Advent Sunday

Scripture: Psalm 122 and Isaiah 2:1-5 and Matthew 24:36-44

There’s a certain exotic comfort in imagining what it might be like to see the Second Coming of Christ, and I appreciate the opportunity the lectionary affords us each Advent to dabble in that esoterica of doomsday, Armageddon scenarios. One of our Wednesday morning bible study fellows and her sister said they have a relative like this: they say, whatever the reality of her life at the moment, she is living in doom. Garrison Keillor said last night on his radio show A Prairie Home Companion that Advent was for his family, never a time of hope and expectation connected to the cradle and the manger; but a chance to anticipate the terror and cataclysm of the Rapture (that is, rapture for ME and cataclysm for YOU) and the Last Days of the Second Coming of Christ. Many, I suspect, hold a conviction that Christ will come again…but how or why or when, is of little or no concern to the day to day business of being a person of faith in a complicated and chaotic world. Whether you believe in it or not, I will say this: the notion that the Second Coming of Christ will be a sudden, cataclysmic, and global event—whether impossible to predict or as sure as the turning of the century—lets church of Jesus Christ off the hook –freed from the responsibility for expectation implied in the teaching of Jesus in the twenty-fourth chapter of the gospel of Matthew, when he says, therefore you must also be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.

Doomsday scenarios aside, manufacturing a sense of expectation in the coming presence of God is not an easy matter, in the season of Advent or anytime. We’re used to life the way it is. God is less an unexpected visitor—or even invader—than a familiar part of our spiritual scenery, a spiritual safety net under our ordinary days, reserved for extraordinary moments of need. Advent seems less a time of spiritual preparation than the onset of a frantic season of partying and shopping, accompanied by a dull sense of dissatisfaction—that somehow we have been missing the point all along. For what are we supposed to be getting ready? And why should we bother? Yesterday morning, working on the roof of a church in Ft. Pierce with others from our congregation, I pounded nails and wondered aloud—what do you think all this might have to do with Advent. One looked up at me and said—when’s Advent? Another, more practically than I might have imagined, said: Advent is like wondering when we’re ever going to get off this roof, pulling tiles, and go have lunch. That was a new metaphoric possibility for me, and I fleshed it out, incarnate, as I continued to pull nails: Advent as a season of tedious expectation; boring, repetitive work followed by a brief, quickly digested payoff, the timing of the whole mess dictated by the whims of an obsessive, but not necessarily too attentive, pastor. Ouch. I decided it was time for Christmas—I mean, lunch.

I want you to try an experiment with me for the next few moments. Close your eyes, and, just for the next few minutes, empty your mind and spirit of any distractions.

Forget what you think you know about this passage of scripture, dismiss what you believe or don’t believe about the Second Coming of Christ, set aside what you believe it is trying to teach you, and just listen…listen with an open mind, receiving whatever images come to you as the words wash over your ears, and through your spirit. Breathe deeply, and let the wind of God flow through your body as you breathe slowly in and out. Listen:

But about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the son, but only the father. For as the days of Noah were, so will be the coming of the Son of Man. For as in those days before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day Noah entered the ark, and they knew nothing until the flood came and swept them all away, so too will be the coming of the Son of Man. Then two will be in the field; one will be taken and one will be left. Two women will be preparing food together; one will be taken and one will be left. Keep awake, therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming. But understand this : if the owner of the house had known in what part of the night the thief was coming, he would have stayed awake and would not have let his house be broken into. Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.

What did you notice? What did you feel? What images came to you? Here is what I noticed: how did Noah get into a story about the Second Coming of Christ? What are his people doing here, eating and drinking and going about their business until the flood came and washed them all away? I thought about Noah, and here is what I saw: a flood, sweeping mud and debris and raging water through the villages of Haiti, shell-shocked survivors wading through the wreckage of Gonaives. Teenagers, shot to death in their dorm room in China. Statistics in the pages of the Miami Herald earlier this week: the death tolls from hurricanes Charley, Frances, Ivan, Jeanne. You must also be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.

We would like to believe that we are ready: living buffered by the affluence of the first world, covered by insurance, secure in our gated neighborhoods, on the receiving end of a regular paycheck, surrounded by family and friends, people of faith. But the world is closer than it used to be, and it grows harder and harder to believe that we will always be safe. We do not know the day, the hour, or the way that God will visit us, or perhaps someone, or something else. We can’t prepare for it. We can’t predict it. If we had known at what hour the thief would break into our house, we would have been ready, but who can know such things? Even the security system isn’t foolproof. There is something impersonal in a hurricane, a mudslide, a volcanic eruption, a diagnosis of Alzheimer’s, or cancer. Something impersonal, and unfair, and disturbingly random. It could happen to us, as easily as it happened to a family in Haiti. It does happen to us. Two women are working: one gets sick, the other doesn’t. Two men show up every day, do their work as competent professionals: one gets laid off, the other, promoted.

We hear the words of Jesus in a new way, don’t we, surrounded by these strong and immediate images? Suddenly we can see it: this is not about the “Second Coming,” far off and apocalyptic–no, not at all. It is about life, the way life is for us and for others, and about what, if anything we can do about it. Keep awake therefore, for you do not know the day or the hour. Trying to master the formula for the End Times won’t do it. Eating broccoli and cutting down on saturated fats won’t do it. Stuff happens, and there’s nothing to do about it, except to attend seriously the words of Jesus: be ready.

What does it mean for us to be ready? To stay awake, anticipating the knock at the door, the phone call at two a.m., the breaking of glass, the roaring of wind, the doctor’s words, I’m sorry, there’s nothing more we can do.

I know my first response is truly to keep awake—that is, to lie awake at night, worrying about what might happen, wishing there was something I could do to protect myself and those I love more fully. There are times I have lain awake at night, and times that you have, as well. Maybe if I had done this—what if I tried that—if only I had known…what if… But that is not what Jesus meant. More anxiety will not make us ready. Fear is not preparation. Lying awake is not the same as keeping awake.

To live as those who are ready for the coming of the Son of Man means, in the season of Advent and in every season, to live as those who are paying attention. To live intentionally, attentively. One may be taken, another left behind. It may be you, it may be your next door neighbor, or your best friend. Did they make the best use of the time they had, honoring the days God gave them upon the earth? Was all the time you put into your work, your worrying, your exercising, your arguing, your wishing, worthwhile? Could that time have been used more happily? More usefully? Wonder whether you can do better, now that you have been reminded of the fragility and the preciousness of life? What about the time you have here, now? Keep awake, be ready.

To experience Advent is to know that the presence of God is just around the corner, and in our midst. To know that the spirit of God is available to help you live every moment with your eyes opened wide, intentionally, fully. We are not always gifted with knowing how and when. We do not always have more time to get ready. We do have right now, and that is all we have—all any of us has, really. To be an Advent people is to make now count: to be ready, to be awake, to live.

These past few weeks, I have been gifted with a rare opportunity to see what it might be like to try to pay better attention, to be ready for the ways God is trying to come to me. I have been trying to attend to the preciousness of life, attempting to stay awake in case it becomes necessary that I should be ready. There have been catastrophes and hurts and sudden endings in some of our lives. Others of us have faced bad news, and are waiting for outcomes…diagnoses, treatments, relapse, recovery. Let me tell you that you are amazing people. Honest. Faithful, in acknowledging that such things happen to some of us, to each of us, now and again: noting: I have not been unfairly singled out. Things happen, and this time, it happened to me. Resilient, and willing, for the most part, to share with the community, with this community, what is happening and what they need to get through it. Not all people “live in doom” in these ways, trusting each other, being honest with themselves and God. Witnessing these moments, I realize how much I want to be awake in every moment to the deep significance of how we live our days. I am continually amazed how they, how you, have been awake. And I have been thinking how easy it is to take our lives as baptized Christians for granted, and our families, and our God, and ourselves. When, if we are ready, if we are awake, life is an advent, an unfolding, a gift. Let us pray. O God, who yearly maketh us glad with the remembrance of thy son, so help us that, as we willingly receive him at his Advent, we may also joyfully welcome him when he shall come to be our judge. Amen