Light in the Darkness
December 11, 2011
Advent 3, Year B
That’s why we hear so much from the prophets during Advent - because they deliver God’s instructions, remind us of the promises we have made, and remind us that our God is a God who keeps promises. The prophet Isaiah lists some of God’s promises to his covenant people. John the Baptist repeats those promises, just as Jesus would do later in the Temple, in the Gospel of Mark.
John comes to us today as he does each Advent, comes to testify to the light. His is the voice crying out in the wilderness, telling us to make straight the way of the coming Lord. How? How are we to do that now...especially when we find ourselves in the midst of our own wilderness?
I don’t know about you, but this has been a year in the wilderness for me. A year ago on this day, we were here in this place holding a service of remembrance for our son who died. Since then, one of my cousins took his own life, overcome by a battle with depression that he couldn’t see his way through. Another cousin received a terminal cancer diagnosis, and was given six to twelve months to live. She lived for 6 weeks. My only remaining uncle died of cirrhosis and hepatitis after a life-long battle with alcohol and drugs. Several other close family members have been diagnosed with life-altering illnesses that will impact them for the rest of their lives. And just yesterday, one of my best friends - one of Katherine’s godmothers - called to say her mother, a woman I have known for over 20 years, died after a rapidly spreading recurrence of cancer. So, here we are today, walking in the midst of the wilderness of our very human lives.
I know many of you have walked through wildernesses of your own, because you have been kind enough to share that with me over this past year, as I have worked on letting go, and moving forward with hope. Some of you may be standing there in the wilds yourself even now. If so, you have my empathy. The experience of great grief changes us, so that we are not the people we were before it happened. Part of the experience of mourning, at least as I have experienced it, is that you have to let go of the person you were before, so that you can become the person you are meant to become. I am not the person I was, but I am not yet the person I will be. It takes great amounts of time and patience and prayer and persistence before we know exactly who those new selves will be. Some days, it can be hard to travel down the road before us, to keep hoping, to keep waiting for the promise.
But even when we are walking through times of dark and wilderness, we are following the trail of hope. A hope foretold by the prophets, a hope which will be realized by a faithful and loving God.
Today, we’re here for just that reason - because we are bold enough to hope with a great hope. We are here today because we hope for the coming of Christ, for the fulfillment of a promise. We hear the good news from the prophets that God will be faithful. God will always keep God’s promises, even though it is in ways and places and times we don’t expect, or even understand.
After all, those promises are not always what we wish they would be. God does not promise to make our paths straight, to make the way easy. God does not call us to the comfortable, or to the complacent. Even though we might wish it were true, we don’t get out of God’s call to us just by pleading that it was a hard year, that we are all out of compassion and sympathy and good feelings, and please check back in later - maybe we’ll have softer hearts next year. John reminds us that God calls to each of us, even in the wildernesses of our lives. Our job, even in the midst of darkness and wilderness, is to respond to God’s call … to make straight the way of the Lord. To point the way to the light, so that others might see it too.
We have an ambitious task before us, you and I. How can we possibly have time to make straight the way the of the Lord? If we aren’t wandering in our own wilderness or darkness, we can create them. We pressure ourselves to create something of perfection this time of year, so much so that we can drain any joy or good feeling out of the whole event. We have presents to buy and wrap, and lights to untangle and houses to decorate, and cards to mail, and cookies to bake and parties to plan and relatives to entertain and who has time to prepare our hearts for the coming of Christ? How can we hear the voice of the one crying out in the wilderness, when we’ve covered him in twinkle lights and drowned him out with jingle bells?
Don’t hear me wrong - I like twinkle lights and cookies and relatives - maybe more than the next person. But we need Advent. Advent is not the dull and joyless season before we get to the good stuff. We need the time it gives us to prepare our hearts for the sudden arrival of the Light of the World. We need the time for a little bit of a reality adjustment, just when the culture around us is pushing us to ridiculous heights in our quest for the perfect Christmas. Christmas is the celebration of the coming of Christ, the inbreaking of God into the world, and it will be perfect without our help.
We need that voice crying out the wilderness, because we‘re all wandering around in the darkness, looking for the light. We need John to point to it, and say, “There it is! There’s the light! There’s the One you’ve been waiting for!”
So how do we not be diverted by the shiny trappings of a holiday which is more and more divorced from the event which it celebrates? How do we not be overwhelmed by the profound darkness and the brokenness that falls into each of our lives? What could we possibly have to offer up that will delight God, that will bring joy to the Divine and incarnated Son who comes to be with us, to be one of us, to suffer and to die for us?
What can we, in our brokenness, in our wilderness, offer to the Son that comes to shine light into the darkness of our lives? “Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances.... Hold fast to what is good; abstain from every form of evil.” Paul gives us an ambitious list, challenges each of us to live into the promises we have made to God. God is interested in the preparation of our hearts, not the decoration of our houses or the perfection of our celebrations.
As a community, we at Ascension have known our time of darkness. We have gone through our own wilderness. This past Friday was the fifth anniversary of my ordination. Five years ago, I stood there before the altar and before you, and we all made promises to God. If you were here five years ago, you know that it was a dark time for many of us here at Ascension. But if you’re here now, you know that that darkness did not last. With time, and work, and hope, and prayer, the community of Ascension today is a completely different, hopeful, vibrant place. We walked through the dark together. It wasn’t always pretty, but it was our journey, and there was nowhere to go but forward. New people joined us along the way, and we have grown stronger.
Advent 3, Year B
“Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus for you.”
I’ve been thinking a lot this week about promises.
Advent is a time of hope, and of waiting...waiting for promises to be fulfilled.
That’s why we hear so much from the prophets during Advent - because they deliver God’s instructions, remind us of the promises we have made, and remind us that our God is a God who keeps promises. The prophet Isaiah lists some of God’s promises to his covenant people. John the Baptist repeats those promises, just as Jesus would do later in the Temple, in the Gospel of Mark.
John comes to us today as he does each Advent, comes to testify to the light. His is the voice crying out in the wilderness, telling us to make straight the way of the coming Lord. How? How are we to do that now...especially when we find ourselves in the midst of our own wilderness?
I don’t know about you, but this has been a year in the wilderness for me. A year ago on this day, we were here in this place holding a service of remembrance for our son who died. Since then, one of my cousins took his own life, overcome by a battle with depression that he couldn’t see his way through. Another cousin received a terminal cancer diagnosis, and was given six to twelve months to live. She lived for 6 weeks. My only remaining uncle died of cirrhosis and hepatitis after a life-long battle with alcohol and drugs. Several other close family members have been diagnosed with life-altering illnesses that will impact them for the rest of their lives. And just yesterday, one of my best friends - one of Katherine’s godmothers - called to say her mother, a woman I have known for over 20 years, died after a rapidly spreading recurrence of cancer. So, here we are today, walking in the midst of the wilderness of our very human lives.
I know many of you have walked through wildernesses of your own, because you have been kind enough to share that with me over this past year, as I have worked on letting go, and moving forward with hope. Some of you may be standing there in the wilds yourself even now. If so, you have my empathy. The experience of great grief changes us, so that we are not the people we were before it happened. Part of the experience of mourning, at least as I have experienced it, is that you have to let go of the person you were before, so that you can become the person you are meant to become. I am not the person I was, but I am not yet the person I will be. It takes great amounts of time and patience and prayer and persistence before we know exactly who those new selves will be. Some days, it can be hard to travel down the road before us, to keep hoping, to keep waiting for the promise.
But even when we are walking through times of dark and wilderness, we are following the trail of hope. A hope foretold by the prophets, a hope which will be realized by a faithful and loving God.
Today, we’re here for just that reason - because we are bold enough to hope with a great hope. We are here today because we hope for the coming of Christ, for the fulfillment of a promise. We hear the good news from the prophets that God will be faithful. God will always keep God’s promises, even though it is in ways and places and times we don’t expect, or even understand.
After all, those promises are not always what we wish they would be. God does not promise to make our paths straight, to make the way easy. God does not call us to the comfortable, or to the complacent. Even though we might wish it were true, we don’t get out of God’s call to us just by pleading that it was a hard year, that we are all out of compassion and sympathy and good feelings, and please check back in later - maybe we’ll have softer hearts next year. John reminds us that God calls to each of us, even in the wildernesses of our lives. Our job, even in the midst of darkness and wilderness, is to respond to God’s call … to make straight the way of the Lord. To point the way to the light, so that others might see it too.
We have an ambitious task before us, you and I. How can we possibly have time to make straight the way the of the Lord? If we aren’t wandering in our own wilderness or darkness, we can create them. We pressure ourselves to create something of perfection this time of year, so much so that we can drain any joy or good feeling out of the whole event. We have presents to buy and wrap, and lights to untangle and houses to decorate, and cards to mail, and cookies to bake and parties to plan and relatives to entertain and who has time to prepare our hearts for the coming of Christ? How can we hear the voice of the one crying out in the wilderness, when we’ve covered him in twinkle lights and drowned him out with jingle bells?
Don’t hear me wrong - I like twinkle lights and cookies and relatives - maybe more than the next person. But we need Advent. Advent is not the dull and joyless season before we get to the good stuff. We need the time it gives us to prepare our hearts for the sudden arrival of the Light of the World. We need the time for a little bit of a reality adjustment, just when the culture around us is pushing us to ridiculous heights in our quest for the perfect Christmas. Christmas is the celebration of the coming of Christ, the inbreaking of God into the world, and it will be perfect without our help.
We need that voice crying out the wilderness, because we‘re all wandering around in the darkness, looking for the light. We need John to point to it, and say, “There it is! There’s the light! There’s the One you’ve been waiting for!”
So how do we not be diverted by the shiny trappings of a holiday which is more and more divorced from the event which it celebrates? How do we not be overwhelmed by the profound darkness and the brokenness that falls into each of our lives? What could we possibly have to offer up that will delight God, that will bring joy to the Divine and incarnated Son who comes to be with us, to be one of us, to suffer and to die for us?
What can we, in our brokenness, in our wilderness, offer to the Son that comes to shine light into the darkness of our lives? “Rejoice always, pray without ceasing, give thanks in all circumstances.... Hold fast to what is good; abstain from every form of evil.” Paul gives us an ambitious list, challenges each of us to live into the promises we have made to God. God is interested in the preparation of our hearts, not the decoration of our houses or the perfection of our celebrations.
As a community, we at Ascension have known our time of darkness. We have gone through our own wilderness. This past Friday was the fifth anniversary of my ordination. Five years ago, I stood there before the altar and before you, and we all made promises to God. If you were here five years ago, you know that it was a dark time for many of us here at Ascension. But if you’re here now, you know that that darkness did not last. With time, and work, and hope, and prayer, the community of Ascension today is a completely different, hopeful, vibrant place. We walked through the dark together. It wasn’t always pretty, but it was our journey, and there was nowhere to go but forward. New people joined us along the way, and we have grown stronger.
We didn’t come through the wilderness unscathed. We were materially changed by the difficulties we went through as a community. We have had to let go of the community we were before, so that we could become the community of God we are called to be. We have grieved together, and we have worked on our healing together. We still have a ways to walk along that path, but we are a hopeful people again. We can see God working in and through us, and for that we give God great thanks.
It is Advent. It is the time to name the darkness in our lives, no matter what it is. I have found that when we name our fears and our places of darkness, they have much less power over us. I do not delight in the dark places, but I am not afraid of them, because I believe in a God who has promised a way, and a truth and a life...and a hope. We are called forward together, out of the darkness, out of the wilderness, into a life of purpose for God.
It is Advent. It is the dark of night. Off in the wilderness, a voice points us toward the dawning light. Into our wilderness, into our darkness, the Light will come. What comes into being in Him is life, and the life is the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness does not overcome it.
Amen.
It is Advent. It is the time to name the darkness in our lives, no matter what it is. I have found that when we name our fears and our places of darkness, they have much less power over us. I do not delight in the dark places, but I am not afraid of them, because I believe in a God who has promised a way, and a truth and a life...and a hope. We are called forward together, out of the darkness, out of the wilderness, into a life of purpose for God.
It is Advent. It is the dark of night. Off in the wilderness, a voice points us toward the dawning light. Into our wilderness, into our darkness, the Light will come. What comes into being in Him is life, and the life is the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness does not overcome it.
Amen.
Comments
Post a Comment