Filled With Hope Instead of Wishes
(Luke 1.26-47)
(Luke 1.26-47)
A sermon preached by Dave Shull
Spirit of Peace United Church of Christ
Sammamish, Washington
The First Sunday of Advent: November 30, 2008
Spirit of Peace United Church of Christ
Sammamish, Washington
The First Sunday of Advent: November 30, 2008
Every week it was the same story. The tables that had held kool-aid and cookies had been wiped down, folded up, and put away. "Good-bye", and "See you next Sunday" had been exchanged.
Now came the waiting. While my parents ran hither and yon around First Presbyterian Church, Wooster, Ohio. Collecting adult education class attendance clip boards. Dropping off newsletter announcements in the office. Doing who knows what. While my brothers and I waited for them to be done. So we could go home and do what we wished to do. Waiting for my parents was hard because we knew what we wanted to do. We wanted to get home. To eat the best meal of the week. To undergo that weekly ritual of futility otherwise known as watching a Cleveland Browns football game and hoping they'll win. To see friends. To get started on our homework. There were things we wanted to do when we got home. But before we could do any of them, first came the waiting.
Waiting is a big part of life in community. And I don't know a lot of people who are very good at it.
Maybe what makes waiting so hard is knowing what we wish we were doing instead. And knowing where we'd rather be than where we are (idea from Henri Nouwen, "Waiting for God", Watch for the Light: Readings for Advent and Christmas, Plough Publishing House, 2001, pp. 30-32). If I weren't stuck at this airport waiting for my plane to take off, I'd be . . . If I got that job, I could . . . If the people ahead of me on I-90 would stop looking at the accident on the side of the road and just drive, I'd be able to . . . If my kid ever graduates from toilet training, I could use the money we've been spending on Pampers
to . . . If this war in Iraq ever ends, and the soldiers come home, we might be able to . . .
Today is the first Sunday of Advent. As if we don't have enough waiting to do the rest of the week, church leaders in their wisdom decided we needed to have a whole season of the church year dedicated to waiting. Not only that, it's how the new church year begins. For Christians, today is New Year's Day. And how do we celebrate the arrival of a new church year? By four weeks of waiting.
Jews were waiting for a Messiah. Messiah in Hebrew means the same thing as Christ means in Greek. Messiah and Christ mean anointed one. Which refers to what happens when someone becomes a king. Their heads are anointed with oil. Oil is put on their heads as a sign that God has chosen them to be king. The Jews were waiting for a Messiah who would free them from the control of the Roman Empire so they could govern themselves, rebuild the Temple, and worship God without fear. They were waiting for a Messiah who would be the sign that God had returned to Jerusalem and all would be well again.
So the Jews were waiting.
Advent is the season of the church year when we remember how our ancestors the Jews waited for the Messiah's coming.
And, since Jesus the Messiah was born 2000 years ago, Advent also is a season when we remember Jesus' promise one day to return in physical form, and restore compassion, justice, and joy to all of creation.
As a Christian, I don't spend a lot of time waiting for the return of Jesus in physical form to this earth. I believe Jesus is here in spiritual form in the Holy Spirit. And, as we talked about last week, I believe Jesus comes to us in the form of the hungry, thirsty, friendless, naked, sick, and imprisoned in our midst.
But I don't think a lot about Jesus' return in physical form to this earth.
What does this annual four weeks of waiting invite us to?
We look for guidance to Mary and her cousin Elizabeth. Mary, a young unmarried woman who's told she's going to give birth to God's own child. In her culture, she could have been killed for being pregnant without a husband. But God had made a promise to her. She saw a future for her and this child. Elizabeth, who was sure she'd never be able to give birth . . . and then suddenly finds herself pregnant. Not only that, the child in her womb dances a jig when Mary comes by for a visit. Letting Elizabeth know Mary's child is going to be someone extraordinary. As is Elizabeth's own - John the Baptist. They help each other wait with hope for the new lives they were bearing. Because they don't close themselves off to all that God can do by limiting themselves to what they wish for. Instead, they wait in a place of hope. They wait with open-ended hope. They don't wait for only their wish to come true. They believe God is working in their lives to make something happen. To bring something miraculous into being. They trust God's at work in them. They strengthen each other for hope-filled waiting.
The Dutch priest Henri Nouwen says the difference between powerless, passive waiting and hope-filled waiting is the quality of open-endedness. Are we waiting for a particular wish we have to come true? So we're restless and frustrated until we can turn that wish into reality? Or are we waiting in a spirit of open-endedness - not needing a particular outcome, but trusting that whatever happens will be good. So we can stay open and hopeful in our waiting because we know God is at work bringing newness to birth? Nouwen writes,
People who wait [with open-ended hope] have received a promise that allows them to wait. They have received something that is at work in them, like a seed that has started to grow. This is very important. We can only really wait if what we are waiting for has already begun for us. So waiting is never a movement from nothing to something. It is always a movement from something to something more. . . .
Mary and Elizabeth were living with a promise that nurtured them, that fed them, and that made them able to stay where they were. And in this way, the promise itself could grow in them and for them.
[T]here is no . . . [passive waiting] in scripture. Those who are waiting
are waiting very actively. They know that what they are waiting for is growing from the ground on which they are standing. That's the secret. The secret of waiting is the faith that the seed has been planted, that something has begun. Active waiting means to be present fully to the moment, in the conviction that something is happening where you are and that you want to be present to it. A waiting person is someone who is present to the moment, who believes that this moment is the moment (pp. 30-32).
People who have faith have been promised something. In our baptism we hear God's promise, "You are my beloved child" (Matthew 3.17; Mark 1.11; Luke 3.21). Through the Apostle Paul, we are promised, "Nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus, our Lord" (Romans 8.39). The story of the prodigal son assures us when we wander away from God, God promises always to search us out, and welcome us open-armed back home (Luke 15.11f). Those promises allow us to wait in an open-ended, hopeful way. Because they are like seeds that are growing within us while we wait. We wait for newness. Wait for a job. Wait for someone to share our lives with. Wait for justice. Wait for some sense of where our life is going. Wait for God to show up. We do our part; and then, while we wait, Advent invites us to remember these seeds that have been planted within us. Advent invites us to trust that, in this time of waiting, God is watering these seeds. And these seed-promises of God will bear fruit. If we wait knowing we are God's beloved, and nothing can separate us from God's love, and when we mess up God welcomes us home, then we wait in hope. We don't wait for one particular outcome. We don't wait with one concrete wish. But we wait with openness and trust. That God is watering those promise-seeds. And God is calling us actively to wait for these promises to come true.
Elizabeth and Mary waited together. Of course they had some wishes for the children they were birthing. But mostly they waited in hope. Hope that God was working to bring those seed-promises to reality. They weren't limited by their wishes. They trusted that God had wishes for them. So they could wait in their anxiety and fear, wait in the uncertainties and the oddness of their circumstances. Because they waited in faith.
What is a seed-promise God has given you?
What is a seed-promise God has given Spirit of Peace United Church of Christ? And how does that call us to wait in this season of Advent?
For a time, you in this church had clear wishes for yourselves. You had concrete ideas about what you wanted for your community. Ideas around a building, and being a particular size, and having the kinds of ministries that would make you a 'real' church. Your times of waiting held such wonderful wishes.
For a variety of reasons, these wishes have not taken shape. That could have led you to give up. That could have led you to stop waiting. To stop trusting that God had promise-seed to water and nurture and bring to birth in this place. There were moments when you doubted.
But you didn't stop waiting. You could have decided that since your waiting didn't bring what you expected, there was no reason to keep waiting. Instead you decided to practice Advent. Whether you knew it or not, you decided to practice Advent. And wait in hope. Wait in the hopeful expectation that God had given you a seed-promise. And that God was watering it. Holding it. Loving it into life.
The whole meaning of Christian community lies in offering a space in which we wait for the promise we've already seen. Christian community is the place where we remind each other of the seed-promise God is slowly making stronger in us. We strengthen each other so we can wait with courage. We strengthen each other to wait with an open-ended hope. Not needing my particular wish to come true. But open to the surprising, beautiful seed-promise God is bringing to birth (from Nouwen, p. 36).
In this season of Advent, we do the hard work of waiting. Open, hopeful, strengthening each other. Having seen something of God's dream for us. Walking together where we do not know, we practice Advent. And wait with an active, pregnant hope.
Let us pray.
How silently,
how silently
the wondrous gift is given.
I would be silent now, Lord,
and expectant . . .
that I may receive the gift I need,
so I may become the gift others need
(Ted Loder, Guerillas of Grace, LauraMedia, 1987).
Now came the waiting. While my parents ran hither and yon around First Presbyterian Church, Wooster, Ohio. Collecting adult education class attendance clip boards. Dropping off newsletter announcements in the office. Doing who knows what. While my brothers and I waited for them to be done. So we could go home and do what we wished to do. Waiting for my parents was hard because we knew what we wanted to do. We wanted to get home. To eat the best meal of the week. To undergo that weekly ritual of futility otherwise known as watching a Cleveland Browns football game and hoping they'll win. To see friends. To get started on our homework. There were things we wanted to do when we got home. But before we could do any of them, first came the waiting.
Waiting is a big part of life in community. And I don't know a lot of people who are very good at it.
Maybe what makes waiting so hard is knowing what we wish we were doing instead. And knowing where we'd rather be than where we are (idea from Henri Nouwen, "Waiting for God", Watch for the Light: Readings for Advent and Christmas, Plough Publishing House, 2001, pp. 30-32). If I weren't stuck at this airport waiting for my plane to take off, I'd be . . . If I got that job, I could . . . If the people ahead of me on I-90 would stop looking at the accident on the side of the road and just drive, I'd be able to . . . If my kid ever graduates from toilet training, I could use the money we've been spending on Pampers
to . . . If this war in Iraq ever ends, and the soldiers come home, we might be able to . . .
Today is the first Sunday of Advent. As if we don't have enough waiting to do the rest of the week, church leaders in their wisdom decided we needed to have a whole season of the church year dedicated to waiting. Not only that, it's how the new church year begins. For Christians, today is New Year's Day. And how do we celebrate the arrival of a new church year? By four weeks of waiting.
Jews were waiting for a Messiah. Messiah in Hebrew means the same thing as Christ means in Greek. Messiah and Christ mean anointed one. Which refers to what happens when someone becomes a king. Their heads are anointed with oil. Oil is put on their heads as a sign that God has chosen them to be king. The Jews were waiting for a Messiah who would free them from the control of the Roman Empire so they could govern themselves, rebuild the Temple, and worship God without fear. They were waiting for a Messiah who would be the sign that God had returned to Jerusalem and all would be well again.
So the Jews were waiting.
Advent is the season of the church year when we remember how our ancestors the Jews waited for the Messiah's coming.
And, since Jesus the Messiah was born 2000 years ago, Advent also is a season when we remember Jesus' promise one day to return in physical form, and restore compassion, justice, and joy to all of creation.
As a Christian, I don't spend a lot of time waiting for the return of Jesus in physical form to this earth. I believe Jesus is here in spiritual form in the Holy Spirit. And, as we talked about last week, I believe Jesus comes to us in the form of the hungry, thirsty, friendless, naked, sick, and imprisoned in our midst.
But I don't think a lot about Jesus' return in physical form to this earth.
What does this annual four weeks of waiting invite us to?
We look for guidance to Mary and her cousin Elizabeth. Mary, a young unmarried woman who's told she's going to give birth to God's own child. In her culture, she could have been killed for being pregnant without a husband. But God had made a promise to her. She saw a future for her and this child. Elizabeth, who was sure she'd never be able to give birth . . . and then suddenly finds herself pregnant. Not only that, the child in her womb dances a jig when Mary comes by for a visit. Letting Elizabeth know Mary's child is going to be someone extraordinary. As is Elizabeth's own - John the Baptist. They help each other wait with hope for the new lives they were bearing. Because they don't close themselves off to all that God can do by limiting themselves to what they wish for. Instead, they wait in a place of hope. They wait with open-ended hope. They don't wait for only their wish to come true. They believe God is working in their lives to make something happen. To bring something miraculous into being. They trust God's at work in them. They strengthen each other for hope-filled waiting.
The Dutch priest Henri Nouwen says the difference between powerless, passive waiting and hope-filled waiting is the quality of open-endedness. Are we waiting for a particular wish we have to come true? So we're restless and frustrated until we can turn that wish into reality? Or are we waiting in a spirit of open-endedness - not needing a particular outcome, but trusting that whatever happens will be good. So we can stay open and hopeful in our waiting because we know God is at work bringing newness to birth? Nouwen writes,
People who wait [with open-ended hope] have received a promise that allows them to wait. They have received something that is at work in them, like a seed that has started to grow. This is very important. We can only really wait if what we are waiting for has already begun for us. So waiting is never a movement from nothing to something. It is always a movement from something to something more. . . .
Mary and Elizabeth were living with a promise that nurtured them, that fed them, and that made them able to stay where they were. And in this way, the promise itself could grow in them and for them.
[T]here is no . . . [passive waiting] in scripture. Those who are waiting
are waiting very actively. They know that what they are waiting for is growing from the ground on which they are standing. That's the secret. The secret of waiting is the faith that the seed has been planted, that something has begun. Active waiting means to be present fully to the moment, in the conviction that something is happening where you are and that you want to be present to it. A waiting person is someone who is present to the moment, who believes that this moment is the moment (pp. 30-32).
People who have faith have been promised something. In our baptism we hear God's promise, "You are my beloved child" (Matthew 3.17; Mark 1.11; Luke 3.21). Through the Apostle Paul, we are promised, "Nothing can separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus, our Lord" (Romans 8.39). The story of the prodigal son assures us when we wander away from God, God promises always to search us out, and welcome us open-armed back home (Luke 15.11f). Those promises allow us to wait in an open-ended, hopeful way. Because they are like seeds that are growing within us while we wait. We wait for newness. Wait for a job. Wait for someone to share our lives with. Wait for justice. Wait for some sense of where our life is going. Wait for God to show up. We do our part; and then, while we wait, Advent invites us to remember these seeds that have been planted within us. Advent invites us to trust that, in this time of waiting, God is watering these seeds. And these seed-promises of God will bear fruit. If we wait knowing we are God's beloved, and nothing can separate us from God's love, and when we mess up God welcomes us home, then we wait in hope. We don't wait for one particular outcome. We don't wait with one concrete wish. But we wait with openness and trust. That God is watering those promise-seeds. And God is calling us actively to wait for these promises to come true.
Elizabeth and Mary waited together. Of course they had some wishes for the children they were birthing. But mostly they waited in hope. Hope that God was working to bring those seed-promises to reality. They weren't limited by their wishes. They trusted that God had wishes for them. So they could wait in their anxiety and fear, wait in the uncertainties and the oddness of their circumstances. Because they waited in faith.
What is a seed-promise God has given you?
What is a seed-promise God has given Spirit of Peace United Church of Christ? And how does that call us to wait in this season of Advent?
For a time, you in this church had clear wishes for yourselves. You had concrete ideas about what you wanted for your community. Ideas around a building, and being a particular size, and having the kinds of ministries that would make you a 'real' church. Your times of waiting held such wonderful wishes.
For a variety of reasons, these wishes have not taken shape. That could have led you to give up. That could have led you to stop waiting. To stop trusting that God had promise-seed to water and nurture and bring to birth in this place. There were moments when you doubted.
But you didn't stop waiting. You could have decided that since your waiting didn't bring what you expected, there was no reason to keep waiting. Instead you decided to practice Advent. Whether you knew it or not, you decided to practice Advent. And wait in hope. Wait in the hopeful expectation that God had given you a seed-promise. And that God was watering it. Holding it. Loving it into life.
The whole meaning of Christian community lies in offering a space in which we wait for the promise we've already seen. Christian community is the place where we remind each other of the seed-promise God is slowly making stronger in us. We strengthen each other so we can wait with courage. We strengthen each other to wait with an open-ended hope. Not needing my particular wish to come true. But open to the surprising, beautiful seed-promise God is bringing to birth (from Nouwen, p. 36).
In this season of Advent, we do the hard work of waiting. Open, hopeful, strengthening each other. Having seen something of God's dream for us. Walking together where we do not know, we practice Advent. And wait with an active, pregnant hope.
Let us pray.
How silently,
how silently
the wondrous gift is given.
I would be silent now, Lord,
and expectant . . .
that I may receive the gift I need,
so I may become the gift others need
(Ted Loder, Guerillas of Grace, LauraMedia, 1987).
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