O come, O come, Emmanuel. Amen.
“Be careful what you wish for.” We’ve all heard that nugget of wisdom from Aesop’s Fables. Well, the first Sunday of Advent ought to come with a similar caution: Be careful what you pray about. The name of this season comes from the Latin Adventus, which simply means “coming” or “arrival.” Though our focus is on Christmas, Advent is not primarily a season that focuses our attention on that coming of Jesus. To be fair, yes, Advent does help us to receive with joy the celebration of the Word becoming flesh on Christmas. But the main thrust of Advent is really about the Second Coming of Jesus. As we’ll hear later in this liturgy in the best hymn of all time, “Lo! He comes, with clouds descending… Thou shalt reign, and thou alone.” It is that arrival that Advent helps us to prepare for.
This
is where the admonition to “be careful what you pray about” comes in. As today’s
Collect, which was authored by Archbishop Cranmer for the 1549 Prayer Book,
puts it, when Jesus comes in his glorious majesty, it will be, in the midst of
our works of darkness, to judge both the living and the dead. Now, I have enough
theological training to explain why Judgment is actually a good thing. And I
think that’s true – judgment is a good thing. But I don’t feel that. Judgment
terrifies us. Whether it’s a report card, a performance evaluation, or a friend
or family member saying, “We need to talk,” the notion of being judged is one
that often brings anxiety. How much more when the Judge is the one to “whom all
hearts are open, all desires known, and from whom no secrets are hid.”
Advent
is not the winter version of Lent, but there are similarities. And one of those
places of overlap is in the penitential and introspective nature of both
seasons. In order to receive our King at his coming, we have to confess that we
need saving, that we have no power in ourselves to help ourselves and so we
rely on the grace of God. Our reading from Isaiah this morning puts it bluntly:
“All our righteous deeds are like a filthy cloth.” It doesn’t say that we are
filthy cloths because we do filthy things, no, even our righteous deeds are filthy.
As St. Paul notes in Romans, when we want to do good, we end up doing evil. It’s
the law of unintended consequences and it’s the water we swim in. None of us
want poverty, or racism, or sexism, or violence to persist in our society. And
yet, they do. Despite all of our theories, all of our plans, all of our
trainings – these things have been staples of human society throughout the
centuries. Some of it is a lack of willpower, yes. But a lot of it is that even
our best intentions often fall short.
Isaiah
notes that we all “fade like a leaf, and our iniquities, like the wind, take us
away.” Like a leaf that has been cut off from the tree, we are dead and blown
about by the winds of the world. Now, this isn’t good news and it isn’t bad
news. It’s just news – it’s an honest assessment of humanity. One theologian
has noted that, above all else, the Church ought to be a place where the truth
can be spoken and heard. And the truth, as Isaiah delivers it is that “we have
all become like one who is unclean.” The renowned Episcopal preacher, Fleming
Rutledge has written that “Advent begins in the dark.” If we’re going to get to
the light of Christ, we must begin with this truth, that we are surrounded by
our works of darkness.
Then
comes the dangerous prayer of Isaiah – “O that you would tear open the heavens
and come down.” Don’t get me wrong, there are things that I’d like God to come
and rectify right now. If God could erase every last molecule of the
Coronavirus, I’m all for it, tear open the heavens. But, at least in Isaiah’s
depiction of this, it doesn’t seem that God uses surgical precision. No, when
God comes the mountains quake and water boils from the flames. In other words,
when God comes, things are going to be disrupted. Yes, evil will be disrupted
and that is a good thing. But our routines and systems will, likewise, be
disrupted. And we’re not talking pandemic sort of disruptions, no, we’re
talking in the terms that Jesus quotes from Daniel and Jeremiah: “the sun will
be darkened, and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will be
falling from heaven, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken. Then they
will see ‘the Son of Man coming in clouds’ with great power and glory.” What
Jesus tells us to expect is not an adjustment of a few things that have gotten
out of order, but rather the radical and complete new creation of all things.
While
Isaiah spoke about a fallen leaf that is blown around, Jesus uses the language
of a fig tree that is just starting to put forth its leaves. And here is the is
hope in the coming of Christ. What the fig tree puts forth is, obviously, figs –
sweet fruits of nourishment. Jesus tells us that he is the vine and that we are
the branches. In our sin, we are like dead leaves that are disconnected from
the tree of life. But by the grace of God, we are given new life and become a
part of that tree that will bear much fruit. Even in judgment, there is the
hope of mercy and the blessing of grace.
Even
in Isaiah’s warning where the prophet declares that we have been “delivered into
the hand of our iniquity,” there is hope. The next verse begins with a small but
mighty word: “yet.” “Yet, O Lord,
you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter.” The metaphor has
changed, but the point remains the same – God is going to do something amazing.
Yes, God may tear apart the heavens, but when God comes it is as our Father who
made us and who deeply loves us. And God intends to shape us into a people who
thrive in the abundant life and love of God.
One
of the courses that I took about preaching drove home the point that to really
understand Scripture, we have to get into its world. So, to better consider
Biblical images of vineyards, we visited a vineyard and paid attention to the
vine to see what lessons God intended to convey by speaking in such terms. Another
field trip was to a pottery studio to watch an artist at the wheel. One of the things
that she said about pottery has some profound implications for faith. She noted
that when the piece of clay gets unbalanced and isn’t turning into the intended
shape, it is never lost. A piece of clay is never unusable. Instead, you simply
add more water and refashion the clay.
When
we pray for God to come, ultimately, this is what we are praying for – for all
of Creation, ourselves included, to be reshaped into a fuller and more beautiful
form. The promise of Christ’s coming will mean that we are reshaped, which is
not always a fun process because we’ve gotten quite good at being unbalanced,
but it is a process that takes us more deeply into the blessing of being made
in God’s image.
Of
course, when we think about God reshaping us through water, we think of
Baptism. It is through this Sacrament of grace that we die to ourselves that we
might rise with Christ. This is the hope of grace that the Collect offers us – that
we will be able to put on the armor of light. So while it is true that we await
the day on which Jesus will come in clouds descending, that does not mean that
God’s saving grace is ineffective until that point. No, even now, we are being
shaped by grace. The waters of Baptism nourish us so that the fruits of God’s
peace and love might grow in us and among us. And this is at least one reason
why we are told to “Keep awake.” There is something afoot that we just might
miss out on if we aren’t awake.
What
is so helpful about this message of “keep awake” is that reminds us to pay
attention to ourselves, first and foremost. Yes, we are to keep alert as the
night doorkeeper does. But keeping alert is secondary to keeping awake. If we
aren’t awake, we certainly won’t be alert.
I
know that this is typically the busiest season of the year, but this year might
be different. No company lunches, no parties with friends, not as much running
out to stores to buy gifts. Yes, there is lament that those things are missing.
But there is a gift in this year as well. We have more time to practice Advent
instead of simply rushing through it. It’s far easier to stay awake if you have
a task at hand to occupy you, so I want to give us all some ways to be
reflective this Advent.
While
it is true that we ought to be careful what we pray for, give some time to really
stop and consider what it is that you are praying for. Make a list. Include the
small stuff and the big stuff – what is that you are hoping for? What does your
soul long for? That’s the first question – what are you praying for?
The
second question to consider is where you are standing in your own way. Sometimes
we recognize the dangers of our hopes, so we have a way of pushing them aside.
We know it might be risky to ask God to address a particular problem because we
may well be a part of the problem as well as a part of the solution. This is where
the penitential aspect of Advent helps us to face the reality of our imperfections.
Where do we stand in the way of our own prayers?
And,
thirdly, where do you need God’s help? What do you need God to reshape in your
life? Where have you gotten to the end of your rope and need help that you
cannot provide? Where have you fallen asleep and need God to awaken you?
Yes,
it’s true that we should be careful about what we pray for, but not because
something bad is going to happen through our prayers. Instead, we are to handle
with care, with attention, with respect our prayers, for they are the vessels of
our hope and faith. Advent is the proclamation that God is going to come and
remake all things, including us. We shall be reshaped by the love of God more
fully into the image of that love.
There’s
a story of three stonemasons being asked what they are doing. The first, rather
rudely, says, “Can’t you see? I’m squaring the corners of this stone.” The second
says, “We’re going to be putting up a wall here.” The third exclaims, “We’re building
a cathedral!” My brothers and sisters, indeed, we are Temples of the Holy
Spirit and God intends to tear apart the heavens to come and dwell in us. So
keep awake, for God is coming.
