I’ll never forget a friend of mine asking where the wreath with the candles were during one of my first church pastorates. I replied, “we don’t need those rituals do we?” The response was all about the history, her church experiences during Christmas and why she loved a church all dressed up in color. It increased her anticipation of the big day.
I didn’t have the heart to say that the season of Advent isn’t really designed to be a countdown to the celebration of Christmas. It is a time of preparation for Christ’s return and the establishment of the kingdom of God. It is a reminder that we are heading someplace; we are works in progress; we are longing for something more. In a sense, we are looking forward and at the same time, looking back.
In many ways, we are experiencing three periods of time at once. We are remembering a time before God broke into the world, the time when God did become present and now, a future time when Emmanuel – God with us – will be our constant companion.
We can grumble about how we’ve lost the true meaning of Christmas, and perhaps we should, but we can also be surprised at how something pure and wonderful can appear in the most unlikely places, from the most unlikely sources to remind us that we are all longing for something more, something of eternity and of the beloved community, described by the one whose birth we celebrate - Jesus
When we read Isaiah 2:1-5, we usually skip to the prophecy. It is what is so compelling, what is so radical. The prophecy is what drives us this Advent season.
This is what Isaiah son of Amoz saw concerning Judah and Jerusalem:
2 In the last days the mountain of the Lord’s temple will be established
as the highest of the mountains;
it will be exalted above the hills, and all nations will stream to it.
3 Many peoples will come and say,
“Come, let us go up to the mountain of the Lord, to the temple of the God of Jacob.
He will teach us his ways, so that we may walk in his paths.”
The law will go out from Zion, the word of the Lord from Jerusalem.
4 He will judge between the nations and will settle disputes for many peoples.
They will beat their swords into plowshares and their spears into pruning hooks.
Nation will not take up sword against nation, nor will they train for war anymore.
5 Come, descendants of Jacob, let us walk in the light of the Lord.
In verse one, we are introduced to the prophet, “Isaiah, son of Amoz;” he has a family. And he works for the southern kingdom, Judah, and in its capital city, Jerusalem (which means, by the way, city of peace).
It seems almost ironic, doesn’t it? Jerusalem, the city of peace, in one of the most contentious areas on the planet. How many temples were built and destroyed? How many walls were built and destroyed? How many times have the alleys echoed with soldiers’ booted feet and streets washed in blood? It’s not new, this conflict, this battleground in the city of peace. It’s been a place of struggle for centuries.
And yet. Read verse one again: “The Word that Isaiah son of Amoz saw concerning Judah and Jerusalem.” Did you catch it that time? The Word that Isaiah saw. Saw. Not heard, but saw. Oh, I know: those prophets, what are you going to do? They are a bit . . . goofy. Living out there on the edge, shouting at passersby, running for their lives, hiding in caves, and calling down fire. Yeah, those things did happen to prophets. They didn’t have an easy life. Their main job was holding up mirrors, and no one likes looking too closely at themselves. So, no wonder they weren’t included at the best parties; no wonder they got bounced from the best clubs. No one wanted them around—for long anyway.
Except, this was Isaiah. Not the normal, run-of-the-mill prophet. Not the backwoods, wild-eyed, messy-haired, bad teeth prophet of the street corners, holding up cardboard signs scrawled with illegible doom.
Isaiah was as corporate as prophets get. And as much an insider as any of them. He had an office down the hall from the king’s. He had a secretary who took his notes and typed them up for the press release. At least at first. At least before the whole house of cards fell.
Now, he didn’t spout a party line; he wasn’t a mouthpiece for the king. It’s kind of amazing that he was able to keep his job as long as he did, given that more often than not he had bad news to share, fingers to point, doom to pronounce. Maybe those in power considered him a lightning rod. As long as he was there giving warnings and calling them to a higher standard, then nothing bad would actually happen. It makes you wonder if anyone listened to him. Or whether they just shook his hand each week and said, “Nice sermon, Pastor Isaiah,” and went about their business. And he had to bite his tongue every now and then so as not to say, “Weren’t you listening?”
It was a messy time, here at the beginning of the book. And it would get worse. When the enemies swept through; when the country crashed around their ears, and they were left in burning rubble or carried away to a foreign land where they were sure even God had abandoned them.
But for now, it's time to call, the powers-that-be, back to, the Power-That-Is. It is warnings and worries and the day-to-day tedium of running a nation. And still, Isaiah manages to see something more. “The Word that Isaiah . . . saw.” What did he see? The mountain of the Lord’s house. An odd configuration, to be sure. But there it was rising above every other mountain, every other house.
Not to lord it over, but to invite the world. The world. The whole world.
Not to conquer, but to teach. To dispense wisdom.
And what will be taught by God’s people? Peace.
The end of war and that calamity that tears the very fabric of existence.
The house of the Lord, the people of God, will teach peace.
And farming, apparently. Well, if you aren’t going to kill them, you need to help them learn to feed themselves.
He could see all that. He could see the hope, the Word at work, even when the not-word was all around him. Even in the corridors of power that seemed hellbent on making things worse rather than better. Even as the people went merrily down the path that led them to destruction, Isaiah saw the Word. He saw another way, another hope. It seems the call of Advent is not to proclaim doom, but to see hope, to see possibilities, even when no one else can see them. We are called to not give up on hope and to walk in the light of the Lord. Walk by the light we see in hope; move toward the kind of world God has in store; work for what makes for peace—even while we work to repair what is broken.
This Advent I challenge you to be peacemakers. Look to bring peace to every person or place you share your time. As you begin, remember the words of the Rev. Martin Luther King, Jr.,, “I have earnestly opposed violent tension, but there is a type of constructive, nonviolent tension which is necessary for growth.” Isaiah felt it in the hallways of the palace. Rev King felt it on the streets. You will feel it in events of the season when family, friends and coworkers try to live up to the cultural expectations of the “perfect” Christmas.
Be a peacemaker by taking a little extra time to meditate on the Word of God, try “When a man’s ways please the Lord, he makes even his enemies to be at peace with him” (Psalm 16:7)
Be a peacemaker by surrendering the conflicts around you to Him. You do not need to fix, manage or control anything this season. Practice being present and peaceful in all situations.
Be a peacemaker by offering more gentleness and patience with those who seem to create the drama reminding everyone true peace comes from a trusting relationship with God.
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References:https://www.umcdiscipleship.org/worship-planning/an-advent-song-of-ascents/first-sunday-of-advent-year-a-lectionary-planning-notes/first-sunday-of-advent-year-a-preaching-notes
