Sermon for the Fourth Sunday of Advent
December 23, 2007
Isaiah 7:10-15
Romans 1:1-7
Matthew 1:18-25
Psalm 80
Year A
I.N.I. (In the name of Jesus)
Maranatha! Come, Lord Jesus!
Three weeks ago today, Sunday, December 2nd, with me, many of you took the pledge to keep Advent with me that sounded like this: When you are here, with me [left hand on chest, right hand up, breathe], promise that you will find space and time to breathe, to quiet yourselves, and to pray, watch, and wait in hope.
How has that been? Just getting here through ice and snow has been difficult, let alone arriving to the ways of the Spirit through our own personal, emotional, and cultural churnings.
While many are gearing up for celebration, or have already begun gorging themselves on cookies and candy, many can’t wait until it’s over. Many can’t stand the pain of those they miss. Many can’t stand the pain of whatever in life they are missing.
Others feel trapped by obligations. There are the presents still to buy, or wrap. There is the visit to family or in-laws that will be a strain rather than a joy. There is the responsibility to cook, and to bake, while the cook or the baker has all but spent her energy.
And then there is the nativity scene in a recent political cartoon, where shepherds are joined by the current presidential candidates, horning in on the action.
Welcome to the Fourth Sunday of Advent, December 23rd, where inside and out there is this sense of being full, full up, cluttered, harried, and empty all at the same time.
[left hand on chest, right hand up, breathe]
I’m thinking that Advent is a lot like being pregnant [disclaimer: though I could never claim to know of the experience], where the emotional polarities bounce helter-skelter between euphoria and dread. For the woman-with-child, for the husband standing by the packed bag, for the couple throughout the period of waiting, there is the hope “can I know such happiness as I’ve ever known?” alongside the fear “will the baby be healthy?” or “will I survive childbirth?” or “will I be able to care for this new life?”
Think of it: a mother-to-be, a nursery or a crib prepared, a family waiting to hear news of adoption, a community and a world wondering what the future will hold.
In the midst of life, uncertainty, hope, and politics all mixing together.
And in midst of all this, where does God come in? How does God come in? Does God come in?
Isaiah thinks so.
Just prior to the passage in today’s first reading, Israel’s embattled King Ahaz negotiated a truce with the Assyrians, for better and for worse. Politics is politics, even in the Bible. Isaiah, poet laureate of the Bible, and a pretty good muckraker, does a pretty good job of cutting through the king’s game face. The embattled Ahaz would rather not bring God into the equation while establishing tenuous peace and border treaties. Isaiah and Ahaz ending up talking past each other, like candidates who skirt the question at hand. Ahaz is not being pious by saying “I will not put the LORD to the test,” he’s being dismissive!
God comes in, through the words of the bold prophet, throughout time, by the promise revealed again and again despite fear and dread, despite ignorance and protest.
God comes in, and the prophecies dance and sing, and fill the ears, and fill the heart, and fill the soul. God comes in the birth of a child to a woman.
Against our better judgment, when our experience is all uncertainty, when those in power would rather continue with business as usual rather than consider an alternative, and when we are all full, full up, cluttered, harried, and empty all at the same time, when time itself is full,
[left hand on chest, right hand up, breathe]
God fills and fulfills the ancient promises of coming near, of claiming and reclaiming the world.
The story is told of Immanuel, God-with-us, with simple characters like Mary and Joseph. Mary is full-up, with child. A surprise pregnancy. Joseph considers calling the wedding off (oh, no!), but not to defame Mary (oh, good!).
In the midst of life, uncertainty, hope, and politics all mixing together, God comes in. Isaiah’s prophecies dance and sing, and fill the ears, and fill the soul. Fulfillment and promise shine hope on this couple and radiate through the ages, all the way to this Fourth Sunday of Advent.
In his little book Worship Come to its Senses, Don Saliers writes about “The Sense of Hope” in this way: “Hope is trusting that something will be fulfilled, but fulfilled according to the promises and not just according to our wishes.” Waiting in hope is active. It is close to the Quaker practice of “holding someone in the Light.” This is a radical attitude because it does mean giving over our control—or our fear that something will not be possible—to God. p. 77
Joseph awoke from his dream, and gave himself and his betrothed and his control over to the possibilities with God.
This is the way of our Advent waiting, trusting, and acting, that God indeed has come, is now here, and will come again in the ways of promise.
In Jesus the Messiah, who walked on this earth, who was born, who lived, who died, and who rose that we might know God more deeply and life more fully, we have all received and will continue to receive grace, forgiveness and love. Do you want a sign? Go ahead, ask for one! No? Well, despite our protests, or our experiences to the contrary, God has come near, and is as close to us as the nearest child, as available as ordinary food like bread and wine, ready to change the hearts of the powerful and the powerless, and as people otherwise full up continue to wait in hope. [left hand on chest, right hand up, breathe]
Promise!
Maranatha! Come, Lord Jesus!
I.N.I.
The Rev. Timothy J. Keyl, Pastor
Christ the King Lutheran Church
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