The First Sunday of Advent, Year B, November 27, 2005

Isaiah 64:1-9a; Psalm 80:1-7; 1 Corinthians 1:1-9; Mark 13: (24-32) 33-37

Tidy Up . . . Clear a Space

So here we are at Advent again. Advent, the beginning of the Christian year, and the time when we wait and prepare for the coming of the Son of God.

Advent is one of those "iffy" times ... one of the seasons of the church year when we become most conscious of time itself. And this is as it should be; because what we have done when we follow the Christian year is to become conscious of the sacredness of time.

Now, most of the time we don't think of time as sacred. If we think about the concept of time at all, we mostly think of it as a commodity, something to be bought and sold, something to be used up or wasted, something to be measured to the most precise degree. For most of us, time is something we never have enough of. Even in the Church itself, the concept of time as a commodity rules our lives. Think of trying to set up a meeting. Out come the calendars and the lengthy process of negotiating begins. It seems that there is never a good time for a meeting or an event, so pressing on us are the demands of time. Time is always precious, even in the Church; seldom, though is it sacred. Three hours or so on a Sunday morning are sacred, maybe enough time to squeeze in a service, fellowship and church school, but rarely more than that.

This morning, though, this first day of the Church's new year, is different. Advent calls us to consider time in a new way. Advent calls us to consider the ways in which we measure time, the ways we think of time, the way we use our time. The coming of the new year makes us realize that time, for us, is different, somehow . . . that it is not a straight line originating somewhere in the haze of history and stretching off into the mist of the future. As Christians we do not live on a time line, we live inside the great circle of sacred time.

Advent, at least in our hemisphere, comes at the point in the year when we look around us at a landscape that seems to be dying. The views out of our windows open up with the leaves drying up and falling; everything out is beginning to look gray and dead. The dark comes earlier and stays later in the morning. Isaiah's cry of this morning, "O that you would tear open the heavens and come down," has resonance at times like this. Oh, that you would tear open the heavens, Lord God, and let in a little light and warmth!

It is no accident that the prophets speak most clearly to us at this time of the year. The ancient fears of the death of the sun at this time of year gnaw at our unconscious in this time of increasingly dark days, the ancient fear that things might always be like this: dark and cold and dead. We look for reassurance that things will come alive again. Here in this time of cold and dark we wait for news that we are not on a time line heading inexorably off to we know not where; but that the great circle will come around again—that the light and warmth will return.

At times like this, times when we feel our own impotence in the face of powers around us that we cannot control, the idea of sacred time again becomes real. Somehow, we are more able to grasp the idea of time as circular, the seasons change on God's timetable and not on our own, and we recognize our dependence on God's will for us. We hear and recognize in the prophet's words our utter dependence on God's will, and how far we have strayed from that will.

For all of us, at this time of the year, even in the mall where the lights twinkle brightly, the tinsel glitters, and the strains of Silent Night become just background noise, we are conscious that something is missing, something is not right. The pre-Christmas rush seems a little sordid, and yet we let ourselves be pushed to our limits by it anyway.

The pre-Christmas time line becomes like a roller-coaster, swooping and dipping as our heads spin. Some of us yearn to get off this mad, rushing, runaway train, but we are strapped in for the ride, victims of the machinery that seems to have very little reference to God or God's son whose birth we are awaiting.

Advent, for us who keep the Christian year, is the antidote to the madness of the mall, the straight line to Christmas, the commercial inertia that seems beyond our means to control. Advent is the time when the prophets call us up short—to take stock of ourselves, to decide how ready we are for the coming of the Christ child ... and not in terms of whether the presents are bought and the turkey stuffed. Advent is sacred time, God's time, time to get ready for the return of the Light. It is the time for listening to the prophets who tell us how far we have strayed from God's plan for us, and for sincere and prayerful change.

We would do well to hear the prophets now. They are telling us what is missing, and it is terrifying. They are telling us how far we have strayed from the loving circle of God's sacred time, and they are calling us back into it from the darkness. We would do well to heed them especially at this time of year when the circle is turning again, and the child is waiting to be born.

But there is a deeply personal side to all this as well. Each of us has a heart that longs for things to be better. We want peace, even though much of the world clamors for war. We want justice, even though many tell us to take advantage of every opportunity to get more, though often it means others will have less. Instead Advent calls us to an abundant life that is more spiritual and less material. It invites us to put our faith and trust in God's mercy and divine intervention. It compels us to have a heart for truth, mercy, and justice, and to find ways and time to work for those things because they are the things God cares most about.

Today's collect for the First Sunday of Advent asks for God's grace that we might "cast away the works of darkness, and put on the armor of light." There is certainly a moral dimension to this. The secrets we keep, the lies we tell, the hatreds we cherish, the schemes we dream up to get what we want are all in need of being thrown out. But their replacement with light is not automatic. What begins to transform us is our turning from self to others. In a culture filled with ways and web sites on how to do things better for us, we are called to proclaim a mission to others, especially those who do not know or have a relationship with their Lord and Savior. The armor of light should be a visible beacon to those who sit in darkness.

The church can not be a diversion or a pastime. It must be a vivid sign of God's having entered the world to redeem it. Advent is a time for us to live like people who are being redeemed. It is a time to develop new relationships with people outside our walls. Advent is a time for a new beginning, a time to examine our structures and see what helps us to move out in mission and what keeps us from it. Meeting basic needs is an essential Christian enterprise, but developing relationships is the ultimate one.

Emmanuel means "God with us" in a relationship that will totally transform us. There are others seeking this transformation but they don't know where the door is. We need to show them. Advent is not merely a season of preparedness, but a time to let go of everything that stands in our way of receiving God's gift to us, the gift of Jesus. A lot of tidying up can occur when we reach out to others, perhaps meeting Jesus there for the first time.

It as been awhile since I have given out a take-home task. And you don’t have to be prescient to know what is coming here, since it is similar to a task I once gave you as part of our Lenten discipline. But this time, the goal is a bit different—the goal is to prepare our hearts to provide a place for the coming of the Christ Child into our lives. To do so, we need to clear away some chaff and make room worthy of His presence.

During this Advent, I am going to ask you to think about and select your major nemesis, the greatest thorn in your side, the person you would least like to be stuck in an elevator with, however you go about characterizing the major persona non gratis in your life—and spend some time talking to Jesus about that situation. Don’t argue with him, or make excuses or offer rationalizations, but search your heart for your reasons for sustaining the alienation. When you are comfortable with the Lord, do one of the following things:

	Write them a note and provide an opening for reconciliation.
	Ask forgiveness for your ongoing, unforgiving thoughts and actions;

or . . . . .

pickup the phone and call them

or . . . even better, although more daunting . . .

go visit them.

Be ready . . . . .

“O Lord, you are our Father; we are the clay, you are the potter; we are all the work of your hand.” (Isaiah 64:8) AMEN.