It Is the Lord -- Second Sunday after Epiphany

I Samuel 3:1-20

January 14, 2024

 

            The story of Samuel begins with the story of Samuel’s mother, Hannah. Hannah was one of two wives of Elkanah. The other wife was Peninnah. Peninnah bore children for Elkanah, but Hannah could not. And Peninnah made sure to rub this in Hannah’s face at every opportunity. Each year, Elkanah, Hannah, Peninnah and their whole household would go up to Shiloh to worship at the house of the Lord. Elkanah would give portions of the animals he sacrificed to everyone in his family, but to Hannah he gave double portions because he loved her so, children or not.

            But Elkanah’s love and tenderness could not stop Hannah from grieving for the children she could not bear. On one of these visits to Shiloh, after everyone had eaten, Hannah got up and went to the house of worship. Eli the priest was there, sitting by the door of the temple. But if Hannah noticed him, the text doesn’t say. She had other things on her mind, and she needed to pray about them. She prayed earnestly and fervently that she would have a child. She made a promise to God. If God would give her a son, she would make sure she raised him as a Nazarite. A Nazarite was set apart as someone intent for serving God’s purposes. She would make sure that he never drank wine or anything else that might intoxicate him. She would see that no razor touched his head. She promised God that should she conceive and have a son, she would make sure that son was dedicated to God and God’s service.

            Hannah was praying all this silently, but her need was so great and her pain so deep that as she prayed her lips moved. I wonder if she swayed a little, especially because she was most likely kneeling. Her eyes were probably tightly closed and maybe her swaying changed to rocking back and forth. Maybe the tears that were so close to the surface spilled down her cheeks. I suspect that she was so intent on her prayer that the sudden sound of Eli’s voice must have startled her. Hannah was praying, but to Eli it looked like she was drunk. And he told her so. He told her to stop making a drunken spectacle of herself and put away her wine. But Hannah wasn’t drunk; she was a woman who needed God’s intervention and when she explained this to Eli, that she was pouring out her soul to God, Eli softened toward her and told her to go in peace. Go in peace and may God grant her prayer. Hannah did just that. With a tranquility she had not had before, she left the temple. She went home with her husband and family. And she conceived a baby – a little boy named Samuel.

            Hannah was true to her word. She cared for Samuel until he was old enough to be taken to the temple and serve under Eli’s tutelage. And that’s how we come to this part of the story. Samuel’s story begins with the story of his mother, Hannah.

            When we encounter Samuel again, he is sleeping in his usual place in the temple near the ark of God. We’re told immediately that “The word of the Lord was rare in those days; visions were not widespread.” Another way to translate the word rare is precious. The word of the Lord was like a jewel that is found only once in a lifetime. If God had spoken often to earlier ancestors of the Israelites, God wasn’t speaking much to them anymore. So, that would mean there were no expectations that God would make an appearance that night or any other. It was business in the temple as usual.

But then Samuel hears a voice calling his name.  “Samuel.  Samuel.”

            Samuel, who did not yet know the Lord, had not yet encountered the Lord,  thinks Eli is calling him. Any one of us would have made that mistake, especially when we were kids. Who else could it be? Samuel gets up and runs to Eli. 

“Here I am! You called me.”

But it wasn’t Eli. Eli tells him to go back to bed. But three times Samuel hears the voice and three times he runs to Eli. Samuel hears the voice, but he doesn’t recognize it as the Lord, and he doesn’t know how to listen. Eli is losing his eyesight, but he does know how to listen. The third time Samuel comes to him, Eli realizes something else is happening, someone else is speaking. It took Eli’s perception to realize that the voice Samuel was hearing was the voice of the Lord. And it took Eli’s instruction before Samuel knew how to listen to God’s voice and respond.

            Our verses end here, but the story goes on and takes a difficult and darker turn. The first word of the Lord that Samuel heard and received was a harsh message of judgment about Eli and his family. As one commentator quipped, the message was, “Tell your boss he’s fired.”  The priesthood, which Eli and his sons were direct descendants of had become corrupt and fat with its own sense of power and authority. 

            Eli’s sons had blasphemed against the Lord in words and in actions. Eli knew what his sons were up to, yet he did nothing to stop them.  So Eli and his family, he and his sons together, would soon be shaken up and torn down in order to make way for a new beginning – for the priesthood and for Israel. Eli accepts this message with resignation and faith.

 “It is the Lord, let him do what seems good to him.”

            The message delivered to Samuel was probably not what either of them wanted to hear, but Samuel, even though he was just a kid, found the courage to share it. Eli had the courage to hear it. He listened and he accepted the outcome, knowing that all things are ultimately in God’s hands.

            The story goes on to say that as Samuel grew up, the Lord was continually with him. From this first experience with God’s call, all of Israel came to know Samuel as a trustworthy prophet of the Lord.

             But the story of Samuel began with the story of his mother, Hannah. His story began in his family, and it continued in the community of the temple, and he would serve as a prophet in the community of his people. Samuel was a great prophet and he heard God’s voice, but he did not hear God’s voice in isolation. He heard it in community. He learned to recognize it through the help of others. From the very beginning, he was prayed for, nurtured, loved, raised, taught, and encouraged in community.

I think if the story of Samuel teaches us anything it is that we all need help to hear. We need help to hear God’s voice. God may have called directly, a voice in the night, but in our lives, I think God calls us most often through the voices of others. We need help to hear.

Just as Samuel needed Eli to help him recognize and respond to God’s call, we need others of faith to help us hear God’s word. We need this time of worship together, as a community, to hear God’s word, to recognize it, to act upon it. Samuel needed help and so do we. 

            In a few minutes we will ordain and install our newest ruling elders. These four people – Charlie, Emmy, John, and Paige – have come to this moment in a variety of ways. But they have all been nurtured in their faith through community – through the faith of their families, through the churches where they grew up, through this community of faith. They have heard and answered this call, because it is a call, through this community and for the sake of this community.

            Calls to serve do not happen in isolation. A hallmark of being Presbyterian is that we believe the Holy Spirit moves and breathes and blows and creates in groups of people working together, in other words, community. It is the Spirit that has brought us to this moment. It is the Spirit, working through this community of faith, through the relationships that are forged here, that has helped each of these four people to hear the voice of the Lord calling them anew.

            The story of Samuel also reminds us that that God’s word to us isn’t necessarily one we want to hear. Sometimes, the word of the Lord demands difficult choices and difficult responses. But part of the promise that we make today for these new elders, and all our elders, is that we will support and trust their decisions. Sometimes, a session is called to make tough decisions, decisions that will challenge us, maybe even unsettle us. We may not always agree, but we hold fast to the bonds of this community, and we trust that our elders are not only being affirmed by this community but working to give back to this community, this community and family of faith.             

            For our elders, for one another, for God’s beloved children gathered together in this community, we give thanks. Let us continue to help one another to hear God’s call and to follow in faith and trust.  

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

Amen.

A Voice from Heaven -- Baptism of the Lord Sunday

Mark 1:4-11 

January 7, 2024

 

I’ve always loved the spiritual, Wade in the Water. You know the one that goes, “Wade in the water. Wade in the water, children. Wade in the water. God’s gonna trouble the water.” This wasn’t something that I grew up singing in church, but it feels like a song I’ve always known. It was the Fisk Jubilee Singers who brought this and other spirituals to a larger audience in the late 1800’s and early 1900’s, but the history of this spiritual goes back much further than that. It would have originated during slavery and was probably passed down orally long before it was set to paper.

It's also believed that it was a coded song, possibly used by Harriet Tubman to send messages to enslaved people seeking to escape to freedom. Coded songs were a powerful way to share information. Some songs would give escape routes, places on the Underground Railroad that would lead enslaved humans from this country to freedom in Canada. Other songs would offer encouragement for the journey. Wading in water prevented bloodhounds from tracking someone’s scent or leaving footprints for slave patrols to follow.  

I may not have grown up singing this, but a dear friend of mine grew up in a Black church. She told me once that in her childhood congregation, Wade in the Water, was sung every time someone was baptized. I was excited to hear that, because whenever we come to the time in our church year when celebrate the baptism of Christ, I always think about this spiritual. No matter which gospel account of Jesus’ baptism we are reading, I find myself singing these beautiful words about wading in the water without even realizing it. But there’s one phrase in it that I’ve always wondered about. What does it mean to sing,

“God’s gonna trouble the water?”   

I’ll be honest, I don’t like the thought of troubled waters, even if God is the one doing the troubling, and even if there’s a bridge over those troubled waters to reference another popular song. It’s just that I’ve seen the destruction that floods can do to towns and cities as I’m sure you have too. And it’s not just the terrible winds from hurricanes that cause so much damage – although they do – it’s also the flooding that occurs after the rains from the storms as well. No, troubled waters aren’t really my cup of tea.    

But the song says that God’s gonna trouble the waters. Does that mean that God’s going to whip up a flood or cause a tidal wave?  Does it mean that God is doing something dangerous on the waters?  For enslaved people, so desperate to escape to freedom, did it represent their hope that God would produce a miracle like Moses and the Israelites crossing the parted Red Sea on dry land? Or did it mean that God was protecting them, troubling the waters, stirring them up so that detection would be even harder? Is that the kind of troubled waters the song refers to?   

Maybe this phrase isn’t talking so much about destruction as it is about something new. Something different. In our passage from Genesis when a wind from God swept over the waters, life happened. God troubled those waters in that formlessness and void, that chaos and creation was conceived.   

So what happens when God troubles the waters of baptism? We have it in our gospel text today that John appeared out of the wilderness baptizing people from all over the Judean countryside in the river Jordan. Baptisms were nothing new when John came along. Different forms of baptism, essentially ritual cleansing, had been taking place for some time. But there was something about John. There was something about him that drew people to him. Maybe it was his strangeness, his peculiar style of dress and diet. Maybe there was something charismatic about him, about his preaching and teaching, that we cannot fully perceive through the written word alone. It might have been all of this and more, but something about John drew people to him. People came out in droves to be baptized by him. The people were clearly hungry for a new word from God, for something new, for someone new. I think John must have recognized their hunger. But he made sure they understood that it wasn’t him they were seeking. He was only the messenger. He was only the one who pointed the way to the One who was to come. The One who was to come was the One they really longed for, the One they had been waiting for. This One would not just baptize with water as John did. This One would baptize with the Holy Spirit.   

And that brings us to the crux of this passage. Jesus of Nazareth comes to John and is baptized by him. And as Jesus comes out of the water, he sees the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending on him like a dove. He hears a voice saying,

“You are my Son, the Beloved, with you I am well pleased.”  

Whenever the story of Jesus’ baptism is read, questions about why he was baptized in the first place arise. If baptism is about cleansing from sin, then certainly Jesus didn’t require that. Was he setting an example for those who would follow him and for the Church that would expand around the globe in his name? Was it to prove his identity? Did he do it for some other unknown reason? I’m not sure that we can truly know the fullness of Jesus’ reasons.    

But what we do know is that Mark’s telling of Jesus’ baptism is different from the other gospel writers. Mark makes it clear that Jesus is the only one who can see the disruption in the sky that his baptism caused. Jesus is the only one to see the dove descending and hear the mighty voice from heaven. No one else present there witnesses this dramatic scene. And I’m sure it was dramatic indeed. The Greek verb that is used to describe the heavens being torn apart is the same verb that’s used to describe how the curtain of the temple was ripped in two on the moment of Jesus’ death on the cross.   

It seems that with Jesus’ baptism God not only troubled the waters, but the heavens as well. 

Something about God troubling the waters makes things happen. Something changes when God troubles the waters. I don’t want to presume that Jesus was changed when God troubled the heavens above Jesus and the waters in which Jesus waded. Jesus was who he was and is who he is. But things, life, became very different from that point on. A tremendous shift in action takes place in that moment. From that point on the world was different. When Jesus waded into those waters, the ushering in of the Kingdom was set in motion. 

When God troubles the waters, things change. Things happen. The waters and all who enter them are changed. 

For many years one of the souvenirs that I kept from my trip to the Middle East was a plastic bottle of water from the Jordan River. I still don’t know how I managed to get it from there back to the States and through several moves around the country without it leaking or just generally exploding. I even used some of the water for one of the first baptisms I ever did. Let me make it clear that I used it after I boiled it like crazy. There was no way I was putting it near an infant’s little head without sterilizing it.

But a few years ago, maybe before we moved back to Tennessee, I got rid of it. The bottle was in rough shape, and I suspect the water in it was a science experiment by that point. I love the memories I have of that trip and collecting that water. But what I really remember from that trip to the Jordan was the president of our seminary, Hartley Hall, fussing at all of us for collecting the water in the first place.

I can still hear him saying, “Don’t do it! It’s just water. It won’t heal you. It’s not magic.”

He fussed at us like this while we were still by the Jordan. He fussed at us when we got back on the bus. It’s just water. It’s not magic. I’m glad he liked me because once we were on our way to our next stop one of my friends ratted me out to him.

“Amy wasn’t just collecting water. She was using it to make crosses on people’s foreheads.”

And I was. It seemed like the right thing to do at that moment. But Hartley was right. It was just water. What’s the difference between water from the Jordan River and the water we would use for a baptism? Except for some microorganisms and pollution, absolutely nothing. It’s not the water or the topographical source of the water that makes it different. It’s God troubling the water that makes the change.   

So when we wade into the waters of baptism, whether we do it literally or figuratively, as babies, as children, as young and old adults, we are wading into troubled waters. Waters that have been changed by the power of the Holy Spirit. God troubles the waters of our baptisms. And we are swept into the tide of God’s great and remarkable love, grace, mercy, and justice. We are empowered by the spirit to follow in the footsteps of the One who saw the heavens open and the dove descending and heard the voice proclaiming. You are my son, the Beloved. With you I am well pleased. So, let’s wade into the water. Let’s wade into the water trusting that God troubles the waters, stirring them up and stirring us well – stirring us into service and justice and faithfulness, stirring us to bear witness to a voice heard from heaven and the good news that through the beloved Son, the kingdom of God is in our midst.

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

Amen.

My Eyes Have Seen Your Salvation -- First Sunday of Christmas

Luke 2:22-40

December 31, 2023

 

            When Phoebe was born, I had quite a few visitors at the hospital. We had visitors when Zach was born too, but they waited until we got home. But with Phoebe, they started arriving a few hours after I was moved from labor and delivery into my regular room. And when people would come to see us, they wanted to hold the baby, of course, understandably. When Zach was born, letting other people hold him for a while was easier because I also had a two-year-old to chase around. But Phoebe was my first, and when people would ask to hold her, especially when we were still in the hospital, I would certainly let them, although I insisted everyone who touched her wash their hands first because I was that new mom. But while I agreed to let them hold her, inwardly I was thinking,

“But, but I just got her. I didn’t realize I would be expected to share her this soon.”

            After a time, this inner turmoil wore off. The realities of taking care of a newborn sunk in pretty quickly and getting a break for a few minutes when someone else wanted to hold her was a blessing. But right at the beginning it was hard for me. So, if Mary and Joseph had some qualms about this old man coming up to them at the temple and taking their precious days-old baby in his arms I get it.

            Mary and Joseph brought Jesus to the temple to make a sacrifice as the Law required after a baby was born. So, if they were being respectful and polite and not outwardly protesting when Simeon took him out of their arms and into his because custom and culture dictated it, I understand that. But I can’t help but wonder if inwardly they were slightly panicking thinking,

“Hold his head. I think you might be pinning his arm down in a weird way. You know, he really likes to be held against your shoulder to help his tummy. He’s a little colicky. Is this man strong enough to hold a baby and stand up at the same time? Could we ask him to sit down with him first?”

And even though the circumstances surrounding Jesus’ conception and birth were already extraordinary, considering it began with a visit by one angel and ended with the heavens full of them, it was probably still strange and peculiar for Joseph and Mary that this old man took baby Jesus into his arms and then started praising God. This was no ordinary praise either. It was no thanksgiving about the blessing of children in general. It was thanksgiving that this child had been born and that he, Simeon, was finally experiencing what had been promised to him. Before he died, he would see the salvation of God, and the salvation of God was right here in his arms.

The text tells us that Joseph and Mary were amazed at what Simeon was saying about their baby, and I bet they were. But before they’d even had time to process what Simeon said, another person came over to them and added to the unexpected and strange scene. The prophet Anna, a widow of many years, who lived day and night at the temple worshipping and fasting and praying, joined their small circle, and began to praise God. She exclaimed to everyone around them that those who were looking for the redemption of Israel had found it in this child.

I have officiated for quite a few infant baptisms in my time as a pastor, and I’ve held my own babies while they were baptized, and yet with all the prayers and joyful blessings and exclamations of hope and delight that I have witnessed and offered myself, I’ve never seen or experienced anything quite like this. Probably none of us have. As I said earlier, even though Mary and Joseph already had plenty to be amazed about with the birth of Jesus, this must have been even more mindboggling for them. They had been told many things about their baby, who he was and who he would become, but our human minds can take a while to process information and processing such astonishing information as this could take even longer. Mary and Joseph had been giving an overwhelming amount of information to process.

So, what do these stories mean for us today? Certainly they are confirmation of who Jesus is, confirmation of the incarnation of God into the world, the Word become flesh. And that confirmation is more than enough. But what do we take away with us today? Normally, when I sit down to write a sermon my struggle comes with how to begin. But today it is reversed. How do I end it? What deeper message needs to be imparted?

One detail about this story that, even though I’ve read it many times, I hadn’t paid much attention to before, is that the Holy Spirit rested on Simeon. When it comes to the gospels, we tend to think of the Holy Spirit coming later. Even though there are many references to the Spirit of the Lord throughout scripture, the Holy Spirit is associated with Pentecost. The Holy Spirit comes as the comforter and the advocate after Jesus leaves this earthly realm. And since the author of Luke is also the author of Acts, and the coming of the Holy Spirit on the disciples at Pentecost is a foundational part of Acts, I forget about references to the Holy Spirit before that moment. But here it is, in chapter two. The Holy Spirit rested on Simeon. The Holy Spirit revealed to Simeon that he would not see death before he had seen the Lord’s Messiah. Simeon clearly trusted the Holy Spirit. He trusted and he waited. And his wait was rewarded. When he saw Mary and Joseph bring their baby into the temple, he knew who he was truly seeing.

There is no more mention of Simeon or Anna after these verses, but I think that it’s fair to assume that Simeon did not live much longer. He knew when he saw Jesus that the Messiah had entered the world and because of that he could now depart it. He could be dismissed from this life in peace.

But let’s also think about what Simeon said. He praised God. He said that he, God’s servant, could be dismissed in peace because he had seen the salvation of God, the light of revelation, not just to Israel but to the Gentiles. And then he blessed Mary and Joseph both, but he had one last word for Mary.

“This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed – and a sword will pierce your own soul too.”

And a sword will pierce your own soul too.

I wonder, if as Frederick Buechner suggested, that Simeon hesitated before he said those last words. Maybe he didn’t want to say them at all. Maybe he wished he could just not say them and let this young mother leave with nothing but joy in her heart. But he had to say them. He had to be honest. He must share what he knew. This child is the salvation that the world had been waiting for. But this didn’t mean that there would not be a cost. The man Jesus will tell those who want to follow him the same thing. You must count the cost of discipleship. There will be a cost to Jesus, and a cost to those who would follow. Mary will also suffer and pay her own price. There will be a cost for her as well. A sword will pierce your own soul too.

What mother, what parent, doesn’t look with wonder at their precious baby, imagining their amazing future, and also know, deep down, that one day this child will grow up and go into the world and be hurt by it? We long to protect our children, but if we’re honest, we know that we can’t protect them completely. And we will feel every hurt, every rejection, every pain they feel, no matter their age or ours. That is real the cost of parenting. Mary learned early that she would pay a greater price than others.

A sword will pierce your own soul too.

And maybe this is the message we need to take with us today, especially as we enter into a new year. We wish one another a happy New Year, but we know that in the coming months there is the opportunity for both great joys and great sorrows. I want nothing more than for all of us to experience overwhelming love and happiness in these next twelve months, but we also know that we just don’t know. We just don’t know what lies ahead. But we do know that God was and is incarnate in this world, in our lives, in our hearts. We do know that the Holy Spirit is alive and moving and stirring up good and beauty and hope. We do know that we are not alone. We do know that we are loved and that this love will carry us and abide with us and comfort us, no matter what swords may pierce our souls.

And for all of this and so much more, we give thanks and praise, because God is in the world. God is in the world. Our eyes have seen his salvation.

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

Amen.

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.