Shifting into Advent Mode

Isaiah 40:1-11

We are living in a time of upheaval and struggle.  Fires and floods and famines are not new, neither is war, nor corruption.  But right now, the veneer is being stripped off of everything, and ugliness and pain is being revealed at every turn. Suffering and struggle is exposed, our hypocrisy and sin is right in front of us, and it feels maybe like everything is breaking down.  It’s a strange time, a tense and wearying time.  We’re all on edge, reactive, exhausted and short-fused. 

But here comes Advent, right out in front of Christmas, bringing its on-purpose darkness like a blanket, gently laying it over us no matter what else is going on around us or within us. Advent doesn’t hold off to make sure we’re ready for it before it begins, and it doesn’t demand our attention with loud, frowning and urgency.  Instead, it comes steady and sure, rolling over us like a soft fog and inviting us into a different kind of being for a spell.

I once asked a Benedictine Monk about evil. Real, terrible evil that afflicts people and causes genuine suffering and terror in the world.  What is the best way to fight it? I asked. 

He looked at me and then said simply, There are two ways to fight evil. One is to go directly after evil. Study it, learn all about it, become adept at recognizing it and dedicate yourself to eradicating it. That is one way to fight evil. 

The other way is to go directly after God. Immerse yourself in love and kindness, prayer and gratitude, generosity and gentleness, search for points of connection and glimpses of redemption and opportunities to forgive.  Dedicate yourself to the things of life, seek God’s presence there. That is the other way to fight evil. 

Both ways work.  But one way will wear you out and tear you down. The other will fill you with joy and peace and make you into a person of courage and hope. 

Advent is an invitation to immerse ourselves in the other way. To seek God’s presence and watch for glimpses of redemption and opportunities to forgive.  Advent is the whisper in the darkness, showing and telling us something that is real but hard to see or hear in the glare of LED light and the non-stop noise of our televisions and smart phones, breaking news, speeding traffic, neon geopolitics, florescent distractions, and 24-7 insistent commentary.

So to us this day, the darkness of Advent is a gift. 
A desperately needed pause.  To wait on purpose for Jesus to come.
 Advent speaks tenderly and offers Comfort. Truth. Honesty. Hope. 

It’s a hiatus that takes in reality as we know it, but turns our gaze to another reality too, a deeper one, a realer one, the one that lasts from the beginning to the end and holds us in between, even when we are not seeing it. 
Advent immerses us in this reality, prompting us to seek the God who comes in.

Advent is the night shift nurse after the painful surgery, the quiet, turned-down sheets of healing sleep.  There is nothing here in the darkness that isn’t out there in the light – the wounds remain and the recovery continues.  But here, in the shelter of Advent, waiting for God, we can talk about the hard things and the sad things and the confusing and frustrating things, where they don’t get to make us afraid.  

And where fear is banished, hope is born. 
And peace grows stronger, and joy is tangible. 
When Love casts out fear, we are brought back to God’s reality, which looks so different from the red-faced blustering and flippant annihilation of the world.

Advent slows the pulse, pulls down the shades, and gently shushes us still.  It readies us for a God who comes in in a ridiculously weak and vulnerable way – a senseless and undermining and eternal way. Not to rescue us out, but to share this life with us, to weave redemption right in the midst of it all and keep it all moving toward love. 

God’s coming has happened, it is happening, it will happen.  Underneath and behind everything, drawing us into this plot of love, God is always bringing life out of death and hope from despair. God is doing this already and always.

So in Advent we stop, and breathe, and remember this, so we can look forward to the glory Alleluia of celebrating it when Christmas comes. 

Comfort my defeated people, God says. Tell them I see them.  And they’ve paid way more in suffering than they ever deserved for whatever they’ve done. Speak tenderly, though, they’ve been through a lot.  And they’re pretty hard on themselves. Gently, let them know they are free. Lead them into the way of hope.

While we rest in Advent’s embrace, we know that the words Advent speaks over us are protection and confidence. They name the things we wait for, and say they are coming, and assert that even now we see and feel them and know them to be real.   Advent gently and firmly proclaims over us, over the whole world, the sovereignty of the God of love, unrelenting and full of surprises, and invites us to affirm this truth and welcome this God.

God is our refuge and strength. Everything else will crumble and fade and wither and disappear. God’s future is coming, even now breaking in. It’s God’s future. It is not our own. It is not our job to make it come; it is our privilege to watch for it and welcome it each day. 
It is not our responsibility to bring it about; it is our invitation to notice it and join in as it unfolds. And to trust that it will never cease.

Our prayer stations tonight invite our imagination to shift into Advent mode. To sink into the reality we long for, and trust that it is coming, that even now it comes, and to join it as it arrives.

PEACE

We will pray by letting ourselves feel, and sense, and welcome God’s peace.

Peace is true relationship with God and one another made concrete and experienced. Instead of division and striving, self-protection and fear– peace is the whole world and all its inhabitants in connection, interdependence, fully and trustingly living out their authentic purpose alongside all else doing the same. Peace is life as God intended.  It is the quality of everyone belonging to God and belonging to each other.

So as you create a tiny home with a light inside, you are invited to imagine peace beginning in your home and shining out into the world.  The Holy Spirit’s work of making peace within and between us at work through you.  Let your work with your fingers and quiet mind be a prayer for peace.

May you seek and receive peace tonight.

LOVE

And we will pray by letting ourselves recognize and welcome God’s Love.

Love is our source and purpose.  In love God makes us, and claims us, and binds us to God and each other, to belong and to care for each other.  Love is the core of our belonging to God, and it is the action and practice of belonging to each other.  It is the substance of it all.

So as you cut out a heart and place it on the collage, alongside the hearts of these others here, who are connected to others, who are connected to others, all different, all carrying stories and pain and joy and dreams, you are invited to imagine being held in this giant quilt of love that God has made of the world.  And you might even in your head name those who hold you in love, and those to whom you’ve been given, as you let God’s love meet you here tonight.

May God hold you in love tonight.

JOY

And we will pray by letting ourselves release the things that keep us from joy, and welcome God’s joy in our hearts.

Joy is when our very innermost selves reverberate with God’s touch. It’s silly, and wonderful, and defiant, and a surprisingly formidable way to remember whose we are and who we are. Joy is peace outloud, a powerful antidote to fear.  It is when we know with momentary, buoyant sureness that we belong to God, and that we belong to each other, and that knowing fills us with delight that overflows.

As you journey to the center of the labyrinth, you are invited to acknowledge and greet all the burdens and barriers to joy that you carry with you. Holding a rock, let it symbolize all those things, and name them as you walk.

When you reach the center, let those things go by dropping the rock in the pot.  Take a jingle bell as an invitation from God’s Spirit to joy.  Let it symbolize the prompting to open your heart to moments of wonder and awe, outloud peace and spilling over life in the coming days.

May you taste joy tonight.

HOPE

And we will pray by letting ourselves reach toward and trust in God’s hope for the world.

Hope is peace’s messenger and transport.  Where Peace IS God’s future, Hope says, There! That’s where we’re headed!  God will do this!

Hope propels us forward with unflinching honesty, dogged longing for what is wrong to be made right, and gutsy trust in the goodness and love of God. Hope looks at how we’ve forgotten we belong to God and to each other, and trusts that in Christ, peace and love will triumph, even over our amnesia and evil.

As you place candles on the world map, you are invited to imagine hope, flooding each place you lift up on prayer, each life and circumstance there. And you are invited to let Advent courage flood your own heart, filling you with hope that God’s reality will prevail, even when you cannot see a way.

When you are finished praying, stamp “hope” on a piece of paper to bring home and put somewhere prominent, as a reminder of the hope we live in and into, and a prompt to pray for hope.

May God fill you with hope tonight.

As always, we have a place to light candles to name specific prayer needs, and a prayer station for babies and those who wish to pray by hanging out with babies.  And simply sitting in rest and letting the music surround you is a lovely way to pray as well.

Empires rise and fall. The grass withers and the flower fades.  The earth groans and shifts and dies and is reborn. Tragedy comes and goes.  We can focus on all of that and fight evil, and be depleted.  Or we can turn our gaze to the God who began it all, who is here with us now, and who comes incognito into everything, insisting that love is where it is all irreversibly and forever headed.

Now let us shift our hearts and minds, imaginations and bodies, into the gentle darkness of Advent’s care.  However each of us will pray tonight, together we welcome the comfort of honest darkness that anticipates, watches for, and welcomes in, the true eternal light of the world.

Make no mistake, resting in God’s peace tonight is a powerful and subversive move. 

Let us pray.

*   *   *   *   *   *

(PRAYER STATIONS for 30 minutes).

*   *   *   *   *   * 

Benediction:

As you go into your week, may you find moments to shut off the noise and enter the darkness of Advent that tells the truth about the darkness of the world, and tends you with the silence of rest. 

And then, may you be ready when Advent hands you the match and says, Now honey, light these candles in the darkness, because no matter how dark the darkness gets, it cannot put out the light.

So get you up to a high mountain, 

O herald of good tidings; 

lift up your voice with strength, 

O herald of good tidings, 

lift it up, do not fear; 

say to a weary and wary world, 

"Here is your God!"

The parable continues...

Following is an extension of the parable of the wise and foolish bridesmaids. This midrash was used in one of our prayer stations at this week's worship. For a full sermon on this text, go here.  

Matthew 25:1-13

Then the kingdom of heaven will be like this. Ten bridesmaids took their lamps and went to meet the bridegroom. Five of them were foolish, and five were wise. When the foolish took their lamps, they took no oil with them; but the wise took flasks of oil with their lamps. 

As the bridegroom was delayed, all of them became drowsy and slept. But at midnight there was a shout, “Look! Here is the bridegroom! Come out to meet him.” 

Then all those bridesmaids got up and trimmed their lamps. The foolish said to the wise, “Give us some of your oil, for our lamps are going out.”

But the wise replied, “No! there will not be enough for you and for us; you had better go to the dealers and buy some for yourselves.” 

And while they went to buy it, the bridegroom came, and those who were ready went with him into the wedding banquet; and the door was shut.

 Later the other bridesmaids came also, saying, “Lord, lord, open to us.” But he replied, “Truly I tell you, I do not know you.” Keep awake therefore, for you know neither the day nor the hour.

The parable continues...

The wise bridesmaids who remained to welcome the bridegroom, entered the party lighting the way, and the crowd followed, laughing and dancing and making merry.  When they arrived inside the courtyard, they saw, spreading out in every direction, tables, beautifully covered in colorful linens and set with sparkling dishes.  Beyond that was a huge room – with a long a banquet table heavy with delicious foods, a shining dance floor flanked by musicians, and an air of anticipation, abundance and joy all around.

The crowd streamed through the courtyard toward the food and dance floor.

But before then could go any further, the door matron stopped the bridesmaids.

“You can’t bring your lanterns in there.” she said.

“Why?” one of the bridesmaids asked her. “We have an essential role to play!”

The door matron chuckled.

“Oh, no, no. Your role is over.  The only way to be in this party is to be a guest.”

“But we’ve trimmed our lamps, and we have extra oil!” the bridesmaid protested. “Our light is what got the bridegroom here!” 

The one standing next to her, nodding furiously, sputtered, “And how will people know we are the bridesmaids if we aren’t holding our lamps?”

The door matron held up her hands and gently answered, “Listen folks, here we have torches and chandeliers, fireflies in jars, bonfires and candles on every surface – more light than we need, truth be told. 

There is nothing for you to do, no role to fill, no job to attend to, no place to earn.  Just find a comfortable seat and enjoy the music! Fill a plate and eat! Get out on the floor and let loose! That’s all there is to it!” 

She continued, “You did your part to celebrate the bridegroom’s arrival!  I get it. Great job!”

Then she leaned toward them with a loud whisper, “But you do know that he would’ve found the front door anyway, right? Those lamps are mostly symbolic.”

She gestured to the edge of the yard.  “Please extinguish your lamps and place them in the dirt, there, by the outer wall, to cool off. We’ll douse them with water to speed the process along.

Now, where is the rest of your group? There are supposed to be ten of you…”

Ready or Not

Matthew 25:1-13

Parable series: Week 4 (See Week 1, Week 2 and Week 3)

I grew up in a pretty messy home.  I am not sure how it compared to other homes, though I wondered about this a lot, and felt a sneaking suspicion we were outstandingly untidy, like, maybe worse than everyone I knew. When you came over to our house for dinner, what you didn’t know is that several grueling hours of family scrambling went into getting things ready for you. Cleaning (which often meant stuffing things into drawers and cupboards where they couldn’t be seen), was frenzied and fraught, so that by the time you were casually welcomed in, we were exhausted and a little raw from the arguing.  But you would never know it, because everything would look very nice, as long as you didn’t peek in my bedroom closet.

  

When we visited other people’s houses, I did peek sometimes, in closets and cupboards, wondering if they had done the same thing we did before guests arrived, or if they lived in this state of order all the time.  It was easy to tell the houses that did - I had one friend in college who still freaked out if you set one toe on his mother’s bright white living room carpet because you might mess up the vacuum lines and she would know you had been in there.  And imagining living in a house like that, in a family like that,was as foreign and fascinating as imagining living on the moon. 

And so, even though we were super social and pretty spontaneous people, the very worst thing you could do to my family in the whole world was a drop in.  If you stopped by unannounced, we’d open the door and invite you in, and meanwhile the hot shame would creep up into my mother’s face, and I would feel it mirrored in my own, my heart pounding hard, both of us with smiles plastered on, awkwardly acting glad to see you, but after you’d leave my mother would sometimes break down and cry, and I would feel utter humiliation– What did they think of us, seeing the house this way? And then we’d fight, and clean, and swear that next time we’d be ready.

It never once occurred to me that how things looked might not be as important to other people as it was to us, or that they might have grace for the situation, or that they were really there to see us, and not to inspect our house and how well or poorly it was kept.

All that mattered was that we felt embarrassed and lesser, unworthy of having a guest, and desperately disheartened- if only we’d had a little lead-time so we could’ve been prepared! 

In todays’ parable, there are foolish bridesmaids and there are wise ones. The wise ones plan ahead; they expect the unexpected – they bring along extra oil just in case the groom is delayed. The foolish bridesmaids, (somewhat ironically), take the bridegroom at his word, prepare only for what is expected. As a result, they run out of oil. They are foolish, evidently, because they didn’t go above and beyond.

Lucky wise ones!  Good thing for them that the bridegroom was only delayed as long as he was and not very much longer, or they would’ve been fools too!  

But, wait a minute; something is off here. Wise and foolish, smart and stupid, better and worse, where do we hear that language? That’s not Way of God language. Those categories and labels do not translate in the kingdom of heaven.  In the kingdom of God it’s about God’s generosity and God’s forgiveness and God’s ability to reconcile us and restore us and transform us, and never about how well we earn, or how much we deserve, what God provides.  

So here they are- these fools and wise ones, and it’s their job to bring the light, to greet the groom when he comes, and to lead the way to the party.  And some of them feel pretty darn proud of themselves, pretty darn wise, and others feel like total, utter fools; they’ve failed the job. Sure, he was delayed, but they were not ready for him when he came, and now their lamps have no oil.  

Worthless! Can’t even do the job that was given them to do! I

s there anything more humiliating than being caught looking so stupid?

So they ask the others to share with them. 

But the others say No – because if we know one thing in this accounting system kind of life, it’s that there is only so much to go around, and if we don’t look out for ourselves we will be screwed. So they did what was only smart and they kept their own oil. 

Go buy some for yourselves! They say. 

And, hang on… this too, sounds exactly like the Way of Fear and not at all like the Way of God. The way of God is abundance and not scarcity; it’s forgiveness, sharing and welcome, not judgment, competition and score-keeping.  

So, those foolish bridesmaids without enough oil head to a deserted market at midnight in desperate hopes of finding some for sale somewhere, and in the process, they miss the bridegroom when he comes.  And when they finally do return – (we aren’t even told if it’s with oil or empty-handed, because, spoiler alert, it’s not about the oil), the groom says, I don’t know you, and they are dismissed.

So keep awake- the parable says.

If I were to hear this parable through the filter of my childhood shame, it would say, Be ready for the drop-in at any moment. Never let your guard down for a second.  Keep things immaculate at all times, don’t step foot on the living room carpet, go above and beyond, because you never know when the guest of honor could show up. And what if he caught you with a sink full of dishes and laundry piled all over the couch? 

This is the first parable we’ve heard where instead of saying, “The kingdom of heaven is like…,” it says, “The kingdom of heaven will be like...”  Instead of revealing what God is doing in and among us at this moment, it looks to the end.  It comes in a section of Matthew that groups Jesus’ teaching about the very end, about Christ’s return, about the end of the age.  All the messages in the verses leading up to this parable carry a similar refrain – you don’t know when it will be over, you don’t know when the end will come. Watch for God; be ready.  Pay attention. Stay awake. Be alert.   It’s going to happen when you are not expecting it. Jesus is going to show up – right here in your living room, whether your house is clean or not.  

But interestingly, the directive is not – so expect him when you don’t expect him, keep your house always clean so you make a good impression no matter when he comes… it’s Watch for him. Be ready to welcome the bridegroom.

In my twenties I grew to love a family who loved the drop in.  They wanted people to stop by any time.  And they were completely intriguing to me, because they didn’t need to have the house in perfect order to sit down and enjoy a cup of coffee with you. They had young kids, and in fact, the house was often a mess, but that didn’t stop them for a second being present and hospitable, making you feel like the best part of their whole day just may this moment when you dropped in. 

It was absolutely novel to me – I had never considered before that instead of being totally prepared, with the clutter hidden away, homemade muffins on the table, and the fresh vacuum lines in the rug, hospitality could mean encountering another, seeing and hearing and welcoming another, meeting them just as they are and just as you are- however that is in the moment.

Do we read this parable through the very lens that these parables are made to confront?  In lots of ways, the church has fallen prey to the same anxiety that dictates everything in the accounting system, and we’ve spent centuries, off and on, painting God with the brush of judgment and threat, to fit our way of competition and scarcity, until the good news of God’s grace gets buried underneath another layer of pressure and guilt and striving - do better, don’t mess up, get it right, try harder, go above and beyond, or you will be left out of the party altogether, and it will be as though God doesn’t even know you.

The truth is, the parable stirs up all of these anxieties and then doesn’t say, “Have it all together! Don’t let your lamp go out!” It says, keep awake.  Watch for Jesus; let him see you when he comes.  

It’s not about how full your lamp is when the moment arrives, how together you’ve got things.  If it was about the oil, the bridegroom would’ve said, Oh good, you found some oil after all. Come on in, then. Or, Sorry, no oil?  You substandard lamp-bearers. What inferior, inadequate bridesmaids you’ve turned out to be, not keeping your lamps lit properly! You are not worthy to be in this party.

But instead he says, Who are you? I don’t know you. I came and you were not here. It’s not about the oil. It’s about the relationship. 

So, hooray if you can be prepared when the drop-in happens, when the bridegroom arrives. More points for you- if you’re keeping track of that sort of thing.  But if you can’t be prepared, for whatever reason, show up anyway.  Let him see you as you are.  Be ready to welcome him whether you are “ready” or not.  

The truth is, we can only burn so long before we burn out. Can only wait so long before we get drowsy.  We can only carry so much oil before we run out.  None of us can go above and beyond in perpetuity, be prepared for company at every moment, be ready to impress and perform at the drop of a hat.  That is the opposite of a biblical, Sabbath, Way of God kind of life.  

We have no idea when God will show up.  In fact, the truth is, God shows up all the time, every day, and more often than not, we miss it.  

In the middle of writing this sermon my daughter had a nightmare. I left the sermon and went to sit with her, but she was too afraid to go back to sleep. I said a number of, I thought, helpful things, coached her through some techniques.  They maybe helped a little, but there was no breaking the nightmare’s hold.  Instead of saying, “I have to go back to work now, you’ll be ok.” I stayed put. And if I had left, I would have missed when Jesus silently showed up, in the form of her big brother getting out of bed, coming into her room without words, carrying a speaker with a playlist of music he had made for her, and plugging it in beside her.  I would have missed watching love cast out fear, right before my eyes. 

That did it – she went right to sleep.

Some of us may have full lamps, may be in a position to share and give, may be able to light the way for others, others of us will have run out of steam, or will be falling apart at the moment.  And if that’s the case, the very worst thing we can do is go running off to frantically patch together some futile way of looking like we have it all together.  

Stay put. The parable advises. Stay put, and watch for the bridegroom.  And even if your lamp has gone out, greet him when he arrives, and come with him to the party.  Meet him in the vulnerability of your reality – light or no light, stockpiled goodness, or bone dry and exhausted, wise or foolish in the world’s eyes, overly-prepared or desperate, just show up, and watch for Jesus to show up too (which, we’ve said, is the very definition of Prayer).  

This is not a competition. And it’s not a solo act. 
There is enough light to lead the way for each other; there is enough light to welcome the bridegroom all together.  Even if all of our lamps went out – he is the light of the world! 
And we are all supposed to show up, just as we are, however we are, ready or not, and welcome him.

This parable is a reminder that you can’t stop it from happening.  
The one who brings healing, who lifts up the weak and comforts the despairing, and will wipe every tear from our eye when death and sorrow and shame are no more, is coming.  

One day once and for all, and also all the time, every day, today, he is coming.  
So keep awake and watch for him. 
Don’t miss when Jesus shows up.  

Amen.