought her out to bear a son who will be named Jesus. This child will not be just any child, but the Child of the Most High. He will sit on the throne of David.

“He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.”

This is incredible news. It’s strange and confusing news. Mary is one of the lowly, but she is greeted by an angel who calls her “favored.” I won’t say that she argues with Gabriel, but she does question the news she’s given. “How can this be?”

Her reason for why the angel’s words are impossible is sound. She is a virgin. She is betrothed to Jospeh, but they aren’t living fully as a married couple yet. While the word virgin in Greek can also be translated as young girl, it is clear that Mary is not in the right circumstances to conceive a child. And that reality means that this pregnancy will be scandalous. Scandalous! Gabriel tells Mary that the Lord is with her, but Mary surely knew that others would not be. Her reputation, and more seriously her life, would be on the line. Matthew’s gospel records that when Joseph heard the news that Mary was pregnant, he wanted to end their betrothal. He wanted to do it quietly, true, to keep her from any disgrace, but he was ready to end it because of the shameful implications and potentially damaging and detrimental consequences of this unlikely pregnancy.

Joseph knew this. And Mary knew this too. Mary might have been young, but I doubt that she was naïve enough not to realize what an unmarried pregnancy would mean for her, her child, and their lives.

So, understandably, Mary was greatly disturbed by the angel’s words, by this life-altering news that he brought. Perhaps to help convince Mary that what he said was true, Gabriel tells Mary of another unlikely, improbable, and impossible pregnancy. Her cousin, Elizabeth, who is an old woman and has been barren for years is also pregnant with a son. Then Gabriel echoes the words spoken to Abraham by another divine messenger when he was told that Sarah would bear a child in her old age, “For nothing will be impossible with God.”

Mary hears these words, hears about her cousin Elizabeth, and without anymore hesitation accepts these strange and impossible tidings.

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

Here am I. Here I am. Mary said yes.

We Presbyterians believe both in predestination and in freewill. Free will suggests that Mary indeed could have said no. She could have said no because she was more than just the quiet, beatific looking figure in our nativity scenes. She was flesh and blood. She had a mind and a heart. She had hopes and dreams, just as we do. She had a will. She was not just an empty vessel or a pawn to be manipulated by others, not even the divine. Could Mary have said no? Yes. But Mary didn’t say no to the news the angel brought. She said yes. She said,

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

That sounds familiar, doesn’t it? It sounds like the answer that Isaiah gave when he was called by God. Mary was called too. This is not just a pregnancy announcement; this is a call story. She was called to be the theotokos, the God-bearer, the Mother of God in this world. Mary said yes. She said yes to God’s call. She said yes to God’s purposes. Mary said yes.

But what finally convinced Mary to give her affirmation? Gabriel spoke lofty words to her. He called her “favored one.” He told her the Lord was with her, that the Lord would do great things through her, that this child would be the Son of the Most High and would reclaim the throne of David. This child would be God in the world, the Messiah. This child was the one they had all been waiting for, for so, so long.

And all of this is amazing and wonderful and scary and thrilling, but it wasn’t what convinced Mary. What finally convinced her? One biblical scholar pointed out something that I had not considered before. What finally convinces Mary is not the exalted promises that Gabriel shared with her, but rather the information that her cousin Elizabeth was also pregnant. Her cousin Elizabeth was going through this too.

Now maybe this convinced Mary because Elizabeth’s pregnancy was as unlikely as her own. But maybe it also gave her reassurance that she was not alone. That there was another person in the world, in her life, who understood exactly how amazing and scary and wonderful and thrilling this was. I realize that some of Gabriel’s first words to Mary were that the Lord was with her, but how is it that we see the Lord with us in our lives? Maybe some folks see angels, but for many of the rest of us we see God in our lives through other people. We see God with us through them, through their eyes, their hands, their hearts, their love.  

Mary saw God working in her life because God was working in Elizabeth’s life. This does not diminish Mary’s courage in saying yes. And she was courageous. Answering a call from God, no matter how small or large that call may be, takes faith and trust and courage. And Mary had all of that, but maybe just maybe, her courage was amplified, magnified because she knew Elizabeth was with her too. She was not alone. She would not be alone. Mary said yes.

Mary’s song of praise, the Magnificat, which is the second part of our story today, is sung after she goes to Elizabeth, after the baby in Elizabeth’s womb leaps for joy at the sound of Mary’s voice, the mother of his cousin, the mother of God. Mary sings this amazing song of praise about this new and wonderful thing God is doing in the world through Elizabeth, and through her.

God is bringing down the powerful from their thrones and lifting up the lowly. God is filling the hungry with good things and the rich are walking away empty-handed, God is keeping the promises God made with the ancestors, with Abraham, with Moses, with David. God is with me, Mary sings, and from now on every generation will call me blessed. Yes, yes, and yes!

Mary said yes because she knew that she was not alone. God was with her. Elizabeth was with her. And she would bear Emmanuel, God with us, into the world. Mary was not alone. She did not go through this alone. Neither do we. Whatever our calling is, there are people with us, people who remind us that God is with us. So, let our answer to God’s call be a resounding yes! Let our answer to God’s call be here am I. God is with us. God is with us in hope, peace, joy, and love. We are not alone. Yes!

Let all of God’s children shout out, “Alleluia!”

Amen.

Anointed -- Third Sunday of Advent: Joy

Isaiah 61:1-4,8-11

December 17, 2023

 

            When I was a little girl, around this time of year, I was given a book called something like, “The Wonderful Smells of Christmas.” I may not remember the title correctly, but I do remember that book. But it was a large picture book that had the unique addition of scratch and sniff illustrations. It was about a little bear who was excited about his family’s preparations for Christmas. And in the book the little bear liked to sniff the air and smell all the wonderful smells that were part of the holiday.

            His mother would bake gingerbread and just as the little bear sniffed the air and smelled the warm gingerbread, you could scratch the picture of gingerbread on the page and also smell warm gingerbread. Each page had something like this. There were candy canes, and you could smell the peppermint, hot chocolate and you could smell the cocoa, and in his stocking, he got a big, juicy orange, and you could smell the orange.

            I loved this book! And I read through it a lot because I loved to scratch and sniff the pictures. I read it so much and scratched those pictures so many times that eventually they lost their fragrance. You could scratch and scratch but the only scent you got was book. There’s a joy in that scent too, but not when you want to smell peppermint. It made perfect sense to me, even as a child, that scent and fragrance and aroma are connected with our associations of time and place. I loved the way our house smelled at Christmas too, like cinnamon and sugar from my mom’s baking and peppermint and orange and anise from the special stained glass Christmas candy we made each year, and when it was cold enough, wood smoke from the fires my dad built in the fireplace. The little bear’s house smelled like Christmas and so did ours.

When I have preached on this passage and others like it in the past, I have learned that the oils we read about in scripture would have been aromatic. They would not have been bland, odorless oils processed in factories. They would have been oils pressed from family owned olive groves and flowers and herbs. 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 like 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 trees.

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 the oil referred to, the oil of anointing and the oil of gladness, would have had a 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 maybe they would begin to associate that aroma with the one who was anointed, who brought good news, who shared these words of God’s comfort and healing and wholeness to a people long suffering, exiled from home and land. And that smell and its association would stay with them. When they smelled the scent of that particular oil,  they would think of the anointed one, they would remember God’s promise, they would smile because it was indeed the oil of gladness.

Anointing was a regular part of life in that culture. Oil was believed to be curative. Remember in the story of the Good Samaritan, when he cared for the man left to die on the side of the road, he poured oil on his wounds. In Psalm 23 the psalmist’s head is anointed with oil as a sign of God’s blessing and abundance. Priests would have anointed believers with oil. And kings would have been anointed with oil as a symbol of their leadership and reign. To be anointed was both figurative and literal. To be anointed was to be chosen, lifted up for a special purpose. The prophet begins by telling the people that,

“The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me because the Lord has anointed me …”

And the reason the Spirit of the Lord God was upon the speaker, and the reason that the Lord anointed him was not to reign over the people, or to lead them in battle, or to build a new empire, it was,

“to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoner’s;”

The people who had been long suffering, long afflicted, long exiled from home and land, were now hearing from this anointed one, that God was with them still. They would be given a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit. They would be delivered. God was with them still. And maybe from that point on whenever they thought about these promises, whenever they remembered the words of the anointed one and the oil that anointed him, the oil of gladness they were promised, they also remembered the fragrance of that oil, and the fragrance and the promise became intertwined in their memories and their imaginations. And whenever they smelled that fragrance, they remembered the promises and covenant of God, and that fragrance, that oil of gladness, became for them the fragrance, the smell, the aroma of joy.

And many years later when the great, great grandchildren of these people went out to the wilderness to see this man named John and to be baptized they thought of the stories their grandparents told them, the stories passed down one generation to the next, and the promises they knew from the holy scrolls, and maybe these people sniffed the air to see if this John fellow smelled like the anointed one, to see if he smelled like joy.

And when Jesus, in the gospel of Luke, begins his ministry by preaching in the synagogue and quoting these words from Isaiah, and telling the people that the words have been fulfilled in their hearing, that he, by implication, is the anointed one, maybe those worshippers also sniffed the air, wondering if he carried that scent of promise and covenant and joy.

If smells can evoke memories and associations and feelings, can you imagine how wonderful it would be to smell the oil of gladness on a person who has been anointed – not just anointed in general, but anointed to bring good news and deliverance and comfort and hope and peace and courage and renewal? If the anointing oil had a fragrance, then smelling it would be like smelling God. Like smelling God. I don’t mean that irreverently or jokingly. But think about the power of smell, and what it can do. Close your eyes for a moment and think about the smells and scents that you associate with this time of year. What do you smell? What do you remember?

If smell has the power to unlock memories, then think about how powerful it would have been to smell the oil of anointing and remember God and the promises of God.

We read today of one who has been anointed, called, chosen, by God to preaching good news of deliverance and comfort and restoration. We read today ancient words that Jesus read, setting the tone and expectation of his earthly ministry. We read of one who has been anointed, who not only bears the oil of gladness but shares it. And if that oil of gladness had a smell, an aroma, as I think we can assume it did, then for generations that fragrance would unlock the memory of God for the people. It would be for them the smell of joy.

In this world where so much and so many are broken, when the people and the land are continuously ravaged by war and violence, we need more than ever the words of the anointed one. We need to trust that God has called us as well, anointed us with the power of the Spirit to not only share the good news with the world but to be the good news for the world, to work for the deliverance and the restoration of all God’s people. In this world, in this sacred season, on this day, when we lift up joy, may we bearers of joy, peace, and hope to a world in desperate need of that promise and that comfort. Like the anointed one, may we be bearers of the oil of gladness, the smell of promise, the scent of joy, the fragrance of the Holy One.

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

Amen.

 

 

 

Prepare the Way -- Second Sunday of Advent: Peace

Mark 1:1-8 (Isaiah 40:1-11)

December 10, 2023

 

            I try to take a water aerobics class a couple of days a week at a rec center in Columbia. I really enjoy the class, and I never regret the days that I make it because I feel better when I’m done. I feel more energetic. I’m ready to get my day going. But the hardest part of the class is not the exercise itself. It’s not even getting out of bed to get to the class. No, the hardest part is when I take my first step down the stairs into the water. It doesn’t matter how prepared I think I am to take this first step, I’m not. The water is always colder than you think it’s going to be. And now as the days grow colder, the heat in the pool area is cranked up. That doesn’t technically change the temperature of the water itself, but when you go from this warm air into the pool, the water feels colder than normal.

            It’s interesting to watch the different ways my classmates ascend into the water. Some of them slowly wade in, arms held high, getting gradually deeper, hoping that by the time their arms must touch the water, they will be adjusted to the temperature. Some of them stand at the edge of the pool and splash themselves with water, trying to get a little wet first without getting too cold at the same time. I do it a little differently. I walk into the water just up to my waist, and then I take the plunge and drop all the way in. It’s a shock but then the shock is over and I’m moving.

            The way that Mark begins his gospel feels a little like that sudden plunge into cold water. There is no slow warming up or wading in. There is no playful splashing. Mark is urgent and immediate and if you’re going to dive into his gospel, you are going to dive in. Yes, the water is cold, but get in and let’s get moving.

            “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.”

            The beginning. This is the beginning. This is where it all starts. The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.

Biblical scholars debate whether this was Mark’s first sentence or a title. But whether he meant it as a heading or as the first sentence, it summarizes the point Mark is making. This is the beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. This is it, people! This is it! But notice that Mark’s beginning names Jesus but it does not start with Jesus … or God … or the Holy Spirit. No, Mark’s beginning starts with John the Baptist.

            Mark quotes the prophets, specifically Isaiah, that God is sending a messenger ahead to prepare the way. This messenger is the voice crying out in the wilderness. This messenger is the one who is calling all who will listen to prepare the way.

            In true Markan fashion, we do not hear about this John the Baptist as someone who has been living in the wilderness or that he was known by folks and went out to the wilderness to do his preaching and baptizing there. He wasn’t a neighbor or just that weird solitary guy that everyone already knew. No, John the Baptist “appeared” in the wilderness as if out of nowhere. He appeared in the wilderness, he seemingly just showed up one day and began hearing people’s confessions, baptizing them in the River Jordan.

            Where did he come from? We don’t know and Mark isn’t telling, but his sudden appearance is not a deterrent to people. Mark tells us that the people in the whole Judean countryside and all of Jerusalem were going down to him. Something about John compelled them to go to him. Whether it was his message or his strange clothes and diet or a combination of both, we don’t know. But the people made their way to him. Maybe they thought he was the messiah, the one who had been promised. But if that’s what they thought, John told them otherwise. He made it clear that he was not “the one.” John proclaimed to the people that,

            “The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”

            I’m not the one, he told them. I’m not the one, and furthermore the one who is coming is so much more powerful than I am that I am not worthy to do for him what a servant would do for the head of the house. I am unworthy even to stoop down and untie the laces of his sandals. All I can do, John seems to be telling them, is to get you ready, to proclaim that this one is due to arrive. I’m here to prepare the way.

            Prepare the way. That is a theme in both our passages this morning. In Mark’s gospel, the people are confessing their sins and being baptized. The prophet Isaiah is telling the people that the Lord is calling them to prepare the way by making the paths straight, by lowering the mountains and lifting the valleys, by making all level ground. This kind of preparation is actually an invitation from God, with the idea that God is really doing the lowering and the lifting but inviting the people to join God in this work. One commentator wrote that this is like a parent inviting a two-year-old to help bake cookies. The two-year-old probably won’t be of much help, and the parent will do most of the mixing and baking, but what matters is not the cookies but the relationship between the two, parent and child working together. Is God inviting us to help, to prepare, like a parent invites their toddler? How are we called to prepare the way?

            There are lots of preparations this time of year – decorating, shopping, wrapping, baking, hosting – but surely these are not the preparations John and the prophets called for. Surely our preparations are to go deeper than that. In the gospel passage, we hear of the peoples’ confession of their sins. So, confession must be a part of our preparations, one way in which we make the paths straight.

            But we confess every week. We confess corporately. We confess in the silence of our hearts. Maybe part of our preparation, maybe the way we prepare the way, is not only confessing but responding as well. How do we respond to confession? How do we respond to being forgiven? We confess, we receive the words of forgiveness and then what? Did the people leave John by the Jordan with a new understanding of what God was doing in their lives? Or did they leave John wondering about the one who was coming next? Or was it both? Or was it something more? Did they realize that they were to prepare for someone and something, for God’s new intervention in their lives, even if they could not fully understand what that would mean and what that would look like? Did they leave John recommitted to their faith, to their call by God? Were their hearts and minds prepared just as their bodies were by their confession and their baptism?

            How are we called to prepare? I don’t think we get answers that are spelled out. To prepare the way is not to fulfill a to-do list, crossing off each task as we complete them. I think our preparations are something that we figure out even as we do them. We aren’t sure what God is doing, but we know and believe and trust that God is doing something, so we try to figure out our preparations. Mark’s gospel is the shortest of the four gospels. From the very beginning Mark’s emphasis is on the immediate, the urgent. He wastes no time. And he calls on those who will listen to follow in the same way, to heed this urgency, to see the immediateness of God’s interceding in the world in this new way, through this One who follows John the Baptist. So, we respond accordingly – with immediacy and urgency. God in Jesus is on the move, and we must be on the move too.

            Maybe our preparation is not just something we think about but something that we do. It is that plunge into the cold water. We are called to prepare the way by jumping into the good news with both feet. We are called to prepare by loving God, loving neighbor, and loving ourselves without hesitation. We are called to live as though Jesus will come again any minute. That’s what Advent is about really. It’s not just about waiting for a baby; it’s about waiting for God to surprise us anew.

            And that is the good news of the gospel. God is still doing something new. God is still on the move in this world. God is still lowering mountains and raising up valleys. God is still leveling the playing field so that when God’s glory is fully revealed we will see it as one people.

            God is still doing something new and unexpected and surprising. God is still calling us to prepare the way, to live with steadfast hope, to be makers of peace, to trust that the one who is coming is more powerful, more loving, more gracious, more life-giving, more glorious, more wonderful than any of us can imagine. Prepare for the unexpected. Prepare for the unimaginable. Prepare for the new. Prepare for the surprising. Prepare for the sudden appearance. Prepare the way.

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

            Amen.

Keep Awake: First Sunday of Advent -- Hope

 

Mark 13:24-37

December 3, 2023

 

            Babysitting was my primary source of income when I was a young teenager. Until I was old enough for parttime jobs, I babysat. I babysat on and off all the way through seminary. I love kids and I had no money, so babysitting was the way to bring my love for kids and my need for cash together.

            When I began to babysit, my mom taught me early on that I always needed to pick up before the parents came home. I didn’t have to clean their house for them, but if the kids had eaten something I needed to gather all the dishes and get them to the kitchen; load the dishwasher if that was an option, but at least get them collected and in the sink. After I put the kids to bed, I needed to pick up whatever toys or books might be scattered around. I took my mom seriously and I always made sure to do that. I told Phoebe the same thing when she started babysitting. Parents appreciate coming home to a picked up house.

            Because I was never exactly sure when parents would arrive back home, I worked to keep things cleaned up as I went. I didn’t wait until a few minutes before I thought the parents might arrive to start cleaning. I did it right away. I didn’t want to be caught asleep on the sofa with toys and dishes scattered all around me. When the parents came home, I wanted a neat house to be the first thing they saw.

            Waiting for parents to arrive at the end of a babysitting gig is not quite the same thing as what Mark is describing in these verses from chapter 13, but you get the idea. In the last paragraph of our reading, Jesus tells about a man who goes on a journey and leaves his servants in charge of their work and tells the doorkeeper to be on watch for his return. You don’t know when the man is going to return so keep awake, be ready, keep awake. Don’t drift off. Don’t relax your stance. The man of the house could return at any moment. Keep awake.

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 are the times 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?

            I admit that I’m having a hard time with seeing God lately. I know that may shock some folks, and it certainly says more about my struggling faith than it does about God. I know that God is with us. I just can’t see God with us these days. I can’t see God because catastrophe and chaos feels very near, very close at hand.

            The war in Ukraine goes on and on. The war between Israel and Hamas is brutal, and not only do we read or hear about its brutality, but we can also see it through live news coverage. We can hear the anguished voices of children who have lost their parents and parents who have lost their children. The news here at home isn’t much better. There is violence and anguish and sometimes it all gets to be too much. When I’m listening to the news in my car, I reach a point where I can’t listen anymore. I turn off the news and I listen to one of my audiobooks or music or nothing at all. And at those moments, other moments too, but especially those moments when I hear and feel the anguish of the world, I long to see God. I long for God to be revealed, to be unveiled. I long to see God at last.

            Jesus begins our passage by saying, “But in those days, after that suffering.” But in these days, the suffering is current and real. It’s happening right now. It hurts to feel this suffering, and you may be feeling that hurt too, and if you are, you probably wish that you could come to church and just sing Christmas carols and admire the decorations in the sanctuary and look forward to the coming of a little baby into the world. Instead you get a little apocalypse and talk about the end times.

            But remember that the apocalyptic writings that we have in our scriptures came out of communities who were being persecuted, oppressed, who were living in chaos and with catastrophe close at hand. They longed to see God’s revelation. They longed to see God revealed at last. It’s what gave them hope. To look for the revealing of God in their midst kept their hope alive. And isn’t hope what we need as well? This is the first Sunday of Advent, the Sunday of this season when Hope is the key word, it is the theme. Hope.

            And our Hope, our hope that comes from faith, is not a blind hope. It isn’t a fingers crossed and a wishful thinking kind of hope. Our Hope with a capital H is hope that names the reality in which we live. It names that which is hard and scary and disturbing. In fact, if we can’t name it here, in this sacred space, in this sacred moment, where can we name it? No, with our Hope we name the chaos in which we live. We name the catastrophe that is all around us, and then we proclaim Hope even more. As long as we are living, as long as we are breathing and moving and in this world God has given us, we have reason to Hope. We have reason to Hope because in spite of appearances there is good and there is love. We have reason to Hope because we have been given hands and hearts and minds and bodies to do the work of God in the world – in the larger world and in our corner of it. We have reason to Hope because we have the ability and the responsibility to act, to do, to create, to live in such a way that our Hope becomes the Hope for others.

            We have reason to Hope because in the growing darkness the light from one candle can make all the difference. We have reason to Hope because in the growing darkness, we are finally able to see the stars. Advent is a season of expectation, of waiting, of hoping, and trusting that our Hope, our constant and abiding Hope will be fulfilled in the coming of Christ into our world. As a babe. As a man. As God revealed. So I say to you and I say to myself, keep watch. Keep awake. Keep watch. Keep awake. Our Hope is at hand.

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

            Amen.