December 3, 2006

The First Sunday of Advent

Jeremiah 33.14-16; Luke 21.25-36

The Reverend Jennifer K. Morrow

 

I realized as I sat down to write this sermon, that today marks my fifth Advent here in Mamaroneck.  Five years of this wreath and these candles and “O Come, O Come Emmanuel.”  It’s hard to believe.  Five years of celebrating with you this season of anticipation and here we are…still waiting.

 

And of course, for many of you, this is more than your fifth Advent here, in this space and these pews (probably the same one for all those years).  And here you are, with me and the rest of us, still waiting.  Which leaves me—and maybe you too—asking a few questions.  First, is there really anything I can say today that hasn’t been said before?  How many more ways are there to talk about anticipation?  And is the whole project of preaching good news this time of year getting a bit suspect?  If the news were really that good, would we still be waiting? 

 

But then more questions begin to surface.  Just what is it we’re waiting for?  And as we wait, are we behaving more like a child anxiously, and loudly and repeatedly waiting for their birthday party?  Or are we waiting like the next person who comes through that door over there is going to call us to step into the dentist’s office to have a root canal?

 

Well, while we wait, let’s explore some answers.  First, is there anything that can be said today that hasn’t been said before?  Maybe, maybe not, but I’m already one page into this sermon and I’m not stopping now.  Second, is the whole project of preaching good news this time of year problematic?  If the news were really good, would we still be waiting?

 

Most of you probably know that the word “gospel,” the one we use for the four biblical books most especially about the life of Jesus.  It means different things to different people, but “in the classical world, it meant simply ‘good news.’”[1]  John Howard Yoder, a Mennonite theologian, suggests a more accurate translation of the word “gospel;” he “says that it would be best translated as ‘revolution.’”[2]  I think he’s absolutely right.

 

Do you remember a few weeks back?  If you were here the last time I preached, you’ll remember that the scriptures we read that morning were very similar to the ones Carol read for us today.  In all accounts—then and now—there are signs, warnings, and the very clear message that things are not right with the world; the powerful will be brought low, and the hungry filled with good things.  Something is about to happen.

 

“The Kingdom of God is near.”  These are the words from Jesus to us today.  These are our “gospel lesson.”  Or as John Yoder might say, our “revolution lesson.”  The Kingdom of God is coming.  The world as God in all God’s love desires is coming.  The Kingdom of God is gospel.  The Kingdom of God is good news.  The Kingdom of God requires revolution.  We’ve sung about it more than once in past months: “The Kingdom of God is justice and peace, and joy in the Holy Spirit.  Come, Lord, and open in us the gates of your kingdom.”  This song is a prayer, and as I’ve heard said many a time, be careful what you pray for.

 

Friends, when we sang that song, we prayed for a revolution.  A revolution in us, driven by the good news.  But is a revolution good news?  I’m not talking about positive changes here and there, I’m talking about a revolution.  Methodist Bishop Will Willimon is so right when he suggests that, “the main difference between good news and bad news is where you happen to be standing when you get the news.” He continues, “Here I stand, fixed atop a world of good, benefiting well from the present order, well fixed.  I don’t want, don’t really need a revolution, particularly if that revolution comes to benefit those who are on the bottom.  ‘Good news!  Messiah’s coming and he’s going to set right what’s wrong with the world!  he is going to do justice where injustice has been done.’  Forgive me for not rushing over to Bethlehem for the party.” [3] 

 

The truth is, we here don’t really need a revolution.  Some changes maybe, but not a revolution.  The truth is, we here don’t really need what Mary sings about in her gospel song, “He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.”  No, we don’t need it, but many do.  So many.

 

Friday, December 1 was World AIDS Day.  A call to conscience for the people of the world.  A reminder that every five seconds of every day someone contracts or dies from AIDS…and most of these dying ones are living in want.  [Africa AIDS statistic]  I find it un-coincidental that World AIDS Day falls at the beginning of our season of Advent.  The season when Christians say, “We wait.”  I asked a question early on in this sermon,  “Just what is it we are waiting for?”  Friends, it is a privilege even to be able to ask.  For the victims of AIDS in sub-Saharan Africa know just what they are waiting for: treatment, a cure, a society free of sexual violence, education, medicine.

 

 Friends, if we are human.  If we are Christian.  If we are people who have heard the gospel, the “good news,” the “revolutionary news,” then this is what we wait for too.  This Advent, we don’t wait simply for the joy of Christmas, the celebration of the birth of a little baby named Jesus.  Do we wait hopelessly?  With dread?  With the apathy of privilege?  Or with determination?

 

Hope is of  no use to those who need nothing.  But we need.  We dare to encounter the ways that we need; our brokenness, our disease.  our dis-ease, our hurt.  The ways we have been overlooked, the ways we have been denied the healing we require.  Think about your life.  Really.  Get to know your own brokenness and your heart will become soft enough to break for another.  It is broken hearts into which God comes.  If we are waiting for God, for treatment, for healing, then God is waiting for open hearts, broken tired infected hearts to receive him.  And once you have received the wholeness that God offers, I dare you…I dare you not to be overtaken by the need to work for that wholeness for all.