December 2, 2007

Ah, the songs of Advent ("Watchman Tell us of the Night"). We don't know them so well, nor should we. They are not as sweet as our Christmas carols. But they do hold the themes of Advent, including this morning's theme, anticipation. Of course, we could have started with Carly Simon's song, "Anticipation." Yes, we should have.

But how about this for anticipation: "Twas the night before Christmas and all through the house..."Eh, anticipation? The house was loaded with anticipation, or at least Clement C. Moore was as he wrote this poem for his children the Christmas season of 1823. "When all through the house not a creature was stirring, not even a mouse...in hopes that St. Nicholas soon would be there."

Clement C. Moore was a seminary professor in New York City, with an emphasis in incarnational theology, or the birth of Christ. He knew the mood of Advent was anticipation. Or expectation, as we call the Advent candle this morning. Thank you to the LaTray family.

During Advent we anticipate the best that is to come. Bing Crosby dreams of a "white Christmas"; children sing "Here comes Santa Claus" and send letters to the North Pole; students and teachers alike lose concentration in contemplation of Christmas vacation; parents plan family vacations or prepare for visits from the in-laws; grandparents long for family gatherings, as long as they are not too long; and we all have permission to paint the world as it might be, "peace on earth," "good will toward all," and "glory to God in the highest heaven."

We hear the bells, ringing resonant from the great cathedrals, pealing peace and proclaiming hope, and bells ringing tinny and monotonous for the Salvation Army (we still have a few more slots to fill), but music nevertheless touching the core of our charity as we put a buck in the cup in exchange for a candy cane.

There are sights and scenes, sounds and songs, colors and crafts unique to this season which dress up our barren winters and give us cause for anticipation and celebration. God in Christ is throwing a party, and we are all invited.

More often than at any other time of year, correct me if I am wrong, God blesses us with a ready tear, a tender heart toward others, a renewed joy of giving, and a heightened awareness of our relationship to God and one another.

Life simplifies and if we play it right, slows down. I know, I know, that may not seem quite right, slows down, but it can as we quit some of the clutter and tend to things which are, quite frankly, more important. Beneath the blanket of snow we uncover deeper values, like peace, hope and love; laughter, family and friends.

Of course, piercing this picture of promise presented by our prophet Isaiah this morning, where "everlasting joy shall be upon our heads...and sorrow and sighing shall flee away" (35:10) is the news of the day, replete as in every age with war, oppression and poverty, greed and grief, sorrow and sadness.

Indeed, the news of the day stabs more poignantly at the heart, the price for anticipating the best and knowing we are not there yet, not even close. It's worth it, though, for even as we know the pain and the suffering on the one hand, we know the joy and the hope on the other hand, both of which are real, and both of which are more present at this time of year than at any other.

How can this be? It is, for this is the season as we sing of "Come, thou long expected Jesus, Born to set thy people free; From our fears and sins release us; Let us find our rest in thee."

God, the mystery, enters our darkness in the season of the days of the longest darkness, and in a most silent, subtle way, in a way completely natural on the one hand and totally miraculous on the other hand, in the birth of an infant, reveals the light of God's love upon us.

A manger scene, vulnerable and fragile, impoverished and unpretentious, earthly and unremarkable, introduces humanity to God in a way definitively identifiable and entirely tangible, and yet, as always, incomprehensible and beyond the scope of our understanding.

But this is not a scene and a season of study and theology, as Clement C. Moore knew. There is time enough for that. This is a season of the senses, of sight and sound, taste, smell, and touch, and a season of the stuff dreams are made of, imagination, wonder, symbols, ritual, story, and awe.

It doesn't matter that we don't really know when Jesus was born, that the date December 25 is theological and not historical, established conveniently by the Vatican in 350 A.D., three and half centuries after the birth, as the Christian counterpart to the festival of Saturnalia, a raucous and rowdy Roman orgy of booze and babes.

It doesn't matter that Jesus was born in a bleak time in history, when Romans ruled and oppressed, in a bleak place in history, nothing more than a crossroads between the great empires, where blood was shed more often than not as empires shifted and changed.

It doesn't matter - or maybe it matters completely - that God enters into history "In the bleak mid-winter" and   renews the message, "In the beginning was the Word...and the Word was God...the source of life to all people...the light which shines in the darkness and the darkness has never overcome it."   (John 1:1ff)

Yes, I suppose it matters completely, for this is the Christmas message: light against the dark, love overcoming hate, joy betwixt the sorrow, peace beneath the strife, life beyond death.

This is not to say that dark, hate, sorrow, strife, and death do not have their day. They do. Lord knows they do. And you know, too.

No, the Christmas message acknowledges their presence, and faces them with the hope and expectation that they, too, shall pass into the night as the light of God's love ushers in a new day where there is: reconciliation of the estranged, comfort to the bereaved, healing of the lame, sight to the blind, food to the hungry, liberation to the oppressed, justice to the accused, new life to the old, and other measures of health and wholeness to a sin sick world.

Advent anticipates all this. It is to have Isaiah's vision, where "The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad. The desert shall rejoice and blossom...a highway shall be there, and it shall be called the Holy Way." (Isaiah 35:1ff) As read this morning.

And it is to believe Isaiah's prophecy of the Peaceable Kingdom, where "The wolf shall dwell with the lamb, and the leopard shall lie down with the young goats, the calf and the lion shall feed together, and a little child shall lead them." (Isaiah 11:6) To be read next week.

Advent, season of expectation. Yes, it requires a leap of faith. But go for it! Let yourself go and anticipate the best.   You'll recover when we fall short.

So lighten up, allow the angels to descend, their chorus to be heard, the stars to shine brighter because of their darker backdrop, and know that Christ, who was in the beginning, is also coming anew, with a renewed promise that our ways of darkness and death shall be converted to programs and instruments of light and life through the love of God in Christ.

For, again, as the song of Advent says, "Born thy people to deliver, Born a child, and yet a king, Born to reign in us forever, Now thy gracious kingdom bring." (Come, Thou Long-Expected Jesus, v.3)
AMEN.