Advent Day 1
Scripture: Jeremiah 33:14-16 and Luke 21:25-36
It seemed like a good idea at the time: to turn out the friendly lights that shine from the peak of our cabin into the night, to go out through the darkness of our woods, to stand in the meadow and look, unfettered by light, at the beauty of the stars. And so we went, the girl and I hand in hand, down the path from our door into the great open space… and when the memory of light had faded from our eyes, there they were: Stars, so many more than we had imagined, so piercing in their beauty, so vast.
It seemed like a good idea at the time: to turn out the friendly lights that shine from the peak of our cabin into the night, to go out through the darkness of our woods, to stand in the meadow and look, unfettered by light, at the beauty of the stars. And so we went, the girl and I hand in hand, down the path from our door into the great open space… and when the memory of light had faded from our eyes, there they were: Stars, so many more than we had imagined, so piercing in their beauty, so vast. We stood for a moment thus: awed, rejoicing. And then it seemed we heard breathing in the night. Not our own, we understood at once, but something larger, more menacing, invisible in the night yet closer than nightmare, waiting with sharp teeth and curved claws in the hungering dark. As one, we turned: the stars faded, our feet hammered like drumbeats in the dark as we fled, hand in hand, back up the path and home into the Light.
We are still afraid of the Dark. Sirens howl in the night, and we come awake, startled, wondering—whose turn is it now? Another embassy is blown up, the smoking ruins a too-familiar sign of the times. Thanksgiving afternoon at dusk, 16 year old Denzel Smith of North Miami Beach, turned at the top of a stairwell, a BB gun in his hand. In the hungering dark, fear rose between the boy and the men who had been called; a shot rang out, and the boy fell. Everybody loved him, his brother said, he always knew how to make people laugh. A friend added, hethought he was going to be a kid forever. But Denzel didn’t get to, and neither did we… for each day’s headline and every night’s anxieties add the burden of years to our souls.
It is Advent again. Longing for the comfort of the womb where the Christ has been born to save the world, we read the bible and are future-shocked by its grim assertion that Christ’s advent has not trumped the powers and principalities of evil, abroad in the world. That was then… and this is now. We are in the same story, the same recurring dream where everything starts out so well, yet turns out so badly. There will be distress among nations. There will be signs in the heavens. People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming on the world…
The people of Luke’s time lived these words during the Roman siege of Jerusalem and Palestine. And we are living them now… not only sitting in church on a sunny morning in November, but huddled in a small house on the outskirts of Baghdad, or sweating in a tent in the desert, far from family and home. We are shivering under the interstate; reading the overdraft notice with dread; fingering a gas mask in a bunker somewhere; lighting a candle for another child, killed by mischance and fear. Week after week, as we lift our small voices in prayer for the victims of the AIDS pandemic in Africa, for wounded possibilities for peace in Israel and Palestine, the life of a friend with cancer, a way out of terrorism into a just peace. We know that our lives, and the lives of those we love, are shielded from the night by the thinnest of membranes, and sometimes, not at all… and we are still afraid. But… Jesus can see in the dark.
When you see these things,he said, you know, you know that the kingdom of God is near. Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life, but be alert at all times. Stand up and raise your heads, for your redemption is drawing near.
Raiseyour heads? Honestly, this is not my first instinct, nor, I suspect, any of yours. When I was a child, I dreaded gym class, with its perky insistence that year by year, an hour a day could make us proficient in sports and healthy, productive American citizens. I particularly hated anything involving a ball and a ball field. Inevitably, I was chosen last by the cheerleader types who headed each team… and trudged, head down, into the outfield where my humiliation might be witnessed, hopefully, only by passing truckers or the other losers to the right and left of me. The course of the game would pass while I kicked at the dirt and grass, worrying and wishing it would all be over, longing for physics or English class where I could kick some cheerleader butt. On a good day, nothing came near. But there were other days, when the shouts of the teacher and the jeers—or was it the encouragement? — of my classmates urged me to lift up my head, and catch the stupid ball. I rarely did. But now I think I might have, if I had looked up a little more often, kept my mind on the game instead of weighing it down with worry, tried to work with my teammates instead of going it alone.
We have a choice. Above the fold of this past Friday’s paper is one — the choice Jesus described as being weighed down with dissipation and worry. ‘Ready! Set! Shop! “I’m spending more.” accompanies a picture of people hurrying to buy, fleeing the dark with the stuff of this world. We can dissipate our energies, distract ourselves, and when the bills come in next month, it will still be dark outside. Or — we can lift up our heads, and practice for the kingdom. In the same paper, though below the fold, in the small print, an article describes Deliver the Dream, a company that provides donated getaways for families struggling with serious illness; and pages in lesser sections invite us to consider our spirituality and our philanthropy during this holiday season. Lift up your heads, said Jesus. The world’s not changing, but you can change the way you live in it.
Every circumstance is an opportunity for redemption.
The dark is not going anywhere soon. And neither are we. And that is why it must be Advent again: because we can’t just go at the kindom once in a while, bumping in the backfield and praying for better days, if we ever hope to be proficient at being Christ’s light in the world. We need to practice, to tell the story, to keep our heads up, to be wary of the worry and the yielding to whatever dissipation dujour entices us, whether food or shopping or drink or sleep or cocooning in front of the tv. We need to get out into the dark and keep our heads up, if Christ is to be born among us now and again.
In Madeleine L’Engle’s classic book A Wrinkle in Time,two children and their friend embark on a search for their vanished scientist father. Meg, Charles Wallace and Calvin are accompanied by three mysterious Beings, Mrs. Whatsit, Mrs. Which, and Mrs. Who. Preparing them for their search, a Medium shows them the way of the world in her crystal ball:
She seemed to see an enormous sweep of dark and empty space, and then galaxies swinging across it. “Your own Milky Way,” Mrs. Whatsit whispered to Meg.
For a moment there was the darkness of space, then another planet. The outlines of this planet were not clean and clear. It seemed to be covered with a smoky haze. Through the haze Meg thought she could make out the familiar outlines of continents like pictures in her Social Studies books. “Is it because of our atmosphere that we can’t see properly?” she asked anxiously. “No, Meg, yyou know thattt itt iss nnott tthee attmosspheeere,” Mrs. Which said. “Yyou mmusstt bee brrave.”
“It’s the Thing!” Charles Wallace cried. “It’s the Dark Thing we saw… when we were riding on Mrs. Whatsit’s back!” “Did it just come?” Meg asked in agony, unable to take her eyes from the sickness of the shadow which darkened the beauty of the earth. Mrs. Whatsit sighed. “No, Meg. It hasn’t just come. It has been there for a great many years. That is why your planet is such a troubled one.” “I hate it!” Charles Wallace cried passionately. “I hate the Dark Thing!” Mrs. Whatsit nodded. “Yes, Charles dear. We all do.” “But what is it?” Calvin demanded. “We know that it’s evil, but what is it?” “Yyouu hhave ssaidd itt!” Mrs. Which’s voice rang out. “Itt iss Eevill. Ittiss thee Ppowers of Ddarrkknessss!” “But what’s going to happen?” Meg’s voice trembled. “Oh, please, Mrs. Which, tell us what’s going to happen!” “We will continue tto ffight!” Something in Mrs. Which’s voice made all three of the children stand straighter, throwing back their shoulders with determination, looking at the glimmer that was Mrs. Which with pride and confidence. “And we’re not alone, you know, children,” came Mrs. Whatsit, the comforter. “All through the universe it’s being fought, all through the cosmos… and some of our very best fighters have come right from your own planet, and it’s a little planet, dears, out on the edge of a little galaxy.
“Who have some of our fighters been?” Calvin asked. “Oh, you must know them dear,” Mrs. Whatsit said. Mrs. Who’s spectacles shone out at them triumphantly, “And the light shineth in darkness, and the darkness comprehended it not.” “Jesus!” Charles Wallace said. “Why, of course, Jesus!” “Go on, Charles, love. There were others. All your great artists. They’ve been lights for us to see by.” “Leonardo da Vinci?” Calvin suggested tentatively. “And Michelangelo?” “And Shakespeare,” Charles Wallace called out, “and Bach! And Pasteur and Madame Curie and Einstein!” Now Calvin’s voice rang with confidence. “And Schweitzer and Gandhi and Buddha and Beethoven and Rembrandt and St. Francis!” “Watch!” the Medium told them. The earth with its fearful covering of dark shadow swam out of view and they moved rapidly through the Milky Way. And there was the Thing again. Suddenly there was a great burst of light through the Darkness. The light spread out and where it touched the Darkness the Darkness disappeared. The light spread until the patch of Dark Thing had vanished, and there was only a gentle shining, and through the shining came the stars, clear and pure. No shadows. No fear. Only the stars and the clear darkness of space, quite different from the fearful darkness of the Thing. “You see!” the Medium cried, smiling happily. “It can be overcome! It is being overcome all the time!”[1]
And it is. Lift up your hearts, lift up your heads, catch the ball, practice Advent, see in the dark. You are a city set on a hill, whose light cannot be hid. said Jesus, and he believed it. It is the breath of God surrounding you in the dark, breathing a blessing of life over our fear: be not afraid. liftup your heads, for your redemption is drawing near.
