Luke
21:25-36
Advent
1
December
2, 2018
William G. Carter
“There will be
signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among
nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. People will
faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the world, for the powers
of the heavens will be shaken. Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in a cloud’
with power and great glory. Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and
raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.”
Then he told
them a parable: “Look at the fig tree and all the trees; as soon as
they sprout leaves you can see for yourselves and know that summer is already
near. So also, when you see these things taking place, you know
that the kingdom of God is near. Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away
until all things have taken place. Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not
pass away.
“Be on guard
so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and
the worries of this life, and that day catch you unexpectedly, like a trap.
For it will come upon all who live on the face of the whole earth. Be alert at
all times, praying that you may have the strength to escape all these things
that will take place, and to stand before the Son of Man.”
Last
Tuesday morning, I realized why I’ve always been uncomfortable with the season
of Advent. Logically, I understand the purpose of establishing the season. It’s
a time to prepare for Christ to be born again among us. Advent slows down the
shopping season and invites us to return to God. I get all of that. But I also
feel the awkwardness of dressing in purple and royal blue when everybody out
there is decking the halls in red and green, and gold and white.
It
got clearer on Tuesday, when my spiritual director showed me a sketch from the
great artist Rembrandt. We have reprinted it in the bulletin insert today. It’s
called “self portrait with eyes wide open.” Take a look at it. Look at his
face. See the astonishment? The shock? The disruption?
In
that moment I realized why I am ambivalent about Advent: because it shakes us
up. Advent reminds me that, not only does God come, (but) the reason God comes
is to finish things off, to correct all that is wrong, to confront the evils
with which we have become complacent, to heal a long list of ills which we know
so well. This is Good News, but it’s disruptive.
Jesus
says, “People will faint from fear and foreboding of what is coming upon the
world. The powers of the heavens will be shaken.” Do we really want that? When it’s
winter and the angels have a pillow fight, a pillow rips open and the
snowflakes come down. That’s disruptive enough. Imagine what it means for the
Son of Man to come on a cloud in the fullness of his glory! It means that
everything we hold dearly will be shaken.
As
that final day moves toward us, there are moments when we glimpse how God is
going to shake the world, how God is going to remake the word as it was
intended to be. I’ve had those moments myself. Each is a temporary awakening,
where I see and believe what God is going to do. Each one is shocking. In fact
I had at least three moments in the last week.
The
first was a picture I saw of a homeless man. Actually it was a statue of a
homeless. The figure is sleeping on a park bench. He has a blanket pulled over
his head. He has no name, no obvious face. The only distinguishing detail are
his bare feet. They have nail prints. It is the crucified Christ on a park
bench. That sculpture has been replicated many times, often placed in affluent
neighborhoods as a reminder of what he said, “Whenever you have done to the
least of these, you have done to me.”[1]
What
made the picture so striking is that I had just thrown out leftover food in our
refrigerator. That’s food that was cooked but not eaten. We made too much food
for our t=Thanksgiving banquet and it was not shared… and I was shaken.
Or
what about that cup of coffee last week that I enjoyed at Zummo’s coffee shop,
my southern office? I was there to meet with a scholar that we have invited in
February to lead an adult education class. Her research is uncovering the
African-American community in the city of Scranton. Apparently the numbers have
been significant over the past 150 years, but generally off the radar of people
who look like me. The presence has largely been ignored by the structures of power
and the human services in the city.
“How
do you do your research?” I asked. She said it’s a challenge. African-American
businesses have been left out of the business directories, deemed unimportant
or marginal. I was confronted with remembered my own blind spots, the downside
of my privilege, the quiet racism that has shaped my life. It is Advent and I
was shaken.
Or
third, I was sitting at my computer, reviewing the submissions for our online
Advent devotional. I hope you find this and read it every day. We have a wealth
of talented, insightful writers in our church family. One of the entries is a
reflection on the Song of Mary, the Magnificat from the first chapter of Luke.
The mother of Jesus sings, “God pulls down the mighty from their thrones and
lifts up those of low degree.” That is good news for some, said the writer, but
not for everybody.
Along
with those words, there was a picture included, a picture of a child being tear
gassed at our southern border. It was deeply disturbing. I was shaken out of my
complacency, shaken out of my timid desire to live my faith in a vacuum, shaken
out of my presumption that the great issues of our day do not matter to the
rest of us. And I found myself praying, “Come quickly, Lord Jesus, come and set
the world right.”
Those
moments come to all of us. Sometimes it is a shift in perception, an opening to
see something we have not seen or otherwise ignored. Sometimes it is an unexpected
trauma – an illness, or an accident, or a lost job or a divorce. Sometimes the
disruption comes as a gift – a child is born, such a wonderful gift, and it turns
our world upside down. Sometimes the ground beneath our feet begins to shake;
just as ask the people in Anchorage, Alaska, and look at the terrible scenes.
Today’s
word from Jesus is an invitation to look more deeply, to watch for what God
might be doing, and to take part in it as we are able. That’s not easy, because the disruptions in our lives take a
lot of energy. They make great demands on us. They shake us up – and shake us
down – and reveal what we are made of.
Will
we respond with faith, hope, and love? Can we anchor ourselves in the promises
of God in scripture? And will we be able to see our “redemption drawing near,”
that great getting-up day when every broken thing is healed and made right?
Every
December, I return to a devotional book that offers a reading for every day of
the season. It’s a tonic for my soul. One of the pieces that I read every year
is a letter written by Alfred Delp, a Jesuit priest and prisoner of the Nazis. Shortly
before Hitler ordered his death in 1945, he wrote these words for our
generation:
Advent is the time for rousing. We are
shaken to the very depths, so that we may wake up to the truth of ourselves.
The primary condition for a fruitful and rewarding Advent is renunciation,
surrender. We must let go of all our mistaken dreams, our conceited poses, and
arrogant gestures, all the pretenses with which we hope to deceive ourselves
and others. If we fail to do this, stark reality may take hold of us and rouse
us forcibly in a way that will entail both anxiety and suffering.[2]
But
if we hold on and hang in, with faith, hope, and love, it is Christ who is
revealed. The same Christ who remains quietly with us until the end of age. The
same Christ for whom the whole world waits. The same Christ who promises that (finally)
all shall be well, and all manner of things shall be well.
This
is the same Christ who welcomes us at this Table, the Christ who says, “Do not
rest until every hungry child is fed.” This
is the Christ who says, “Come to me” and “I will come to you.”
May
he shake us all until we settle for nothing less than him.
(c) William G. Carter. All rights reserved.
[2] As translated in An Advent Sourcebook, edited Thomas
O’Gorman (Chicago: Liturgy Training Publications, 1988) p. 9
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