Sermon: Advent 1; 12/2/2018


Gospel reading:  Luke 21:25-36

Yesterday morning Jeff asked me to tell him what I feared and what I hoped for our vacation.  We are heading to the southwest for both a family wedding and some R & R.
        When I answered him, we learned together how identifying fears and hopes are so very entwined.  For example, I told him that I fear that we will have a cold day when we visit the Grand Canyon, and that we won’t want to go on a hike on one of the trails, which is something both of us really want to do. I must admit that I’ve been looking at the forecast and it looks like we can expect at 30-degree day, so maybe I’m less afraid and more disappointed that the weather may not be as desirable as we’d like.  I do, however, fear the trails will be slippery and I am afraid of being injured.
        Then, I continued my list, which seemed to be based more on fears than hopes, and Jeff pointed out that fact to me.
        I had to pause a moment to think about how words matter.  He was right.  I had been focusing on the fear.  If I had turned each of my fears around and changed them into hopes, our conversation about our trip might have been, well, more hopeful.
        It is unfortunate that fear has become so prevalent in many of our minds.  Yet, there have been many incidents, like the recent hurricanes and fires and earthquakes that give us cause to be afraid.  And, I believe, we fear most the things we cannot control.
         So, I could have said I fear some major environmental event, like an earthquake, or some life-altering event, like falling over the edge of the canyon or a car accident while we are traveling, but those thoughts really hadn’t crossed my mind. 
Yet we have images that illicit fear in the beginning of today’s Gospel, images of the world breaking apart through natural disasters: of fires and earthquakes and floods and hurricanes and tornadoes, that remind us that we really aren’t in control.  And in those days, and maybe even for some of us today, the signs of environmental destruction just might feel like God is showing divine might and power and control. 
Jesus takes that image and adds another: that the “Son of Man coming in a cloud” is coming in glory and power.
It sounds like judgement day, doesn’t it?  It might remind you of the story of the sheep and the goats, where we are separated by what we did and did not do to further the reign of God.
        But there is more.  Much more to this story. 
        Jesus tells those who will hear that even when, especially when we see the world collapsing around us, when we just might fear the most, that is the time to “‘stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.’"
Stand up and raise your heads.  Redemption is coming.  Redemption is coming. 
Stand up, look up, you will be saved. 
Do not be afraid.
        To put a fine point on it, Jesus tells us to pay attention to the trees, where we see, with our own eyes: hope. 
        So, Jeff asked me what I fear and what I hope for our vacation.  And, as I said, I realized that I chose to focus on the fears or concerns I was having.  Fears and concerns about things I do not have any control over, like the weather conditions, but things I can prepare for with a little knowledge.
        Even if I had said I hope for good weather, I would still need to prepare for whatever the forecast is predicting.
        The outcome is the same, whether I see it as a fear or a hope, right?  The action is the same, too.
        Being prepared is one of the messages of Advent.  We take these four weeks to prepare for the birth of Christ.  We will study scripture that is apocalyptic and possibly frightening and that will go on, like today’s, to where Jesus turns the message around, from fear to hope.
        It’s a paradox:  We can fear the end of time and hope for redemption. 
        These are weeks of both-and.  We can live with both fear and hope, using them to be prepared for Jesus, the baby. 
We can sing O Come, O Come, Emmanuel, knowing that this baby that is to be born is our redeemer and our savior and something for us to open our hearts and souls to receive.  While at the same time, we know that God is with us now because we have opened our hearts and souls to God in the past.
        Paradoxes and contrasting images help us prepare.  Jesus informs us that we must go through difficulties to be reminded of hope.  We experience, or we watch as scary, frightening things happen, but when we do as Jesus suggests and we stand up, looking at the trees, we will see hope burst forth each spring.
         Jesus is our hope. 
        We are beginning Advent.  It’s a time where we contemplate why God sent Jesus to the world all those years ago, and where we hope for his return. 
        I have been thinking of a small part of the hymn, O little town of Bethlehem for the last few days.  The line: 
Yet in thy dark streets shineth
The everlasting Light
The hopes and fears of all the years
Are met in thee tonight
        We meet Jesus in both our hopes and fears.  We count on Jesus to bring the everlasting Light, shining on the things that are frightening, illuminating them so that we are no longer afraid.
        Take these weeks of Advent and prepare for hope.  God is our hope, Jesus is the incarnation, our manifestation of hope.
        When we think about Jesus as our hope, when we are able to stand up and raise our heads and see that with hope will come our salvation, when we are alert and can set aside our worries of this life, when we pray for strength and courage, we can find, we can experience and live in the hope that comes with the birth of a baby, the teaching of a man, the sacrifice on a cross, the resurrection of the body and the ascension into glory we know as Jesus. 
        Amen.