November 29, 2009 Sermon

Advent 1, Our Pilgrimage with Bread and Water(Jeremiah 33: 14-16; Luke 21: 25-31)

Rev. Sally Harris

O God of hope, from former ways of thinking, free us so that we may discern your presence. Amen.

According to an ancient Jewish midrash, someone asked Rabbi Joshua, "Why did God speak to Moses from a bush?" Rabbi Joshua replied, "God spoke from a bush to teach that there is no place where the Divine is not present, not even in a lowly bush." God speaks from trees? God speaks through an ancient manuscript, written in archaic language that does not understand modern historical thought or has the faintest dream of the world wide web, twitter, facebook or iphones? God speaks through drops of water on a forehead? God speaks through a crumb of bread dipped in grape juice?

Last March, on a rare sunny day, I chopped down a dismal looking rhododendron. It was an eye sore. All summer I admired the clear space of landscape where once this ugly plant stood. It wasn’t till early fall that I went over to that space and saw a green shoot coming from the stump I could not drag out. A green shoot out of dead wood – a sign of hope… if you like rhododendrons. It is this sign, a new branch, that Jeremiah uses to preach an early Advent sermon. Jeremiah delivers this good news while he is imprisoned during the Babylonian invasion of Judah. Jeremiah declares that after the siege, God will restore the city and the countryside. Nice sermon, Jeremiah, an optimistic dream but what does this have to do with us now?

Well I suppose like Jeremiah we hear a word of hope that is beyond our logic, beyond the immediate context of our world, beyond the reality that seems to define us. Jeremiah claims there is another reality, a spiritual reality that calls us to dream different dreams.

Behold the days are coming when the branch of justice will become a mighty tree. Behold the signs so that you will know that the realm of God is near. This is our hope – all will be well, all will be well and all manner of things shall be well. Someone once wrote that optimism is nothing more than a conscious choice to embrace hope rather than doubt.

But why each year, does the lectionary for the first Sunday of Advent, the beginning of our pilgrimage to Bethlehem give us such bleak words of the end times. This year Luke does the honors. Here we read of celestial signs, natural disasters, and distress upon the earth.

Along with its parallels in the gospels of Matthew and Mark, this passage forms part of what is sometimes called the “little apocalypse.” It seems a sobering and grim way to welcome us into a season that is suppose to be a time of expectation and celebration. Perhaps Jesus isn’t trying to scare us but to reassure us that the healing of the world is at hand, and that we need to stay awake, stay alert, and learn to read the signs of what is ahead. Perhaps Jesus is calling us not to crumble or quake when inklings of the end come but instead to “stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.” Jesus urges us toward practices that help us stay grounded, rooted and centered in our daily lives, like a fig tree, so that we won’t be caught unawares in the days to come.

This is the message that the lectionary gives us each year as we enter into Advent. Again and again, we are called to circle back around the apocalypse, to revisit its landscape, to take in its terrain. With its annual return, and its repetitive challenge to us, it brings to mind an episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer. Preparing to save the world yet again, a weary Buffy has this exchange with Giles, her Watcher:

Buffy: How many apocalypses is this now?
Giles: About six, I think.
Buffy: Feels like a hundred.

The season of Advent gives us the apocalypse each year not only that we might recognize it, should it come, but also—and perhaps especially—that we might enter more mindfully into our present landscape and perceive the signs of how God is working out God’s longing in the world here and now. The root meaning of the word apocalypse, after all, is revelation. And God is, in every time and season, about the work of revealing God’s presence.

Revealing God’s presence in an archaic story;
revealing God’s presence in the light of a single candle
revealing God’s presence in offering sanctuary
revealing God’s presence in drops of water on a forehead;
revealing God’s presence through a crumb of bread dipped in grape juice
revealing God’s presence in a red ribbon

In C.S. Lewis’ classic tale, The Lion, the Witch and the Wardrobe, there is a scene is pregnant with hope and anticipation in the midst of what looks like total despair and depression. The four children who had come through the wardrobe were meeting the Beavers for the first time. And Mr. Beaver whispered to them,
“They say Aslan is on the move – perhaps has already landed!”

The story continues, “And now a very curious thing happened. None of the children knew who Aslan was any more than you do; but the moment the Beaver had spoken these words everyone felt quite different. At the name of Aslan each one of the children felt something jump inside. Edmund felt a sensation of mysterious horror. Peter felt suddenly brave and adventurous. Susan felt as if some delicious smell or some delightful strain of music had just floated by her. And Lucy got the feeling you have when you wake up in the morning and realize that it is the beginning of the holidays or the beginning of summer.”

“Aslan is on the move!” Everything is commencing to start to begin to change! And the sign that indeed Aslan is on the move is the appearance of four unsuspecting and apparently unqualified siblings!

That is what Advent is all about – God is on the move in the strangest places.
Revealed to ordinary folks: on hillsides and palaces; sidewalks and sanctuaries

As a poet writes:

The spirit is breathing
All those with eyes to see,
women and men with ears for hearing
detect a coming dawn; a reason to go on.
They seem small, these signs of dawn,
perhaps ridiculous.

All those with eyes to see,
women and men with ears for hearing
uncover in the night
a certain gleam of light;
they see the reason to go on.
[Dom Helder Camara]

A pilgrimage of hope indeed!! [resource: J. Richardson]

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