December 3, 2006, First Sunday of Advent
First Congregational Church in Thetford, Vermont, UCC
Isaiah 11:1-10
In a few minutes we will sing the Advent hymn by Charles Wesley, “Come,
Thou Long-Expected Jesus.” Here are its first two verses:
Come, thou long-expected Jesus,
Born to set thy people free;
From our fears and sins release us;
Let us find our rest in thee.
Israel’s strength and consolation,
Hope of all the earth thou art;
Dear desire of every nation,
Joy of every longing heart.
Wesley makes some beautiful and bold claims for Jesus; not only does he
free us and give us rest and strength and comfort but he is the hope of all the earth,
the desire of every nation, the joy of every longing heart. The question is how can
we reconcile these last three sweeping claims with the fact that this week the Pope
went barefoot into an Islamic mosque and turned toward Mecca and prayed like
the Muslim cleric at his side? How can we claim that Jesus is the hope of all the
earth or the desire of every nation or the joy of every longing heart when there are
predominately Islamic and Jewish and Hindu nations, and when our own nation is
increasingly pluralistic?
One way is to say that all those other hearts are fooling themselves. They
think they desire their own god, but someday they will find out the truth that their
god is a delusion or the devil and that Jesus is the only true God. There are
Christians who are of that opinion, and today they are praying for the Pope’s soul.
Another way to justify Christ as the hope of all the earth is to say that
Christ is the name we give to the God-like qualities we saw in Jesus—the qualities
of peace and nonviolence, love and compassion, justice and mercy, comfort and
wisdom, sacrifice and service, and a devotion to the poor, the sick and the
oppressed. Other religions represent these same qualities by other names—the
name of the god or spirit or teacher they believe in. We use different names, and
of course our beliefs have other more substantial differences as well, but we are
united in our common hope for those same good things that are the longing of
every heart, the desire of every nation, the hope of all the earth, things like peace,
compassion and justice.
Advent asks us to hope in all that Christ is and represents. It cries out from
the walls, “He is coming! Stay awake! Keep watch! Live as if the day of our
hope’s fulfillment is at hand!” Advent asks this extreme hope of us, but what do
we do? I think at best we struggle with it, and at worst we pay it nothing more
than lip service.
We have other more immediate and real-seeming things than Christ’s
coming to worry about and hope for during Advent. We have too much that we
have to get done for Christmas—presents and events and obligations. We have
overwhelming deadlines at work that have to be met before the end of the year.
Then there are the troubles in the world to worry about and to hope for. Peace
seems like too much to ask, but serious negotiations or a partial pull-out offer
more modest and realistic hope. The reversal of global climate change seems too
much to hope for, but Congress increasing the fuel efficiency of automobiles by a
gallon or two or a good snowy Christmas would gladden our hearts. These are
pretty meager hopes—far less than what Advent asks us to have.
But how about in the church? Surely the church is a place where we can
find higher hopes.
Recently I spoke to a woman who has moved to a new town and joined a
new congregation that has a new minister. Not long after she arrived he invited
the congregation to talk about their hopes for the church. The people at the
meeting talked about things that would sound familiar in this and just about every
other church I know. They hoped more people would get involved and serve on
committees, they hoped they would balance the church budget, they hoped for a
new coat of paint.
Finally the woman spoke up. She said, “I hope this church might be a
source of greater spiritual nourishment for my family and me, and I hope that
together we might do work for justice and peace in the world.” There was an
awkward silence, followed by some polite acknowledgement that she had spoken,
and then they went back to more pressing matters.
The hope of all the earth is not that a church balance its budget, as
important as that may be to the church’s ongoing existence. The hope of all the
earth is not that we fill all our committees with live bodies or that we refresh our
flaking paint or even that we straighten our sagging shutters, as great as these
accomplishments would feel.
The earth’s hope is both larger and smaller than that. The earth hopes not
for an end to this war or that war, but for an end to all war and all forms of cruel
and unnecessary violence that make life unlivable. The earth hopes for
sustainability and equilibrium. It hopes that humans will develop the Christ-like
qualities that it takes to establish peace and justice and mercy for all. It hopes for
the transformation of the human race into a blessing for all creation.
These larger universal hopes lead directly to smaller, more intimate ones.
The hope of all the earth is that every human heart—including yours and mine—
will find its longing fulfilled. The hope of all the earth is that every heart will find
its own Christ-like peace, its own connection to God’s love, its own comfort and
guidance from the Holy Spirit.
The earth’s larger hope depends on this smaller one. The prophet Isaiah
had the vision of a day when “They will not hurt or destroy on all my holy
mountain; for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters
cover the sea.” That larger hope of all the earth begins with this smaller one: that
the water of life will fill every individual heart like a well until all those wells
overflow with peace and compassion and cover the earth as the waters cover the
sea.
Advent calls us to do our part to fulfill this hope—our part as individuals
and as a church. The source of our hope is God and Christ and the Holy Spirit, but
we still have our part to do. So I urge you again this year to fight the pressure to
make your hope more modest and mundane. Resist the pressure to hope for the
materially perfect Christmas. Resist the pressure to hope simply to get all your
tasks done. Resist even the hope for merely a breakthrough in Iraq or on
environmental policy.
Make your hopes more extreme. Work for nothing less than the end of all
war and the coming reign of the Prince of Peace on earth. Have the courage to
hope for the transformation of the human race and all the world.
And at the same time, hope that your own spirit will become a deep, full
well of living water. Hope that the peace and beauty of candles and greens and
carols and children will work on you this Advent to make you a source of peace
and beauty for others.
And let that hope encourage you to work towards its fulfillment. Do
something extreme for the earth. Go out and stand in a peace vigil, or join in this
church’s work for justice, or teach a child to love and hope. Do something
extreme for your spirit. Set aside a half hour or hour every day in Advent for
reading and prayer, or come to the Prayer of the Heart here on Thursday
afternoons or ask your pastor for some individual spiritual direction.
Make this Advent a time when you hope for the extreme of Christ and
undertake some work to fulfill your hope. If you do not feel inspired to do this for
yourself, do it for the children who are the future’s hope. Whatever steps you
take, know that as you do so you are fulfilling your part of the hope of all the
earth, a crucial part that only you can do.
Let us pray in silence…
Sermon 12/03/2006