Community Church Sermons
Year C
December 2, 2012
The First Sunday of
Advent
Prepare Him Room
Luke
21:25-36
Rev. Rhonda
A. Blevins
Associate
Pastor
You may have noticed some changes around our
church facilities this week . . . changes that remind us that Christmas is on
the way. From our magnificent poinsettia tree to our intricate nativity scene
to our Chrismon tree and advent wreath here in our sanctuary—the people of God
are growing ever more aware—there are only 23 shopping days left until
Christmas. Are you ready?
Today is the first Sunday in the season of
Advent—which means “coming.” Not here yet, but “coming.” This is the season of
waiting and anticipation. The consumer-driven culture “out there” skips right
past Advent and plops right on Christmas. It’s good for the economy I suppose.
But here, in this space, we wait for Christmas. We anticipate the coming of
Christ. The expectancy makes the arrival of Christmas ever sweeter. Here in the
church, we’re like children who eagerly wait for Christmas morning. But there’s
work to be done as we wait. We must prepare.
So in the spirit of preparing for Christmas, I
had a conversation with my 5-year-old a week or so ago. Have you ever tried to
reason with a 5-year-old? I explained to him that he had too many toys, and
that needed to get rid of some. Now, previous attempts at this effort all
failed, leaving me to dress in all black, with face paint and a hood, and go in
his room under the cover of darkness like a ninja, removing things he’d never
miss. But on this occasion, I used a different approach. “Now sweetie, you know
that Christmas is coming, and there’s no room for any new toys. So you need to
get rid of some things, so you’ll have room for the new things you want.”
So, for the first time in his young life, he
conceded to my request for him to let go of some toys. Together we sorted
through musty stuffed animals, rusty hot wheels, and dusty puzzles. I’m not
sure whether this new development in our family was due to my powerful
negotiating skills, or a little new maturity in my son. All I know is that
because of his willingness to let go of things he’d outgrown, there’s now room for new things. Things he’ll enjoy more. Things
more suited to his more mature, grown up, 5-year-old self. His preparations for
Christmas are complete. Mine are just beginning.
A few days ago, I think it must have been
Black Friday, I started feeling a little overwhelmed with Christmas—all of the
preparations, the decorating, the shopping, the cooking, the paying of those beloved
bills. Then I realized, in all of the preparations I have to do, I was
neglecting the most important preparation of all—preparing my heart. Just like
my son needs to prepare his room for new toys, we must prepare our hearts for
new joys. Just like that beloved Christmas song, “Joy to the World,” encourages
us to do. Would you sing the first verse with me?
Let every heart prepare Him room. Today we prepare
our hearts by focusing on the Hope of Christ, symbolized by the Advent Candle
of Hope burning before us. Preparing our hearts for the coming of Christ is no
easy task. It requires hope to be born anew in us. Like the child who clings to
neglected toys can only be persuaded to give them up by the hope of new toys, we
cling to stuff that we simply don’t need. I’m reminded of this truth every time
I go in my crawl space and see the boxes of stuff that haven’t been opened
since we moved here in 2007.
Many of us hold onto things, and that can make
for a cluttered home. But there is something far more
damaging than holding onto material items. Holding onto the past,
particularly romanticized notions of the good ole’ days, can keep us from
opening our hearts to hope. One of my favorite theologians, Billy Joel, says it
best: “The good ole days weren’t always good; tomorrow ain’t
as bad as it seems.” But I want the world to be the way I remember—with Wally
and the Beav’ and June and Ward Cleaver. They were so
happy—so healthy, weren’t they? They were so . . . perfect. Just like your
family, right? Just like my family. (Wink.)
What prevents hope from being born anew within
us? I think it boils down to one thing . . . fear. Fear of change. But we know change is
certain. Think of some changes going on in our world . . .
frightening changes perhaps. Hurricane Sandy brought changes to folks in
New Jersey and New York. There are changes in the relationship between Israel
and Hamas. Changes in Egypt and all across the Middle East.
Here in the U.S., we know some changes will be coming out of Washington D.C. Some
changes we face are far more personal. Health fails, relationships become strained,
we lose friends or loved ones, a dream dies. Changes
like these can be scary, and sometimes that makes us want to hold on to the
past in a bittersweet way called “nostalgia.”
But nostalgia can be the enemy of hope.
Nostalgia can make us hold onto things, ideas that no longer serve us well. I
can relate to that 5-year-old kid, not wanting to let go of toys I no longer
play with. It takes a certain maturity to let go, doesn’t it? A maturity I find
far too rare, sometimes even in myself. “Give me the world the way it used to
be, Jesus! That’s what I want for Christmas.”
Maybe Jesus can help us through this crisis of
hope. Can we find some hope in the words of today’s scripture lesson?
At first glance, not so much. Even though
merchants have been playing “Joy to the World” since the day after Halloween, Jesus
isn’t swayed. In the scripture text today, Jesus doesn’t order up angels or
shepherds or wise men from afar. No silent night, no cattle lowing in the
field, no peaceful baby in a manger. You know what Jesus orders up on this first
Sunday of Advent? The end of the world. The opposite
of everything we want. The juxtaposition is ironic.
·
We want a star providing light to wise
men from afar.
Jesus gives us stars foretelling total annihilation.
·
We want wise men bowing before a
little baby.
Jesus gives us foolish masses fainting in fear.
·
We want the birth of a Savior.
Jesus gives us the death of heaven and earth.
Jesus talks of nations in distress, oceans out
of control, and heavens unable to control their trembling. When I read this
text, I was pretty perturbed. So I had a little, “Come to Jesus” meeting with, er, Jesus. “All of this doom—this destruction—you’ll spare me from this, right, Lord? This fate is
for those heathens out there. This calamity will come upon those who don’t
believe in you, right? This hardship is for those other people, right, Lord?” “No?
What do you mean, no? What do you mean, ‘It will come on all those who live on the face of the whole earth.’” “Thanks,
Jesus. Thanks for nothing. I’d like to speak with management, please.” “God, thanks
for speaking with me. This guy, Jesus, refuses to take my order. I’ve ordered
up peace, happiness, butterflies and bon-bons and
absolutely none of this end-of-the-world stuff. Your guy,
Jesus? He’s refusing to bring me what I want. What do you mean, what I
want is not on the menu? Why, I never!” To make a long
story short, I lost my argument. I didn’t get what I ordered. I couldn’t do
much about it, so I did the only thing I could do. I left Jesus a really lousy
tip.
But then I decided to dig deeper. There’s got
to be some hope in this passage somewhere. And as soon as a looked for hope, I
found it. (That’s often the case isn’t it? As soon as we look for hope, we find
it?)
The hope can be found right there in the
middle of the doom and gloom. (That’s often the case isn’t it? Hope can often
be found right in the middle of doom and gloom?) Listen again to verse 28: “When these things begin to take place,
stand up and lift up your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.”
When you live in
the midst of a frightening time, when the world around you shakes and the seas
roar and the heavens can’t stop their trembling, stand up, men and women of
God! Lift up your heads! This posture flies in the face fear. When I think of a
posture of fear I think of curling up, like in the fetal position. Or I think
of someone standing hunched, anxiously looking back and forth in fear. But
that’s not the posture Christ calls us to take. Stand up! Lift up your heads!
Assume the posture of faith, of confidence, of hope!
Why? Because your
redemption is drawing near!
Some of you
recently completed the 40 Days of Thanks
project in which you journaled thankful thoughts each
day for 40 days. This project was a school project for me. One of my professors
had the audacity to knock down one of my thesis ideas. I suggested in my
project proposal that this thankfulness project could, and I quote, “combat
sadness.” My professor took issue with this notion, saying that combatting
sadness is not a particularly healthy or helpful war to wage. Sadness, she
reminded, is a part of life. We shouldn’t try to fight it, she suggested. But
we can work to redeem it.
That’s why I’m in
school. To think lofty thoughts like that. Professor:
1. Rhonda: 0.
Maybe that’s what
Jesus is saying in this passage. Calamity is certain. No one escapes it. Don’t
try to fight it. That’s a futile endeavor, and not particularly healthy.
Instead, stand up in the midst of calamity! Lift up your heads in faith, in
confidence, in hope! Your redemption is drawing near!
Today, our redemption draws nigh, and together
we draw strength from one another to stand ready. Together, we lift up our
heads to the coming of Christ into the world, and into our hearts. We still
have time to prepare, but the day draws ever closer. Are you ready? Is there
room in your heart for hope? If not, maybe there’s some cleaning out to do.
Maybe there’s some clutter in your heart that needs to be given to the Good
Neighbors Shoppe. Maybe some stuff in that heart of yours just needs to be
thrown out. Stuff like fear, like animosity, like despair. Stuff like greed,
worry, arrogance. There’s lots of stuff in my heart that stands in the way of
hope. Won’t you join me in this season of Advent, and prepare room in your
heart for hope? Let every heart prepare
him room, and let it begin with us.