Sermon for the 14th of December - Third Sunday of Advent
Lectionary Readings for the Third Sunday of Advent
Isaiah 35: 1–10
The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom; like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing. The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it, the majesty of Carmel and Sharon. They shall see the glory of the Lord, the majesty of our God. Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees. Say to those who are of a fearful heart, ‘Be strong, do not fear! Here is your God. He will come with vengeance, with terrible recompense. He will come and save you.’ Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; then the lame shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy. For waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert; the burning sand shall become a pool, and the thirsty ground springs of water; the haunt of jackals shall become a swamp, the grass shall become reeds and rushes. A highway shall be there, and it shall be called the Holy Way; the unclean shall not travel on it, but it shall be for God’s people; no traveller, not even fools, shall go astray. No lion shall be there, nor shall any ravenous beast come up on it; they shall not be found there, but the redeemed shall walk there. And the ransomed of the Lord shall return, and come to Zion with singing; everlasting joy shall be upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.
James 5: 7-10
Be patient, therefore, beloved, until the coming of the Lord. The farmer waits for the precious crop from the earth, being patient with it until it receives the early and the late rains. You also must be patient. Strengthen your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is near. Beloved, do not grumble against one another, so that you may not be judged. See, the Judge is standing at the doors! As an example of suffering and patience, beloved, take the prophets who spoke in the name of the Lord.
Matthew 11: 2-11
When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples and said to him, ‘Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?’ Jesus answered them, ‘Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offence at me.’ As they went away, Jesus began to speak to the crowds about John: ‘What did you go out into the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the wind? What then did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes? Look, those who wear soft robes are in royal palaces. What then did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet. This is the one about whom it is written,
See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way before you. Truly I tell you, among those born of women no one has arisen greater than John the Baptist; yet the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he.
Sermon for the Third Sunday of Advent
I like all of Jane Austen's works. The one that is perhaps sweetest and lightest is Northanger Abbey. Catherine Morland, whose imagination has been affected by the reading of Gothic novels, full of wicked monks and dramatic events in the corridors of dark castles, comes to stay at the Tilney family's country seat. And, naively expecting the same kinds of events to have taken place there, mis-sees what is actually happening. She almost wrecks her chances of happiness with Henry Tilney, but love and marriage triumph in the end.
What she was expecting was not at all what was happening.
In this holy season of Advent, as we turn our eyes and our hearts toward Bethlehem, we have already been reminded, here, of some of the themes of Advent that are not all sweetness and light:
Rowan Williams's brilliant talk about the traditional themes of death, judgement, heaven and hell, and how we can understand these.
Jesus's first and second coming, and what it might mean to be ready for Him.
Today, I would like to ask what it is that we are expecting in Advent. And what it is that we are expecting, in life.
I can't even count the times that people have said in my hearing something along the lines of:
Well, my mother had cancer, and I prayed to God to cure her, but He didn't, and she died, and so I lost my faith.
I am rarely called on to make a verbal response to this kind of overheard declaration, but I find myself always thinking, What? That's your conclusion? Really?
What were you expecting?
I don't know about you, but God did not present me at birth with a gold-edged certificate saying: you are in such a superior category that in your life you will be exempted from all suffering and have a 100% happy life until age 100 or beyond and that's guaranteed. So that's what you should expect! If anything comes up in the course of your life to infringe upon this personal guarantee I will personally intervene and put a stop to it.
I did not receive this kind of certificate. I don't think you did, either?
Nevertheless, people all over the place still seem to be thinking that suffering is an aberration; it may happen to the less fortunate, or to people far away, but to them? To them, themselves? If it does, it isn't fair. It shouldn't be happening, to them.
What were they expecting?
What are we expecting?
I have never expected life to be nasty, brutish, and short, as in Thomas Hobbes's famous phrase. But amid the life-wrecking uncertainties of this present time I am conscious that others' lives--all too many lives--are not filled with the sweet singing of our Advent-time and the light of our beautiful candles. How do we understand the reality of suffering in our world today?
What should I expect from life?
What should we expect from life?
In this holy season of Advent, as we turn our eyes and our hearts toward Bethlehem, we are given an opportunity to shift our expectation in a different direction from the way the world would direct us.
When John baptized Jesus, all four Gospels record that the heavens opened, and that a voice came from heaven marking Jesus out as the beloved Son with whom I am well pleased. This is set down in Mark 1, John 1, Matthew 3, Luke 3.
But the Gospel of John goes even further than this, saying that even before this scene at the river, John the Baptiser saw Jesus in the distance, approaching him, and he called out Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world! This is he of whom I said, After me comes a man who ranks before me, for he was before me. I myself did not know him; but for this I came baptizing with water, that he might be revealed to Israel.
And then, and then, we have the verses that the Gospel writer John goes on, in addition, to give us:
I saw the Spirit descend as a dove from heaven, and it remained on him. I myself did not know him; but he who sent me to baptize with water said to me, "He on whom you
see the Spirit descend and remain, this is he who baptizes with the Holy Spirit."
I have seen and have borne witness that this is the Son of God.
I, John the Baptizer.
So, what happened? What was going on for John the Baptizer once he was thrown in prison, presumably for not only baptizing Jesus, but a lot of other people besides?
By the time we get to the eleventh chapter of Matthew, John is asking,
Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?
I thought he knew that Jesus was the One.
Hesitations and doubts may have assailed him. Did he misunderstand? Did he get it all wrong? In which case he knew that prison might be the end of it all, with nothing else to come.
Jesus's answer to John is very simple: tell him that people are healed, the dead are raised, and that the poor hear good news. This is what I do; this is what I have done; this is what I will continue to do.
Perhaps that was enough for John.
Jesus then turns to the crowd who is hanging on, eagerly overhearing John's disciples who are the messengers from prison. And Jesus, I think sarcastically, has a question for them:
What did you expect?
You came out to see first John and now me---are you satisfied?
This is not a theatre and we are not providing entertainment for you.
What did you go out into the wilderness to look at? An ordinary reed shaken by the wind? What then did you go out to see? John was a prophet, but I am more than a prophet.
I am the One. I am here! How will you respond to me?
Our life's reality is shaped by what we expect of it. We can live life fully, joyously, in and amid the suffering that comes to every human being. Jesus the Christ came to give us life, and give it in abundance. Life that is centred on others. On caring for the poor, the sick, the lonely. On giving money to those in need, even, or especially, those very far away from us. On standing with those who suffer, in all the ways we can. Accepting and even embracing the suffering that comes to us, as an ordinary, and expected, part of human life.
Because here's the contract: If we accept the extraordinary, beautiful gift of life, we must also accept the suffering that is inextricably bound up with the living of it. In the very real mystery of this, God's gift to us, it is suffering that binds us closer to every other human being who has ever lived.
Shared suffering becomes a sacrament of which we are enabled to partake.
God loves all God's creatures with an equal, unshakeable love that does not arbitrarily intervene to prevent suffering. Life can be deepened, enlarged, transformed by the suffering that comes to each of us. What we expect of this suffering affects how we allow it to transform us, into those who, alongside others all over the world, come through the experience of suffering to a different understanding of who we are and who God intends for us to be.
What do we expect? And what is actually happening all around us?
People are, all around us, everywhere, responding to Jesus's question not as gawkers but as those who are administering justice and binding up wounds and caring for the needs of the weakest among us all. This is happening, if we will only look, and see.
Life is a gift to be lived with love and courage, steadfastness and solidarity.
The avoidance of suffering is not the goal of life. To draw closer to God and in the same way, to others who also suffer, by keeping company with them--alongside them--loving them in the midst of the messiness and uncertainty and pain of any given individual life--this is the goal of life, as I see it.
Advent offers us the chance to contemplate the gift of the Son of God, born in this holy season, who came to share our suffering. Who came to show us that suffering is not a penalty but a gift, a gift that we share with all the other peoples of the earth.
In love and courage, steadfastness and solidarity, let us expect no less a gift!