Community Church Sermons
Year C
December 16, 2012
The Third
Sunday of Advent
His Blessings Flow
Isaiah
12:2-6
Rev. Rhonda A. Blevins
Associate
Pastor
His Blessings Flow
Isaiah
12:2-6 / Luke 3:7-18
Ask Me
Some time when the river is ice ask me
mistakes I have made. Ask me whether
what I have done is my life. Others
have come in their slow way into
my thought, and some have tried to help
or to hurt: ask me what difference
their strongest love or hate has made.
I will listen to what you say.
You and I can turn and look
at the silent river and wait. We know
the current is there, hidden; and there
are comings and goings from miles away
that hold the stillness exactly before us.
What the river says, that is what I say.
-William Stafford, 1977
This poem evokes the imagery of the
poet standing at the bank of a frozen river, reflecting on the meaning of life,
on what he has accomplished, on all the love and all the hate he has known. In
this rare opportunity—the rare moment when the river is frozen over—the poet
looks inward, unsure of what it has all meant, if anything. The poet invites you
and me to stand with him on the bank of the frozen river—to stand and wait. To wait for understanding perhaps, or clarity. We pause to
gaze upon the frozen river; we realize that although we can’t see the movement
of the water beneath the veneer of ice, we know it’s there. Constant.
Dynamic. The water comes; the water goes. But it
holds, in the words of the poet, it holds “the stillness exactly before us.”
That’s enough, it seems. That’s enough understanding—enough clarity—for the
poet, and maybe enough for you and for me.
And so it is with God. Though we can’t
always see God through the veneer of ice, we know God is there. Constant. Dynamic. Holding the stillness before us. The poet uses the imagery
of a river; the prophet Isaiah uses the imagery of a well as he proclaims to those
who will listen, “You will draw water from the wells of salvation.” The
prophet’s imagery is similar to the poet’s. Beneath the surface—underneath what
we can see—there’s an ever-flowing stream. If we would but go to the well, we
can draw water. We can drink from the cool waters of salvation. Our questions
may linger, threats may remain, but our lives are held by the same life-giving
force that can soothe our thirsty souls.
That’s what Christ’s coming into the
world means to us. The baby born in Bethlehem doesn’t solve all of the world’s
problems. This week we became ever more aware of this. Evil carrying an assault
rifle bashed its way into an elementary school and slaughtered innocent
children and teachers. Mothers and Fathers left childless. Children left
motherless. I simply don’t have the words to express the sadness I have felt as
I have shed tears of solidarity with the people of Newtown, Connecticut. If
Jesus came to fix the world—then Friday proved he’s a colossal failure.
But there’s something all wrong about
that kind of thinking.
For me to
stand before you and suggest I have any answers for this kind of depravity or
to try to tie a pretty theological bow around this senseless act of violence or
any suffering would be less than honest. I have no answers. None
at all. But I have tears. And I have faith. So these things I share with
you today.
As I share
my faith with you in the light of such tragedy, and with as much integrity as I
can muster, the best place to begin is with what I know NOT to be true. It is
NOT true that this happened because God is not in our schools. On the contrary,
God was very much present there at Sandy Hook Elementary when darkness forced
its way inside. God was there in the bravery
of a principal and school psychologist who heard gunshots, ran toward them, and
lunged at a madman with a gun. God was there in the self-sacrifice of 27-year-old teacher who used her body as a human
shield to protect little children. God was there in the presence of mind of the teacher who locked her door, pulled her
blinds, and read calmly to children as shots were being fired. God was there in
the courage of the teacher who
opened her door and pulled children in her room from the hallway as bullets
blazed by. God was there in the heroism
of a custodian who ran through the halls warning everyone of danger. God showed
up in the form of first responders, clerics and psychologists, and in the
outpouring of love from all around the world.
I don’t have
answers nor can I make sense of this senseless act of violence. But I know one
thing. God was there. God is there. God will be there. My dear pastor friend
Mike Gregg said that tragedies like this aren’t supposed to happen between the
candles of peace and joy. But it did happen. And into that darkness, the
candles of hope and peace and even joy burn ever more brightly.
It’s the
third verse of the beloved Christmas carol “Joy to the World”—the verse we
often leave out because it doesn’t seem particularly happy—it’s that verse that
speaks of Christ coming into a world of sin and into a world of sorrow:
As far as the curse is found, as far
as Newtown, Connecticut, wherever there is darkness, wherever evil roams, God’s
blessings can be found. They may be hard to see—even hidden. Hidden
like that underground stream that feeds the “wells
of salvation.” Hidden like that frozen river with “comings
and goings from miles away.”
The Messiah who will come will be like
that underground stream or that frozen river. A
life-sustaining force flowing constantly beneath the veneer of a sometimes cold
and cruel world. He comes to make his blessings flow, but we must go to
the well in order to drink. And once we drink we must share the healing waters
with others as well.
My emotional response to the suffering
in Newtown surprised me. Not so much the sadness I have felt, but the anger and
even vengeance that emerged from some dark place inside me. I found myself
hoping for some kind of eternal punishment for the shooter. I am not proud of
this.
In the gospel lesson read earlier, we
heard about John the Baptist looking at the crowd gathered before him and calling
them—calling us—a “brood of vipers.” I see the depravity of my own emotional
response to this recent tragedy, and I’d have to say John the Baptist is right.
One spiritual leader says that each of
us has many kinds of seeds that lie deep inside us. Seeds of
anger. Seeds of violence. Seeds
of fear. Seeds of despair and hate. These seeds
are there, and when they lie dormant, we’re OK. But if these seeds are watered,
these seeds grow—their fruits feed our suffering. But we also hold within us
the seeds of wholeness, the seeds of understanding. Seeds of
compassion. Seeds of nonviolence. Seeds of joy and forgiveness. We must water these seeds. [1] We must “draw water from
the wells of salvation.”
You see, we may be a brood of vipers
like John the Baptist suggests. I came face-to-face with the viper in me this
weekend. But if I’m a snake, if we are the vipers John the Baptist says we are,
then we are the ones who can provide the antivenin.
It’s the presence of Christ in us, the ever-flowing stream of salvation. “He comes to make his blessings flow far as
the curse is found.”
The theme on this third Sunday of
Advent is joy. That elusive quality lacking in this age of
existential angst. When we go to the well and drink of the salvation God
has for us there, we find hope, we find peace, we find
joy. When we get a taste of this, we’ve got to share it.
The people—the brood of
vipers—listening to John the Baptist that day said, “What should we do?” When we
come face-to-face with human depravity, especially our own, this is a powerful
question. John the Baptist gave his listeners some practical advice. He said, “if you have two coats, give one to the poor.” In a few days
one of our church members will be driving to the area devastated by Hurricane
Sandy. She has offered to take new or lightly used coats with her. “If you have
two coats, give one to the poor.” If you stop at Starbucks or a fast-food dive,
pay it forward. Leave enough cash to pay for the next person in line. If you
get really good service at a grocery store or restaurant, take one minute of
your time, and tell the manager. Leave a really good tip. Pay a compliment.
Write a meaningful Christmas card, telling someone just what they mean to you.
One idea floating around is to do one act of kindness for each person killed at
Sandy Hook Elementary School. 26 rays of light into the darkness unleashed
there. To fight evil in this way. I think it’s a great
idea, and that’s my challenge to you this week. 26 loving
acts—one show of compassion for each victim of the Sandy Hook shooting. And
if you can find it in you, make it 28. One act of kindness
for the shooter. One show of compassion for his
mother. “Draw water from the wells of salvation,” and pour it lavishly over
the seed of kindness in you.
Why does Jesus come? He comes to make
His blessings flow—he invites us to join in this beautiful, life-giving,
evil-defeating task. This is the season of joy. Won’t you be a part of
it?
____________________________
[1] Thich Nhat
Hanh, The
Green Lake Conference Center in Wisconsin, 2003, accessed online (12/16/12): http://www.onbeing.org/program/brother-thay-radio-pilgrimage-thich-nhat-hanh/feature/mindfulness-anger-embracing-child.
Let us pray:
Even when our hearts are broken, we know you
are there, O Comforter of Zion. This week we have been reminded of how broken
we truly are. May your healing waters course through our
veins that we might find our way out of darkness into the light of your joy.
Show us your way, and help us to walk in it. In the name of our incarnate Lord
Jesus Christ we pray, amen.