St. Charles Episcopal Church, Saint Charles, IL

The Third Sunday of Advent - Advent 3 RCL Year B

Sunday, December 11, 2011

Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11 – Psalm 126 – 1 Thessalonians 5:16-24 – John 1:6-8, 19-28

Rev. William R. Nesbit, Jr.

To listen to the sermon as it was preached at the 7:30 am service, click here.
To listen to the 9:00 am version, click here.

In the name of the Father, Son and Holy Spirit, Amen.

As I am sure you know, last week I had the extreme pleasure of joining Doris, a dear friend of mine, at a two day conference at the Kanuga retreat center up in the mountains of North Carolina. The setting was VERY pastoral. Doris is an Episcopal priest at a small church in the diocese of Missouri. She and her husband Dave are also long time friends of Bev and I. Doris and I thought that we were getting away from the bustle of the holidays for a quick battery recharge before the crunch of Christmas. We hoped to catch up on what our respective families had been up to, soak up some good southern hospitality, and cooking, and perhaps gather a little wisdom from Krista Tippett, the keynote speaker at the conference. We did get all of that, but we got something else as well. As often happens when you make space in your life, and are attentive to the moving of the spirit we had an apocalypse. I know that sounds bad, but it isn’t really.

When we speak of apocalypse in the church, as we do a lot in the season of Advent, it is often associated with the coming of Christ. For us in the church this has two aspects. The most common understanding of apocalypse is the end of time; the creation of the new heavens and a new earth; the second coming of Christ as Judge of the world. The cosmic balancing of the scales. But there is another understanding of apocalypse in the church. It is more often associated with the first coming of Christ. It is the moment of revelation; that realization of a right relationship with God; that comprehension of the absolute love of God for us in the sending of his Son. A more personal balancing of the scales. One is far in the future and the other is near in our hearts. One is played out on a grand scale, the other at the level of the personal, and yet they are intimately connected. They are two sides of the same coin.

This is what we prepare for in the season of Advent. It is also what we wait for, and waiting can be even harder than preparing. We at least have a little control over preparing. Waiting is out of our hands. And increasingly we as a people are getting more impatient with waiting. And we are the poorer for it. So Advent is a time when we struggle against the current of our times to recover the virtue of waiting. Waiting for what is new, what is coming into the world. God helps us in this time with countless examples of waiting from the creation around us. Leaves that mere months ago were providing energy for growth and vitality to the trees around us, are now brown and useless, blown about the ground by icy winds that once were warm. Even if we could reattach them to the trees they wouldn’t do any good. The trees stand black and bare with no signs of life, and yet still they are signs of hope. For we know that come spring, buds we cannot yet see, will be bursting forth with flower and leaf. Like the trees in winter, in Advent we stand in the dark waiting for the next season of love and faith, giving testament to what will be, providing hope for what is coming, standing that dark place between what was, and what is yet to be.

A passage through darkness can help us to focus our attention on the important things. It is easier to see the light when we are surrounded by darkness. That is why we choose to go into this darkness of Advent. Or perhaps more correctly, why we bring our darkness with us into the light of Advent. It is in the season of Advent that we as Christians take an honest look at ourselves and our Church. During the rest of the year we, as a people of the table, gather on Sunday mornings and pretend that the kingdom is here and through the grace of God we get glimpses of it. In Advent we bring the unvarnished truth before God, all our shortcomings and failures and are confronted by a God that loves us knowing the truth. Loves us without measure or reserve. Loves us regardless of our age, sex, color, nationality, alignment, orientation, behavior, or anything else we can think of to divide us.

To really come face to face with this love, to truly apprehend it, is a wholly remarkable experience. It is an apocalypse. And it is coming. It is what we are waiting for. Just because it has come before, doesn’t make it any easier to wait for it this time or any time. To lose that connection is to forget that it ever existed, or ever could exist. Sadly, we live in a world that goes out of its way to try and convince you that you must earn the love of God; you must be good enough. That is a lie, a damned lie, but a lie that is far too easy to believe. We must fight it with every tool at our disposal, but most importantly we must fight it with the truth. Look around you. Among you stands one whom you do not know. One who comes after. One who will bring this love of Christ to you. Or one to whom you will bring that love. Like a light shining in darkness. This is the Advent truth to remember, and even more importantly the Advent truth to share.

May the God of peace sanctify you entirely: and may your spirit and soul be kept sound and blameless at the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ. The one who calls you is faithful and He will do this.

Amen.