December 24, 2006

The Fourth Sunday of Advent

Tell Out, My Soul

Luke 1:46b-55

The Reverend Richard E. Allen, Jr.

  

 

The twelve months between June of 1993 and 1994 marked an especially stressful time in my life and ministry.  In some ways, that year was a kind of extended “advent,” a time of transitions and anticipations.  Part of the stress involved beginning a new position as senior pastor of a 750-member church:  learning a new set of names and faces, driving through different neighborhoods, adjusting to a different choir director and support staff. 

 

But there was an added twist to this pastoral transition.  I had agreed to chair a committee of the South Carolina Annual Conference responsible for a gathering of thousands of United Methodists in early 1994, with numerous members and clergy from over a thousand Methodist churches across the state.  Such an assembly had never been done, and my role was anticipating a host of details and organizing the event to run smoothly.  Among these details were speakers to invite, transport and house, lunches to order, sound and lighting systems to put in place, choirs to arrange, organists to coordinate – in general, it was my job to manage all the logistical details required to turn the Carolina Coliseum, the 20-thousand seat basketball arena for the University of South Carolina, into a worshipful space for 8 to 12 thousand Methodists.  And because God’s people are all equally important, we were careful to provide accommodations for folks in wheelchairs or those with hearing impairments. The preparations, as you can imagine, required more than a year of planning.

 

As the date approached, a friend on the organizing team gave me advice.  Looking me square in the eye, he said, “When the day finally comes, when you’re sitting up there in on the stage with the bishop, I want you to do one thing:  I want you to relax and enjoy the moment.  At that point, worry is either unnecessary or irrelevant.  When we get to that point, everything is in God’s hands.”

 

And, by God’s grace, the day went well, though it started with the husband of the sign-language interpreter calling to say that she was ill and couldn’t be there, and no substitute could be found at that time.  But all else went well.  The day was a success. The bishop, exaggerating only a little, later bragged about the spirit-filled gathering of ten thousand Methodists.  I found that my friend’s advice helped quiet my nerves. When the day arrived, I found myself at peace.

 

This last Sunday of Advent calls us today to that very peace.  Tonight we will celebrate Christ’s nativity.  This morning, however, we do what we must and what we should in these last moments before THE day.  And this is our final preparation:  We stop and put it all in God’s hands.  We come to the peace of knowing that we have done all we could to prepare ourselves to the best of our ability.  As a church and as a community of believers in the Lord of the world and the Lord of all time, we come now to the time of trusting all else to God.  We come to a time of peace.

 

Life calls us to ultimate trust in the One greater than ourselves.  Remembering my friend’s advice to me before our event in South Carolina, I often tell couples about to be married that I have only one assignment for them on the day of the wedding:  I want them to do their best to let go of all distractions and be present during the service.  I invite them to be in the room, to see each other, and to give their vows to each other as if no one else is listening while they listen with all their hearts.  In effect, I invite them to be at peace in the moment.

 

Seeing God’s hand on our lives, and God’s presence in our midst requires this very simple yet very difficult discipline.  Noticing God’s advent among us means letting go and trusting God with all our hearts. 

 

I’ve noticed that there comes a time every year when the hectic preparations for Christmas day simply have to cease.  Ready or not, I let go.  Gifts are assembled; or they are not.  My selections are just right; or they are not.  But there comes a time, finally, when the preparations must cease.  They are what they are.  In that moment, when I let go of my compulsive concerns, I find that then, and only then, all is well with Christmas.  I can be present to God’s here and now.  I am ready to notice the surprising gifts of the season.  Being in a place of peace, the prince of peace comes.

 

A few days ago one of our members said that this happens to her, too.  “Every year,” she said, “Christmas comes to me.  If I am patient, it just comes.  This year it happened at a concert I attended last night.  Christmas came; and all is well.”  Last night, as Lynne and I walked up and down a few blocks near the church, taking a leisurely look at the lights adorning the home of our neighbors, Christmas happened for me.  It feels right to be with her and with you in this place and in this moment.  All is well, and Christ is present.

 

I suppose the birth of a savior is much like any birth.  That’s the message of the incarnation, isn’t it?  Miraculously, God is with us.  With any birth, parents do their best to prepare, running themselves weary in the process.  And then the baby arrives.  The curtains, the paint, crucial a week ago, become details fading into the background of a miracle.  All is well as the family adjusts by fixing its attention on the baby. And in healthy families, some of this early attention continues. The most important part of any child’s life is having her parents simply be present for the miracle and the mystery of each day.  As I say to couples before a wedding, we might say to those receiving a child:  just be present.  Be at peace.

 

In this morning’s gospel, Mary comes to peace.  In fact, as Luke tells the story, she comes to a song.  And, in honor of Mary’s song, we ourselves sang the important lesson of the day, in the hymn, “Tell Out My Soul.”  Actually, the writer of the hymn has followed closely the meaning of the Magnificat, which is the traditional title of this hymn from the gospel of Luke.  “My soul magnifies the Lord,” sings Mary, “and my spirit rejoices in God my savior…  for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name.”  We sang essentially the same message when we joined voices thus:  “Tell out my soul, the greatness of the Lord!  Unnumbered blessings give my spirit voice; tender to me the promise of God’s word; in god my Savior shall my heart rejoice.” 

 

Whether it’s printed in the Bible or the hymnal, this is a message of peace born in trust of God’s goodness.  Even though we may become disoriented in the transition while God is transforming our world, turning it right-side up, giving power to the powerless and calling the privileged to account, all is well.  We are in loving, capable hands.  We are gifted with a good earth and with a savior who gives all, including his very own life, for our sakes.  We are, of all people, most richly blessed.  Trusting in that message, we see our world finally righted, for the good of all. 

 

Friends, the invitation you will hear shortly is true.  All is prepared.  The table of God’s love is full.  We are redeemed, restored, called to be brothers and sisters of Christ.  Receive that message, even as you receive the bread and wine this day, tangible blessings, reminders of a living God in our midst.  All is ready.  Come to this table.  Enjoy this day, and rejoice in tomorrow, and all days.  God is with us, emmanuel, our savior. 

 

Christ’s peace be with you, and with those you love, today and always.

 

Amen.