1st Sunday of Advent
December 1, 2019
Isaiah 2:1-5; Romans 13:11-14
There is a movie coming out on Christmas Day about World
War I called “1917.” The first lines in the preview are from the actor Benedict
Cumberbatch who plays Colonel Mackenzie. He says, “I had hoped that today might
be a good day. Hope is a dangerous thing.” Hope is a dangerous thing. There are
times when we don’t dare to hope, because we don’t want to risk being
disappointed. There are times when we don’t want to get our hopes up, because
we’re trying to be realistic. Yet it seems reasonable to hope that today might
be a good day. Now, what happens when we combine hope with joy? Our theme for
this Advent is joy, as we’re celebrating the 300th anniversary of
“Joy to the World.” When we add joy to hope, what does it look like? What does
it feel like? Joy that is hopeful is active. It looks like a smile and an
upturned face. It’s expectant and anticipatory, much like many of us are
sitting down to Thanksgiving dinner or like little kids on Christmas morning.
Hopeful joy.
This is joy that cultivates and nurtures hope. Take a
look at our Isaiah reading for an example. Isaiah chapter 1 is a realistic
picture of what’s actually going on in Judah – violence, bribery,
unfaithfulness, desolation, trampling on the poor. God’s people not following
God’s laws. God calls for repentance, tells the people to “Learn to do right;
seek justice. Defend the oppressed. Take up the cause of those who have no one
to speak for them. Plead the case of the poor.”[1]
Yet by and large, God’s people are rebelling against God, doing as they please,
and criticizing those who need help. That’s chapter 1. So chapter 2 feels
almost like Isaiah is starting over again: “That’s what I observed right in
front me. Now this is the vision that the Lord gave me of what will happen in
the days to come. People of every nation will stream to Mt. Zion, God’s holy
mountain, including those who were enemies of Israel and Judah. God’s word will
go forth from Jerusalem; God will judge between the nations. The people will be
transformed by this teaching. Can you see it? They shall beat their swords into
plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword
against nation, neither shall they learn war anymore.” This is where joy
cultivates hope. It looks like a temple high on a mountain that all people come
to and where weapons of violence are turned into tools for cultivation and
farming. That’s a vision of hope, and not just of hope but of hopeful joy.
All
people coming together. That’s been one of my guiding visions for my ministry,
although I usually draw on Revelation 7 where John’s vision describes all
people, from every nation, tribe, people and language, coming together to worship
God together. It’s a vision of hopeful joy. All people coming together. And
regardless of differences, worshiping God together. And adding in Isaiah 2, not
just worshiping together but also offering up their weapons, placing them on
God’s altar, and receiving back those same instruments now transformed into plows
and shovels and rakes and hoes. It sounds like good news for our community. If
we were to offer up violent words and actions that do harm, whether they’re
intended to or not, and receive back tools for nurturing and cultivating. What
would our community look like then? What would our church look like? That’s a
vision worth pursuing. And it is a dangerous thing, because the enemy does not
want us to have hope. Satan doesn’t want us to change or to be more purposeful
in our actions. The enemy doesn’t want us to come together. He’d rather we
stuck with violence, with racism and sexism, with divisions. That’s why this
vision of hopeful joy is dangerous: because it can change the world.
And doesn’t our world need changing? Doesn’t our world
need hope? We know things are not as they should be or could be. Christian
author Sarah Bessey wrote a blogpost last week called “Does Advent even matter
when the world is on fire?”[2]
She writes, “How do we celebrate or ‘get cozy’ or turn towards Christmas when
our hearts are broken by Syria’s refugees, by Hong Kong’s protests, by Brexit,
by the U.S.A. impeachment proceedings and detention camps, by broken treaties,
by one another? When, in response to every crisis, our communities seem
splintered and divided even in how to bind up each other’s wounds and careless
words are flung like rocks at our own glass houses? When perhaps we are lonely
or bored or tired or sick or broke or afraid? When we are grieving and sad? In
these days, celebration can seem callous and uncaring, if not outright
impossible. But here’s the thing: we enter into Advent precisely because we are
paying attention.” Advent is a season of hope and anticipation. It is hope in
the midst of all that’s going on. Hope knows that all is not as it should be.
Otherwise, we wouldn’t have hope for something better. You don’t hope for peace
when life is calm. You hope for peace when there is conflict and violence. We
celebrate this season of Advent because we know that all is not as it should
be.
My new favorite Advent song is called “Waiting for You”
by The Many. It begins, “The earth cries out/ Nothing feels right/ The world
cries out/ No justice in sight/ Fires burning everywhere/ Too many, too hot,
too bright/ We are waiting for you. We are waiting for you. We are waiting for
that Gloria in excelsis Deo, Gloria in excelsis Deo,” that chorus from “Angels
We Have Heard on High.” We’re waiting for Christmas and for the angels to sing
again. We’re waiting for Jesus to be born again. We’re waiting for all to be
made right with the world. Yet we don’t passively wait, sit back and put our
feet up. Mark down the days on our Advent calendar. No, hopeful joy is active.
And so finding joy, choosing joy, and recognizing things that spark joy is how
we act out hopeful joy.
One
good way to connect to that deep joy, where joy always lives, whether we’re
tapped into it or not, is through rituals. This is a time of year that has a
lot of rituals. Decorating for Christmas, which some of our neighbors did well
before Thanksgiving. Putting up the Christmas tree. Playing your favorite
Christmas music. Participating in our community cantata. Going Christmas
caroling. Going to the horse parade. Baking Christmas cookies. Decorating
gingerbread houses. Coming to worship during Advent as we light one more candle
each week and Christmas Eve worship. These are all activities that have become
traditions for so many of us because they help us tap into that well of deep
joy. We do them each year, not usually out of a sense of obligation, but
because we feel happy when we do them. They bring us joy. They are life-giving.
We do these rituals each year because they’re a way to act out our hope,
because they are places where joy lives. They help our hope turn into reality.
Our Romans reading this morning begins by saying, “You know what time it is.” And we respond by
thinking, yes, we know what time it is. The busiest time of the year. The time
I make a super long checklist to get everything ready. The time when I don’t
want to schedule one more thing or commit myself to one more thing. The time
when I have lots of shopping to do. Or, I don’t have to shop, but there are too many good sales to pass up. So,
it’s time to spend money. But that’s not at
all what Paul is getting at. We don’t read this passage about what time it
is on the first Sunday of Advent because the time is the holiday season! Paul’s
not saying wake up and go shopping! Paul’s saying, wake up from complacency.
Wake up from accepting the status quo. Wake up from hopelessness. Wake up from
the little things you do that cause or further division. Wake up and get
dressed, not to go participate in capitalism but to go participate in God’s
work of loving the world, bringing hope, sparking joy. “Paul knows what time it
is: it is time to wake up and look forward to what God will do in the future
and what God is beginning to do now in your life and mine.” It’s not time to go
through the motions of Advent and Christmas. If that’s what you’re doing, if
long-honored traditions are no longer bringing you hope or connecting you to
deep joy, then don’t do them anymore. Find new traditions that do spark hope
and joy. You’re allowed to do things differently and stop doing things that are
life-draining. If a family member takes issue with it, then tell them just
that. That old tradition doesn’t bring me joy anymore, it’s actually extremely
draining, and so I thought I’d try this instead. And chances are, they will say
ok. Your favorites are allowed to change. Your traditions are allowed to
change.
What time is it? Time to connect yourself to deep joy.
Time to be hopeful, not just in attitude but in your words and actions. Time to
actively live into that vision of hope. Hope is a dangerous thing. Nobody likes
to be disappointed. Colonel Mackenzie has to hope the message gets there in
time to stop 1,600 soldiers from walking into a trap. What do you see? Not just
what’s right in front you, but what do you see that could be? What’s the vision
you see? Do you see what I see?
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