Today is the first Sunday of Advent. It’s the first Sunday of a new church year.
Advent, as was said in the Lighting of the Candles, means coming. Advent signals the coming of Christmas. (Only 28 more shopping days left!) But even more so, Advent signals the coming of Christ. The season of Advent is, in some ways, the church’s way of reminding itself that Jesus is coming…and we need to be ready.
I don’t always preach the lectionary, but some days I do. Today I’m preaching the lectionary. That’s where my argument with God came in—the argument I mentioned to you earlier—the argument that kept me up all night.
I’ve been meditating on these passages all week. The 1 Corinthians passage and the Isaiah passage are from the lectionary for the first Sunday in Advent, year B. There’s a Mark passage that’s also in the lectionary for the first Sunday in Advent, year B. (The lectionary, for those of you who don’t know, is a guide that the broader church, the ecumenical church, has put together to provide for reading and preaching through the Bible over a 3 year cycle. There are 4 passages from the Bible selected for every Sunday over a 3 year cycle. The lectionary works through the Bible in sequence in some places, and the selected passages correspond to the church year in other places.)
I am going to preach primarily on the Isaiah passage. I didn’t quite know how to do it, so I kept trying to tell God I’d really rather preach on the Mark 13 passage—at least I’ve done that one before! About 8:00 this morning I gave up and said “Ok, ok, I’ll preach the Isaiah passage.” I’ll do my best to share with you what has come to me as I’ve meditated on the Isaiah passage this week.
Advent is a time of preparation. Traditionally, as the church moves through Advent, we intentionally to seek to remind ourselves that Jesus is coming and we need to be ready. Traditionally the first Sunday in Advent has been the time to acknowledge that the earth is not as it should be, creation is broken. There is darkness. There is suffering. There is sin. Jesus came, and with his life, death, and resurrection, he brought the ultimate victory. But we await the consummation of that victory, the final fulfillment of that victory. Then, as we move through the four Sundays of Advent, we acknowledge and name God’s promises. We claim those promises as we prepare for the Light of Christ to enter once again into our world—through the birth of Christ that we celebrate at Christmas, and then ultimately and finally and decisively in the coming of Christ again.
The Advent candles symbolize that transition as we light one candle the first week and two candles the next, then three candles and four candles, as the Light of Christ rolls upon us and lights up our darkness.
This passage in Isaiah 64 in some ways marks that same type of movement. Maranatha means, basically, O Lord come. It’s scriptural. It’s also a cry that the early church used as a hopeful affirmation and a greeting. The cry, maranatha, is a reminder that as Christians gather, our hope, our expectation, and our reason for being is that Jesus is coming. O Lord come. Marantha.
Jesus is coming. O Lord, come.
God’s Word is so amazing! Have you ever noticed that scripture, which is God’s Word to us, also speaks for us to God?
The Psalms are the best example of this: God’s Word on the lips of his people, lifted up to him. In so many ways, the Psalms give us the words to speak to the God of the universe with honesty.
A few examples:
Psalm 77: “I cried out to God for help; I cried out to God to hear me. When I was in distress, I sought the Lord; at night I stretched out untiring hands and my soul refused to be comforted.” I wonder if those have ever been the words from your heart, as they have been from mine.
Or Psalm 29: “You turned my wailing into dancing; you removed my sackcloth and clothed me with joy, that my heart may sing to you and not be silent. O Lord my God, I will give you thanks forever.”
Psalm 51: “Against you, you only, have I sinned and done what is evil in your sight.”
Psalm 27: “The Lord is my light and my salvation—whom shall I fear? The Lord is the stronghold of my life—of whom shall I be afraid.”
Remember, Jesus himself borrowed from the Psalms to pour out the reality of his experience to the Father. Psalm 22 gave voice to his anguish on the cross, and he cried out, “My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?”
Sometimes, when we have no idea what to say to God, scripture gives us the words. Sometimes, when we are sure that what we want to say shouldn’t be said, scripture gives us permission to cry out with honesty. Sometimes, when we have buried the anger and the hurt and the guilt and the fear, the words of scripture draw it out of us, so that we can be more honest with ourselves. Sometimes, when God’s Word gives our lips the words to give voice to what is in our hearts, it also opens our ears to hear God’s Word back to us in a new way, a deeper way, a more honest way.
The Psalms are probably the best example of God’s Word speaking for us, but other scriptures do it too, especially the writings of the prophets. This passage that I read from the prophet Isaiah is a passage that speaks for us to God.
As I meditated on this passage this week, I found myself watching an imaginary scene play out in my mind’s eye. Having lost my argument with God, this morning I invite you to watch that scene unfold with me.
I see a hill in my mind’s eye. There is nothing particularly special about this hill. It has a gentle slope rising up to a rounded hilltop. Yellow-green grass, not really high but not really short either, waves in the breeze. The sky above the hill is blue, cloudless.
I see a person walk up to the top of this hill. I’m not really sure who the person is. It might be Isaiah. It might be me. It might be somebody else. I don’t think it really matters.
At the top of the hill, this person stops and looks up at the sky. Arms outstretched, a shout rings out: “O Lord, come.”
And the shout continues: “Oh, that you would rend the heavens and come down, that the mountains would tremble before you! As when fire sets twigs ablaze and causes water to boil, come down to make your name known to your enemies and cause the nations to quake before you!”
And then I see another person come up to the hilltop. This person, too, looks up to the heavens with arms outstretched and shouts, “O Lord, come.”
“Your enemies abound on this earth, Lord. They deny your holy name. They make a mockery of your compassion. They trample on your people. Oh, that you would rend the heavens and come down, that the mountains would tremble before you! As when fire sets twigs ablaze and causes water to boil, come down to make your name known to your enemies and cause the nations to quake before you!”
And I see a third person come up to the hilltop. Same posture, arms outstretched, looking up to the heavens. “O Lord, come.”
“We need you here, Lord. People are hungry. People are sick. People are homeless. People are confused. People are in despair. People are fighting. People are dying. People are lost. O Lord, come down.”
Now I look and there is a whole crowd of people at the top of the hill, all in the same posture. Arms outstretched, faces lifted to the heavens, they shout: “O Lord, come.”
“Oh, that you would rend the heavens and come down, that the mountains would tremble before you! For when you did awesome things that we did not expect, you did come down. We remember that you came down and the mountains trembled before you. Since ancient times no one has heard, no ear has perceived, no eye has seen any God besides you, who comes to the aid of those who wait for you.”
“O Lord, come.”
“You come to the help of those who gladly do right, who remember your ways.”
I see this whole crowd, all at the top of the hill, all with arms outstretched, all with their eyes to heaven shouting: “O Lord, come.”
Then as the scene unfolds in my mind’s eye, a whisper is heard. I’m not sure where it comes from, or even if it is audible, but everybody on the hilltop is aware of this whisper. Everyone hears the words: “I will come.”
The shouting subsides. Slowly heads begin to lower, and people turn and they look at each other. Then, almost as one, the people begin to look away from each other. Not to heaven…they begin to look down. They close their eyes. Their arms come down.
Their desperate longing has been answered. The promise has been reaffirmed. “I will come.”
Slowly, on this hilltop, their desperate longing fades into introspection. From shouting to the God of the heavens to come down, they turn to look inside themselves. He is coming. The question comes to people’s minds on that hilltop: “Am I ready?”
Slowly, the eyes that had been focused on all the wrongs in the world around them, on all the darkness in the world around them, begin to focus on their own hearts. Realization slowly dawns.
No more shouting now. Just quiet utterances, mumbling almost.
“You come to the help of those who gladly do right, who remember your ways. But when we continued to sin against them, you were angry. How then can we be saved?”
The promise has been reaffirmed. He is coming. The desperate longing has given way to introspection. When the Holy One comes, he will deal with all the wrong and all the darkness in the world. But he will also deal with all the wrong that remains in me and in everybody on that hilltop.
“All of us have become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous acts are like filthy rags; we all shrivel up like a leaf, and like the wind our sins sweep us away. No one calls on your name or strives to lay hold of you; for you have hidden your face from us and made us waste away because of our sins.”
As anticipation grows within us of the Holy One coming, all of our own impurities suddenly become so apparent.
On this hilltop, one voice speaks for all now. “O Lord, come. I need you. I am ashamed. I am broken. I am afraid. O Lord, come.”
The scene continues to play out in my mind’s eye. There is silence for awhile. Then a whisper is heard again. I’m not sure where it comes from, or even if it is audible, but everybody on the hilltop is aware of the whisper. Everyone hears the words: “I will come. … I will come.”
Slowly heads begin to rise again. The people look at one another. Slowly, smiles begin to form…hesitant smiles.
Their introspection has been answered. The promise has been reaffirmed again. “I will come.”
Slowly, their introspection turns into quiet comfort, quiet assurance. He is coming. It will be ok. They begin to look up again. They begin to speak…not shouting, not demanding anymore, but just responding to that whisper.
“Yet, O Lord, you are our Father. We are the clay, you are the potter; we are all the work of your hand. Do not be angry beyond measure, O Lord; do not remember our sins forever. Oh, look upon us, we pray, for we are all your people.”
“O Lord, come.”
That is the last of this passage from Isaiah. But the scene in my mind’s eye continues to play just a little bit longer. The New Testament reading for the First Sunday in Advent joins the Old Testament reading in my meditation.
As the crowd on the hilltop stands there, looking at each other, smiling hesitantly, looking up, wondering what to do next, the whisper is repeated into their quiet, hesitant assurance. Their quiet comfort is nudged. The promise has been reaffirmed. “I will come.” Comfort isn’t enough. Comfort turns into hopeful anticipation.
“O Lord, come.”
“We eagerly wait for our Lord Jesus Christ to be revealed.” Those are Paul’s words to the church in Corinth. In my mind’s eye, they become the words of the people on the hilltop. “We eagerly wait for our Lord Jesus to come. You have been generous and we do not lack in any spiritual gift that we need as we wait.”
Desperation has turned to introspection has turned to assurance. Assurance is turning into hopeful expectation.
“O Lord, come. You will keep us strong to the end. You will make us blameless on the day of our Lord Jesus Christ. O God, you have called us into fellowship with your son Jesus Christ our Lord and You are faithful. O Lord, come. Marantha!”
