Watching, Waiting, Working

This year, we might feel like these laments that usually begin Advent finally make sense. It’s been a rough year. It’s good for us to lament, to speak honestly about what hurts. God can take it! And then we are called to think about, and be mindful of, what in our lives might be in our way of seeing Christ who is both already with us, and yet to come.

Isaiah 64:1-9

64 O that you would tear open the heavens and come down,
    so that the mountains would quake at your presence—
² as when fire kindles brushwood
    and the fire causes water to boil—
to make your name known to your adversaries,
    so that the nations might tremble at your presence!
³ When you did awesome deeds that we did not expect,
    you came down, the mountains quaked at your presence.
⁴ From ages past no one has heard,
    no ear has perceived,
no eye has seen any God besides you,
    who works for those who wait for him.
⁵ You meet those who gladly do right,
    those who remember you in your ways.
But you were angry, and we sinned;
    because you hid yourself we transgressed.
⁶ We have all become like one who is unclean,
    and all our righteous deeds are like a filthy cloth.
We all fade like a leaf,
    and our iniquities, like the wind, take us away.
⁷ There is no one who calls on your name,
    or attempts to take hold of you;
for you have hidden your face from us,
    and have delivered^[c] us into the hand of our iniquity.
⁸ Yet, O Lord, you are our Father;
    we are the clay, and you are our potter;
    we are all the work of your hand.
⁹ Do not be exceedingly angry, O Lord,
    and do not remember iniquity forever.
    Now consider, we are all your people.

 

Mark 13:24-37

²⁴ “But in those days, after that suffering, the sun will be darkened,
    and the moon will not give its light,
²⁵ and the stars will be falling from heaven,
    and the powers in the heavens will be shaken.

²⁶ Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in clouds’ with great power and glory. ²⁷ Then he will send out the angels, and gather his elect from the four winds, from the ends of the earth to the ends of heaven.

²⁸ “From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is near. ²⁹ So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that he is near, at the very gates. ³⁰ Truly I tell you, this generation will not pass away until all these things have taken place. ³¹ Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.

³² “But about that day or hour no one knows, neither the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. ³³ Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come. ³⁴ It is like a man going on a journey, when he leaves home and puts his slaves in charge, each with his work, and commands the doorkeeper to be on the watch. ³⁵ Therefore, keep awake—for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn, ³⁶ or else he may find you asleep when he comes suddenly. ³⁷ And what I say to you I say to all: Keep awake.”

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Dear people of God: grace to you and peace this day, from God through Christ for whom we wait and in whom we already have salvation. Amen.

O, that you would tear apart the heavens and come down!

How much have we felt this exact anguish over the last nine months?  How many times have we said similar words, either under our breath or right straight out loud?

And how many times over those same nine months have we tried valiantly to stay strong?  How many times have we told ourselves or our friends, “hang in there”?

If you’re like me, these two narratives have gone in endless concentric circles.  One asking God to just make it stop.  The other, repeating the mantras of a people joined against a common foe.

And all of this in an election year, just to keep it interesting.

So maybe, like me, at this point you’re just TIRED.

Maybe summoning the energy for the weeks leading up to Christmas just makes your joints hurt.  Nothing whatsoever to do with the colder weather.

Maybe you’ve suffered a loss of some kind this year, and the whole idea of Advent and Christmas is – well, let’s just say you’re not there yet.

Dear people, you have company in our lessons today.

And the thing is, at the beginning of every Advent the lessons are like this.  Really downer stuff.  No “fluffy bunnies” as my friend Suzie would say.

The lessons we read each year in the first couple of weeks of Advent sound like a mash-up of every disaster movie ever made, with steroids added for effect.

Which in other years, is usually SO WEIRD.

But this year?  This year, in the midst of all the pain and difficulty, we might finally begin to get a glimpse of understanding of why Advent always seems to begin with lament.

The Isaiah lesson pleads with God to come down in a powerful-God, lightning-bolt-throwing God kind of way.  The Israelites remember the stories of God coming down during the Exodus; God can do that again, right?  Frogs, floods, parting of the Red Sea – that’s all within God’s wheelhouse!

What isn’t entirely clear is WHY they want God to come down.  We get a hint when the writer tries to project their own guilt onto God – “you left us alone, that’s why we messed up!”  Something has gone terribly wrong.

And so Isaiah delivers this message of seeming desperation to the Almighty:  HELP.  Come down and save us!  As theologian Walter Brueggemann puts it, “Israel’s deep trust in Yahweh is matched by Yahweh’s deep obligation to Israel.”

There is a relationship here – as there is in every place where God shows up.

“We are your people,” cry the Israelites, “we belong to you and you cannot disown us. We have no other source of help.”  The prayer for God’s coming, which began in bombast, ends on a note of needful, pathos-filled intimacy. 

Dear people, it is into this kind of pain and exhaustion that God does break in – although not in the way folks expected, not at all.

When God does come to earth again, it is as a baby.  The most helpless of creatures; the least among all of first-century Palestine.

A baby.  Houseless, marginalized, and eventually hunted and fleeing as a refugee.

God’s way of being God in our world is generally not what we expect. 

Where do we see God today?  In the halls of power, or in the unsung work of teachers reinventing their lesson plans with each new wave of COVID directives?

In the fortress tower, or in the work of National Guard troops trying to relieve healthcare workers on the front lines of the pandemic?

In this story from Mark’s gospel, Jesus is trying to impress on the disciples the need to keep awake, to stay alert – not just to be on their guard, but primarily so they don’t miss the things that would slip by completely unnoticed.

In our context, that might be the friend who is trying to hide the fear in their voice when you are chatting.  It might be the neighbor who has been laid off in this pandemic and isn’t sure how they’re going to put food on the table.  It might be the small business that you frequent sometimes – and that you might be able to give some business in this lean time.

There is SO MUCH out there that is competing for our attention.  Jesus is reminding the disciples that he is to be found in the things you don’t typically notice, in the places you don’t usually check – and to be alert so that the distractions don’t get in the way.

Advent has been called a “little Lent” and I think there is some value to that.  In order to properly welcome Jesus, doesn’t it make sense that we would do a little cleaning up around our hearts as well as around our homes?

What gets in the way of our seeing Christ – who of course has already come, is already among us?

The disciples just don’t get it yet; they don’t understand who Jesus really is.  (Spoiler alert: this is a predominant theme throughout Mark’s gospel.)  They can’t see Jesus for who he is.  Could WE be looking for Jesus in ways that distract us from actually seeing Jesus?

The Advent carol “People Look East” sings, “make your house fair as you are able, trim the hearth and set the table….Love, the guest is on the way.”

The heart, of course, is the house we make into a home for Jesus.

But I suspect Jesus isn’t interested in being a judge for the best-decorated house contest.

To trim the hearth.  Think about heat, and think about greenery.  Maybe that means helping someone with getting wood put in for the winter, or making a donation to the food bank so they can get fresh produce for folks.  The need for accessing food banks has skyrocketed in the pandemic; the poverty rate in the US has gone way up as well.

By setting the table, that could mean a donation of unused dishes or tableware to the Holly House (the domestic violence shelter) to help someone trying to make a new life for themselves after a bad situation.  It could also mean setting aside part of my food budget each week to support one of our local restaurants in this difficult time.

Ultimately, it is broadening the room our hearts make for the way of Jesus, lived out in the world. Part of that broadening, and part of the way of Jesus, is making room for care of ourselves.

Because even in the midst of these ways of turning our hearts, our heads still worry.  When?  When will Jesus return?  When will this pandemic end?  When will I be able to get a vaccine?

We don’t have answers to any of those questions.  If anything, this time of pandemic has been a time to re-learn patience.  It certainly stands in contrast to our world of instant everything.

We enter the Advent season with a three-fold call—to watch, to wait, to work. Watching can be hard. Waiting can cause disillusionment. Work can be difficult.

As Jesus’ disciples, we are called to actively wait, with anticipation.  It’s not passive waiting, but active waiting.  Because while we may have no idea where or when, we absolutely know that it is Jesus who is to come.  Jesus, who transcends time and place to be with us and walk with us here, and now, through one another.

Even in a year like this one, that is a sign of hope.  May that hope be yours this Advent-tide.

Amen.

Err on the Side of Love

Even though my ordination was yesterday afternoon (Nov 22nd 2020) I coulnd’t NOT lead worship – it was Christ the King Sunday, with one of my favorite texts from Matthew. I love how with just a few words added, Jesus contrasts two ways of being in the world and shows us which side is God’s.

Matthew 25:31-46

31 “When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. 32 All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, 33 and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left. 

34 Then the king will say to those at his right hand, ‘Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; 35 for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, 36 I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me.’ 

37 Then the righteous will answer him, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry and gave you food, or thirsty and gave you something to drink? 38 And when was it that we saw you a stranger and welcomed you, or naked and gave you clothing? 39 And when was it that we saw you sick or in prison and visited you?’ 40 And the king will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did it to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.’ 

41 Then he will say to those at his left hand, ‘You that are accursed, depart from me into the eternal fire prepared for the devil and his angels; 42 for I was hungry and you gave me no food, I was thirsty and you gave me nothing to drink, 43 I was a stranger and you did not welcome me, naked and you did not give me clothing, sick and in prison and you did not visit me.’ 

44 Then they also will answer, ‘Lord, when was it that we saw you hungry or thirsty or a stranger or naked or sick or in prison, and did not take care of you?’ 45 Then he will answer them, ‘Truly I tell you, just as you did not do it to one of the least of these, you did not do it to me.’ 46 And these will go away into eternal punishment, but the righteous into eternal life.”

Dear friends in Christ, grace to you and peace this day from the God of love, through Christ who showed us that love.  Amen.

This festival day has only been in existence a little under 100 years.  It was instituted by Pope Pius XI in 1925 as a way to emphasize that Christ as King stands over against the false lordship of fascism, which at the time was on the rise in Europe.

And even in that well-intentioned stand, the language of “king” can be troublesome.  And so some have renamed this day “Reign of Christ.”

Set as it is right up against the start of Advent, that can work.  So much of the prophetic literature of Advent speaks of a benevolent ruler.

While the pope’s intent may have been to remind folks that Jesus is King and not Die Fuhrer or Mussolini, this day actually functions at a far deeper and more radical level.

The way that Jesus establishes Jesus’ reign is not through acts of power, or military might, or even executive orders.

Rather, Jesus makes Jesus’ reign a thing by enabling his disciples to spread the love of God throughout the world.

Instead of setting up a checklist by which disciples could determine which people had actually EARNED their reward, Jesus reminds the crowd that the point is to INCLUDE, not exclude.

In this story, Jesus shows by example that it’s never about deciding who might be worthy, but rather assuming that everyone is worthy.

And that’s a way of operating that is not at all easy.

Each one of these actions means stepping outside our comfort zones.  Each action means entering into the pain and suffering of another human being, and making some attempt to alleviate that suffering in some way.

And we know that taking these kinds of actions is also inherently risky.  Our best intentions might be completely rebuffed, or we might end up having people angry at us for helping THOSE people.  Encouraging THOSE people to keep up whatever it is they’re keeping up.

But who does Jesus gravitate to, over and over?  Is he hanging out with the beautiful people?  Is he “in” with the In Crowd?

Jesus is on the margins.  Jesus is keeping company with the folks that the rest of society crosses the street to avoid.  Jesus goes out of his way to speak gospel truth to those in power, and gospel grace to those outside of it.

It is the way of the cross.  The way of naming a thing for what it is, of claiming the real truth that God walks with us in our suffering as well as in our joy.  The way of facing the realities of this world head on, not pretending that bad things don’t happen.  We know all too well that they do.

By contrast, take a look at the folks on the left. 

(Also, pro tip: “left” and “right” here have no association whatsoever with any political party, leaning, or affiliation.  Let’s just make that clear.)

So these folks on the left repeat almost the exact same question as those on the right, with a simple clause added: DID NOT.

Lord, when did we see you and give you something to eat; and Lord, when did we see you and did not give you something to eat.

There are two distinctly contrasting life philosophies in those two nearly-identical statements:  abundance and scarcity.

In the first statement, there is an implication that everyone has been fed, but somehow those doing the feeding missed Jesus.

But in the second statement, the implication is that they were so busy looking for Jesus that they didn’t get the feeding done.  No one seemed to be meeting their Jesus criterion, so no soup for them.

This contrast echoes the command to show hospitality that resonates throughout all of scripture.  Even the Levitical laws of the Israelites are clear that showing welcome and hospitality to strangers is of the utmost importance.  The letter to the Hebrews reminds us that it is by doing so that many entertain angels unawares.

When we live our lives in an attitude of scarcity, that we will run out, the dark sides of our nature emerge.  We become suspicious of one another, we stop trusting.  We close our hands, clutching what we perceive to be ours ever closer to us.  And we barricade ourselves away from the fear of scarcity.

But when we live our lives in an attitude of abundance, that there is enough for all – that changes everything.

That is the radical love of God in Christ Jesus, that breaks into our lives when God in an action of radical love claims us as beloved at our baptism.

That radical love calls us into a life of unfettered love and grace and mercy. 

The radical love of God in Christ Jesus, transforms us and reshapes our lives.  Rather than keeping that love to ourselves, we begin to realize that God has gone on ahead of us (as the angels told the disciples at the tomb).  Whatever barricades we might put up, whatever lines we might draw in the sand – God’s already moved beyond them.

And in that movement, the whole idea of mission is redefined.  When we move out from our safe places, we move towards God.  When we are sent out each week after worship as the body of Christ, we find out that the body of Christ is already waiting for us, in our neighbor in need.

Is it judgment from God to which we are subject?  Yes, I believe it is; a judgment that God speaks through the need of our neighbor.  BUT – it’s an incomplete judgment, the “if” without a “then.”

We are invited to, through that same radical love, write a different ending to the “then.”

If my neighbor is hungry, then I need to give them something to eat.  Once I have done that, then I can ask why my neighbor is hungry in the first place.

Our love toward “the least of these” addresses God’s own needs. To properly love God is to love everyone and everything in God’s creation. What ultimately counts is not what we believe about God (orthodoxy), but what we do for God’s beloved children, our neighbors (orthopraxy). 

The character of Father Zosima in Dostoevsky’s The Brothers Karamazov observes, “Hell is the suffering of being unable to love.”

We have seen this.  People who don’t seem to be able to love, seem to be living in a hell they’ve constructed for themselves.

This story illustrates so well how it is not for us to make judgment calls as to who is worthy of the love of God.  It’s for us to, if anything, err on the side of love.

Err on the side of loving too freely, rather than not at all.

Err on the side of the radical, life-changing, earth-turning love of God in Christ.

Err on the side of abundance, not scarcity.

Because there is enough of God’s love for everyone and everything in all of creation.

Our job – our response to God’s love – is simply to share it, anywhere we can.  No limits.

Amen.

O Day of Peace…..

All Saints Day is one of my favorite days of the church year. We had many to remember this year and for whom to give thanks in my small but mighty congregation. And as the creed says, we look for the resurrection of the dead, and the life of the world to come even as we make our song here on this earth: Alleluia, alleluia, alleluia!

(With thanks to Barbara Rossing for her excellent commentary on Revelation, some of which is paraphrased/quoted below.)

Revelation 7:9-17

9 After this I looked, and there was a great multitude that no one could count, from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the throne and before the Lamb, robed in white, with palm branches in their hands. 10 They cried out in a loud voice, saying, “Salvation belongs to our God who is seated on the throne, and to the Lamb!” 11 And all the angels stood around the throne and around the elders and the four living creatures, and they fell on their faces before the throne and worshiped God, 12 singing, “Amen! Blessing and glory and wisdom and thanksgiving and honor and power and might be to our God forever and ever! Amen.” 13 Then one of the elders addressed me, saying, “Who are these, robed in white, and where have they come from?” 14 I said to him, “Sir, you are the one that knows.” Then he said to me, “These are they who have come out of the great ordeal; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. 15 For this reason they are before the throne of God, and worship him day and night within his temple, and the one who is seated on the throne will shelter them. 16 They will hunger no more, and thirst no more; the sun will not strike them, nor any scorching heat; 17 for the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd, and he will guide them to springs of the water of life, and God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.”

Matthew 5:1-12

1 When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain; and after he sat down, his disciples came to him. 2 Then he began to speak, and taught them, saying: 3 “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. 4 “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. 5 “Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. 6 “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. 7 “Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy. 8 “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God. 9 “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. 10 “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. 11 “Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. 12 Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.”

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Dear friends, grace to you and peace this day from God who abounds in love, through Christ who shows us that love.  Amen.

The lessons for All Saints Day are different in each of our three lectionary years, and this year’s are the ones that have always resonated for me.  These are the lessons from which I’ve always drawn my understanding of a just and loving God.

The picture in Revelation of God wiping away every tear.  The image in the Psalm of literally tasting that God is good.  The letter of 1 John reminding us that we are God’s children.  And the Beatitudes, the “blesseds”.

But this year, they’ve all felt different.  (Thanks 2020.)

And this different reaction to these words upended my experience of them and dropped me into uncomfortable territory.  Into a place of wondering if I really believed these words or not.

It’s times like these that I’m eternally grateful that I’m Lutheran – a member of a faith tradition that encourages exploring our doubts, not pretending they don’t exist.

This year, I just can’t hear the Beatitudes in a passive way.  This year, they’re not referring to people I don’t know; they’re referring to my friends.  To US.  We are the ones who have felt all of these things in this year.  And we might say that it sure doesn’t feel blessed.

But I think Jesus is calling us to consider what GOD considers blessed.

It’s not the things of this world, what many, many people see as a good reason to celebrate on social media with “#blessed”.

In the peaceable realm of God, that which is blessed stands over against what late-stage capitalism might call blessed.  In many ways, it seems upside down.  And we do well to ask “so if Jesus is saying the oppressed and afflicted will be blessed – how exactly is that going to happen?”

There’s a clue in verse 4, when we hear “blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted.”

The Greek word translated here as “comforted” is parakleytheysontai, and it’s derived from the Greek word paraclete, which was used in courtroom settings in the first century Greco-Roman context. It referred to lawyers and advocates and has the connotation of interceding on behalf of those who need assistance.

Those who mourn will receive not only comfort and consolation – but advocacy.  Someone to speak on their behalf.

Jesus promised us the paraclete of the Holy Spirit, much later after his resurrection.  What about here?

Perhaps you’ve heard about the person who cries aloud to God, “why don’t you do something about all the hunger/racism/etc in the world?”  And God replies, “I was going to ask you the same thing.”

Jesus is painting a picture here of the peaceable realm of God in the “already” phase: where those who are hurting are accompanied by compassionate and caring people who advocate on their behalf.  Where right relationship is valued far above an asset-heavy balance sheet.  Where justice and righteousness are the order of the day.  Where the beloved community of our 1^st  John lesson lives in peace, equipped by God to support one another through the uncertainties, hardships, and joys of life.

A colleague reminded me this week of the Christian philosopher Nicholas Woltersdorff’s deeply moving book Lament for a Son.  Mr. Woltersdorff lost his 25-year-old son to a mountain climbing accident, and the book traces his grieving process.  In it he asks the question “who are the mourners?” and it struck me that this question could be asked about all these folk encompassed by the Beatitudes. He writes:

Who then are the mourners? The mourners are those who have caught a glimpse of God’s new day, who ache with all their being for that day’s coming, and who break out into tears when confronted with its absence.  They are the ones who realize that in God’s realm of peace there is no one blind and who ache whenever they see someone unseeing.  They are the ones who realize that in God’s realm there is no one hungry and who ache whenever they see someone starving.  They are the ones who realize that in God’s realm there is no one falsely accused and who ache whenever they see someone imprisoned unjustly.  They are the ones who realize in God’s realm there is no one who fails to see God and who ache whenever they see someone unbelieving.  They are the ones who realize that in God’s realm there is no one who suffers oppression and who ache whenever they see someone beat down.  They are the ones who realize that in God’s realm there is no one without dignity and who ache whenever they see someone treated with indignity.  They are the ones who realize that in God’s realm of peace there is neither death nor tears and who ache whenever they see someone crying tears over death.  The mourners are aching visionaries.

Such people Jesus blesses; he hails them, he praises them, he salutes them.  And he gives them the promise that the new day for whose dawning they ache will come.  They will be comforted.

The Stoics of antiquity said: be calm.  Disengage yourself.  Neither laugh nor weep.  Jesus says: be open to the wounds of the world.  Mourn humanity’s mourning, weep over humanity’s weeping, be wounded by humanity’s wounds, be in agony over humanity’s agony.  But do so in the good cheer that a day of peace is coming.

In our Revelation lesson, just when we are expecting even more destruction with the opening of the seventh seal, there is a delay and the scene shifts. Four angels stand at the four corners of the earth, holding back destructive winds. Their mission is to hold back the judgments until God’s people can be “sealed.”

Even in the most difficult sections of Revelation, God’s judgment is not unrelenting. The people of God are shaped as protected – as preparing to persevere in their witness even in the midst of the hardships that lie ahead.  And the people of God are not limited to the tribes of Israel; the multitude around the throne was “from every nation, from all tribes and peoples and tongues.”

“Who is able to stand?” was the rhetorical question left dangling at the end of the dreaded sixth seal, after the four seals’ deadly horsemen and the fifth seal’s depiction of Rome’s victims under the altar. The interlude of Revelation 7 has given God’s people their answer to that question by depicting their identity as a redeemed community, wearing white robes and singing. By the end of the interlude of Revelation 7 all of us as God’s people can confidently answer: “With God’s help, we are able to stand.”

A day of peace is coming.

At this time in history, when the existence of forces of evil cannot be denied; when a deadly pandemic has the planet in its grip; when the beloved community seems like a dream so far off that all we can cry is “how long, O Lord?” – a day of peace IS coming.

We are the mourners who have caught that glimpse of God’s new day, and until it dawns, our ache for it will be palpable.  And it is that ache that will move us to act toward its in-breaking.

On that day, peace will be both pax, the ceasing of conflict; and shalom, the condition of living abundantly and harmony and mutual goodwill.

Carl Daw’s hymn text O Day of Peace affirms that peace is always God’s gift; yet it also recognizes the importance of human responsibility in preparing an environment in which peace can flourish:

O day of peace that dimly shines through all our hopes and prayers and dreams,

Guide us to justice, truth, and love, delivered from our selfish schemes.

May swords of hate fall from our hands, our hearts from envy find release,

Till by God’s grace our warring world shall see Christ’s promised reign of peace.

Then shall the wolf dwell with the lamb, nor shall the fierce devour the small;

As beasts and cattle calmly graze, a little child shall lead them all.

Then enemies shall learn to love, all creatures find their true accord;

The hope of peace shall be fulfilled, for all the earth shall know the Lord.

In all that we feel in these hard times, in the depths of all that we bear, we pray for the hastening of that day.

Amen.