What If - 2nd Sunday of Advent

9 December 2018 – 2^nd Sunday of Advent

Malachi 3:1-4; Luke 3:1-6

The idea of a “rapture” is fascinating to me even if I don’t completely agree with the 18^th-century concept.  Paul’s words to the Thessalonians seem to leave no ambiguity (“We who are alive … will be caught up in the clouds together [with the dead] to meet The Lord in the air”, 1 Thess 4:17), but Jesus’ words in Matthew’s Gospel seem to suggest something not quite consistent with “being spirited away” – as if taken by force (“The one on the housetop must not go down to take what is in the house; the one in the field must not turn back to get a coat”, 24:17, 18).  I’ve wondered if this idea is more like making our last choice – and that choice according to how we had previously ordered our lives.

Think about Lot’s wife who had been warned, along with her family, not to look back as they were fleeing.  And when Lot’s wife turned back as though she were longing for what she was leaving behind, she turned into a pillar of salt – virtually trapped in the past she had longed for; “left behind” by her own choice, her own desires.

The original “Left Behind” movie was equally fascinating in that so many just up and disappeared without a trace.  Those who had been left behind were caught completely by surprise.  They had not been given a choice; the choice had been made without them.  Or we may possibly say their choices prior to this moment had determined the outcome.

But what has long stood out for me was one character in particular, a pastor.  He had been “left behind”.  His wife and kids and congregation were gone, but he was still around.  Once he got next to the idea of what had happened, he was alone in the sanctuary, not quite praying but questioning The Lord, wondering why he was still there.

While he was trying to work it all out, maybe arguing with himself more than with The Lord, it occurred to him that even though he preached it and taught it and “they all bought it” (his words), he never really believed it himself. 

I wonder, though, if there was at least some hope within him as he preached it and taught it.  Given that his entire congregation was gone, I tend to think he had certainly preached it with profound hope!  St. Paul wrote to the Romans that “hope does not disappoint” (5:5), so can there be a difference between belief and hope?

I suppose it may all depend on what exactly we really hope for.  Do we, for instance, hope our will be done?  Or do we earnestly pray The Lord’s will be done?  We’ve sufficiently memorized The Lord’s Prayer to that end.  We say it, but do we mean it?

And when preachers (or prophets) show up and call upon us to repent, do we listen and respond with a measure of sincere hope?  Or do we write them off as though they are talking to “them” but not to “us”?  The Baptizer was telling his audiences The Lord was coming, so they needed to prepare themselves.  They needed to look ahead with hope, not look behind with longing.

These are hard questions we must answer for ourselves.  We say we hope in Christ, we sing as hoping in Christ … but is that really what we hope for?  Eventually, I’m sure, we get around to that idea, but what does tomorrow hold for us immediately?  A raise?  A promotion?  A new car? 

These are, for many, the things we genuinely hope for.  These are the things that preoccupy many of us, maybe most of us.  But as Advent teaches us to expect Christ to return, do we dare hope?  Or do we hope more for daily living to go our way?

The Baptizer had a message of hope, and people responded in droves.  Yet his message does not resonate well today even in the Church, and I’m not really sure why.  Could it be that a call to “repent” does not go over very well?  Do we not believe we need to “flee the wrath that is to come”?  That was the Baptizer’s message, and it was John Wesley’s fundamental requirement for all who wanted to be a part of his classes.  It is the basis upon which Methodism took root.

Here’s the thing about repentance, though, and I think it is the reason the word does not play well.  We know that to “repent” means we have to change the direction and the order of our lives.  To “repent” quite possibly will mean we give up portions of our lives that have us weighed down.  To “repent” may mean some persons in our lives will have to go. 

In other words, to “repent” may well mean our lives will no longer be our own.  Our will can no longer be ours to determine.  Our choices are not really ours to make – not if we earnestly hope for the return of Messiah.

The Baptizer’s being, his very life, was not nearly as important to him as The Lord’s purpose in his life.  What if you and I were more tuned into The Lord’s purposes than our own being?  What if we were more concerned with The Lord’s work than with our own life’s work?  What if we were more concerned with growing the Faith of the Church rather than the size of our paychecks?  Or even the size of our congregation? 

What if The Lord shows up tomorrow, and we are fully prepared and conditioned NOT to “go back” for things we’ve become far too attached to? 

As we continue through the journey that is Advent, let us further condition ourselves to “judge (and test) ourselves so we may not come under judgement” (1 Cor 11:31).  Let us learn to be a little harder and a little more honest with ourselves according to His Word and not according to our culture. 

Let us dare to hope for salvation that is to come much more likely to those who least expect it rather than to those who think they are entitled.  What if what St. Peter wrote is true: “If you address as Father the One who impartially judges according to each one's work, conduct yourselves in fear during the time of your stay on earth” (1 Peter 1:17)?

What if He is even more merciful than we dared to hope?  I think He must be … if that is truly what we hope for above all else.  Amen.

Measure Once, Give Twice - 1st Sunday of Advent 2018

2 December 2018 – 1^st Sunday of Advent – 1^st day of Hanukkah

1 Chronicles 29:10-17; Luke 6:32-38

Although each Sunday of Advent has its own theme designations (hope, peace, love, and joy), it occurs to me the very best thing we can do to honor our God, breathe revitalized life into the Church, and give meaning and substance to hope, peace, love, and joy is to reflect on and learn to respond to The Lord’s radical generosity.

I share this thought with the deepest hope that the spirit of Advent – our eager anticipation of The Lord’s return and our sense of Emmanuel (God with us) - will not be lost to us the day after Christmas; that day when we breathe a collective sigh of relief and say, “Thank God it’s over!”

I assure you it is only the beginning!  Advent marks the beginning of the new Church year rather than the end of the calendar year.  Like our secular New Year’s practices, Advent is a time for reflection and resolve.  There is much more to Advent, however, as we also commit to prayer and fasting for renewal of heart, mind, body, soul, and strength.  We do these things not only preparing ourselves for the Return of our Lord but also for renewing our dedication and strengthening our faith in the reality of Emmanuel!

In all this, it is a celebration of radical generosity given from a Father’s Heart as a constant reminder of who we were created to be, who we can become once more: reflections of the radically generous and Holy Father.  The Lord has revealed Himself, has given Himself, and has taken upon Himself the very worst of us to prove the very best of Himself. 

From the Incarnation, then, when “The Word became flesh”, we are to press onward – for our Shepherd is not still lying in a manger.  He has moved from there, into our lives, and into Glory, and so must we.  There must be a remembrance of that glorious time when Emmanuel (God with us) became a reality, but that remembrance must be marked by a faithful – and faith-filled – response.  Christmas trees and “stockings hung by the chimney with care” are fun (for those who can afford it), but these have nothing at all to do with what The Lord teaches us.

Jesus’ discourse in Luke’s Gospel calls us beyond ourselves, beyond the impulses which come easily to us; giving fully for our children, our friends, those who love us.  Yet Jesus teaches, “Even sinners love those who love them” (6:32).  “Even sinners do good to those who do good to them” (6:33).  “Even sinners lend to sinners, [expecting] to receive as much again” (6:34).  In other words, our generosity to ourselves is nothing to celebrate.  For when we “do” while expecting a return, that is lust – not love.  We “give” only with the proviso, “What’s in it for me?”

Our Shepherd calls us beyond those restrictions so we can fully become once again who we are created to be – the Image of the holy, merciful, and radically generous God, our Creator and Father.  “Love your enemies, do good, and lend, expecting nothing in return” (6:35).  Like Christmas trees and stockings, there is no Divine purpose in serving only ourselves or only those who love us or only those who will be expected to return the favor.

When The Word became flesh, human culture became meaningless.  Human standards were no longer the standard.  Everything that was once deemed “normal” suddenly became insufficient.  Suddenly “love” had nothing to do with how we may be feeling at any given time but became a willingness to do for others (outside our families and circle of friends) whether they can or will ever do for us in return. 

And I have to be honest: this is my spiritual bug-a-boo.  Whenever I do for others, though I know in the back of my mind I should not expect anything, I do expect something.  I do expect, at the very least, an acknowledgment, even a thank-you.  It is very hard for me to stick out my neck and risk, well, anything if nothing is to come from it except criticism for not doing it “right” or not doing “enough”.

I can be very protective of the churches I serve in that I am not easily swayed to let the church be “used” for any purpose that does not fulfill the mission of the Church: making disciples.  That is, to let the church be used (and sometimes abused) for narrow purposes but then watching them walk away when the church has served their own purposes.

There is some value in being that protective, but there is also a fine line which must never be crossed.  That is, the Church should be as much a teaching instrument of the Gospel as she is a living example of everything Jesus teaches us.  At the risk of repeating myself, if we are unwilling to live and to love and to risk as Christ taught us by His own example, everything is theoretical.  Nothing has been – and cannot be - “proved”.  Including the Birth of Messiah.

In vs 46 of the same chapter, Jesus asks the mother of questions: “Why do you call me ‘Lord, Lord’, and do not do what I tell you?”  In our love and appreciation for catchy phrases, let’s paraphrase that: If I am the ‘reason for the season’, why do you not live as I taught you?  From there Jesus teaches about the house built upon a solid foundation when (not “if”) the inevitable storms of life come.  Jesus is not being rhetorical nor is He giving people an ultimatum.  There is much more to this discourse than a series of short sayings and quotable quotes. 

More than anything else, Jesus is teaching us how to be free!  Free from our social constraints.  Free from cultural expectations.  Free even from our own selves.  For in giving beyond ourselves, withholding nothing, and being unafraid to stick our necks out for the sake of the Gospel regardless of the outcome or the risk is the ultimate in freedom.  But when we withhold anything – our time, our talents, our treasures - we do so out of a sense of fear, a false sense of security, a false sense of thinking there may never be “enough”.

If we are going to celebrate the birth of Messiah, live in Emmanuel, and joyously anticipate His Return with the greatest of our hopes, then Love must be given generously, radically.  Only then, when we act outside ourselves, outside our fears, may Christ be our true Hope, our true Peace, our true Love, our true and everlasting Joy.  Amen and amen.