Showing posts with label Advent 3. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Advent 3. Show all posts

Sunday, December 15, 2024

The Third Sunday of Advent C - December 15, 2024

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Bernard Delcourt
The Third Sunday of Advent, December 15, 2024

 Click here for an audio of the sermon

In the name of the Lover, the Beloved and Love ever flowing. Amen.

John the Baptist is proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. He has three messages for the crowds. First, the final judgement is at hand and sanctions will be meted out. Second, you need to turn to God by leading ethical lives. And third, one who is more powerful than I is coming.

John the Baptist was a powerful preacher. He attracted crowds even amid the wilderness. Those crowds were varied. He attracted peasants and merchants, as well as religious elites. 

Incredibly, even Roman soldiers came to hear what this wild preacher had to say. His reputation moved crowds to him even though his message could fall harshly on unprepared ears.

In today’s gospel, John emphatically urges the crowd to repent. His exhortation is to turn away from evil ways and turn to God while there is still time. Exhortation is rarely a subtle rhetorical style. And John also isn’t shy to use hyperbole and irony. 

For instance, he calls his audience a “brood of vipers.” This amounts to shaming both his listeners and their forebears. He destabilizes their honor status. He even denies them the status they would accrue from being descendants of Abraham. He says God is able to raise up children to Abraham from the surrounding wilderness stones.

No one should feel immune to the need for repentance, no matter their status. It’s as if we would retort: “we are good church-going Episcopalians, what is this talk about repentance?” 

To insist on repentance, John makes statements both about the ultimate things and about how to live in the meantime. This dynamic between eschatology and ethics keeps his listeners on their toes. The status quo is threatened by John’s preaching. The judgement is at hand he says and you folks better shape up.

The Baptist uses vivid images to summon the coming judgement. The axe is lying at the bottom of the tree. Will the tree bear the good fruit of repentance or manifest the sterility of corrupt ways?

Failure to repent will lead to being reduced to ashes in the fire.

John knows fear is a powerful motivator. The fear of punishment for not repenting is making the crowds ask what they should do. And here, rather than focusing on religious practices or beliefs, John turns the crowds to the very stuff of their daily life. This must have seemed odd, if not scandalous to those Pharisees who came to listen to him. The Pharisees insisted on specious adherence to the precepts of the law and religious practice.

John tells us that we should use whatever wealth, privilege or power we have not to our sole benefit but also to the benefit of others. 

He tells those who are rich to dispose of their superfluous wealth to the benefit of the poor. He tells professionals not to exploit their position to extort what is not theirs to have. He tells those with a political position not to abuse those whose interests you are supposed to protect.

The crowd is mesmerized by John’s preaching and many come forward for a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of their sins. In the spirit of the Jewish people’s messianic hopes, the people ask John if he might be the Messiah they are expecting.

And John prophetically evokes the coming of Jesus. "I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire."

In all humility, John knows he is only preparing the way for the anointed One. Does he even know at that moment exactly who that is? Or is it only revealed to him at Jesus’ baptism? John’s vision of the Messiah contains elements of judgement. The chaff will be burned in an unquenchable fire. More fear is sowed into the crowd.

But it is worthwhile to remember that the post-resurrection Jesus, the Christ will assuage that fear. Most of his post Easter encounters start with him saying “Do not be afraid.” The baptism of fire and the Holy Spirit is fiery indeed, but it is a fire of cleansing and purification not of punishment.

Of course, Jesus in his ministry also made predictions of the judgement to come. But is this judgement really between the good guys and the bad guys? 

Or is it rather a deep discernment aided by God in what is good and what is short of good, or even evil in our life? Is it a look back on all our life and a scalpel-sharp distinction of what was good and what was not? And is it not our not-so-good parts that will be thrown in the unquenchable fire? 

Will the good parts of us be redeemed from the judgement and enjoy the limitless mercifulness of a loving God?

Psalm 136 begins with word on God’s unrelenting mercy:

O give thanks to the Lord, for he is good,

   for his steadfast love endures for ever.

Maybe it was early days for John the Baptist to divine in the coming Messiah an unrelenting love and mercy. That’s what he was preparing the way for without knowing exactly where it led.

But let’s not forget the ethical lesson of the Baptist.

We are like rich people - who never have enough for ourselves and ours. We are as the tax collectors – dependent upon unjust structures for our livelihood. We are as the occupying army – caught in a culture of exploitation and violence.

“What should we do?”

Share, keep no more than you need.

Be fair, treat others with care, and be honest. 

Bear fruit. 

Make unselfish choices. 

Live within your means. 

Do what is just. 

Turn around and return to God. 

Bear the fruit worthy of repentance.

Make is so that anyone observing our lives, can discern that we bear the mark of Christ and are living as his faithful disciples.

Come, Lord Jesus and be our Advocate in the judgement to come.

Amen.


Sunday, December 17, 2023

Advent 3 B - December 17, 2023

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Rev. Samuel Kennedy
The Third Sunday of Advent, Year B, December 17, 2023
 


Click here for an audio of the sermon

 

A blessed third Sunday of Advent to you!  It would seem that our liturgy is trying to communicate to us that change is afoot in this liturgical season.  The glow of the wreath is brighter now that we have the third candle lit, our celebrant is vested in rose instead of the solemn purple we’ve seen the last two weeks, and there’s even a gentler, more hopeful tone about our Lessons.

Today we observe Gaudete Sunday, whose name is taken from the first word of the introit that was historically used on this Sunday,”Gaudete in Domino semper.”  “Rejoice in the Lord Always.”  While that introit is based on Philippians 4 and Psalm 85, our Lesson from First Thessalonians 5 passionately reiterates this call, urging us to not merely experience joy on special occasions but rather to "Rejoice always! Pray without ceasing! Give thanks in all circumstances; to not quench the Spirit.

“Rejoice always…” It sounds stirring, yet I can't help but admit that Paul’s imperatives seem a bit tone-deaf at times, even conjuring up images of white-knuckled spiritual bypassing. While I know that’s not being fair to the Apostle, his context, or what we can best discern about his intentions in writing, it is, if I’m honest, sometimes my experience when I read these words, and I believe it is important that we acknowledge that these imperatives from Paul may, at times, feel a bit detached from the realities of life.

This year we are walking through Advent for a second time after the Russian invasion of Ukraine.  Today there are approximately ten thousand Ukrainian civilians and over a hundred thousand Ukrainian and Russian military personnel who are dead; no longer able to join us in awaiting the feast of Christmas.  This year, it is they, not we, who are joined by nearly 1500 Israelis and 18,000 Palestinians who have died in the war in Gaza and Israel.  Tragically, we all know that the examples of suffering in our world do not stop there.

The holiday season also often magnifies our personal losses, the void left by those we loved and who loved us.  The holidays can conjure up wistful longing for dreams that still elude us.

In the face of such suffering and grief, can the Church authentically call us to joy? Is it even ethical for us to experience joy when the world (and our hearts are) is in this state? These questions weigh heavily on us (our hearts).  And if we can experience joy, what function does it serve?  What might the Spirit be inviting us to, when it/she invites us to rejoice, even in the midst of the suffering of this world?

As we grapple with these questions, I think it can be helpful to recall the historical context in which these passages, with their attendant calls to joy, were written. The authors, did not live detached, privileged lives, but also faced the crucibles of suffering and adversity, as our beloved Apostle Paul likes to remind is some of his other writings.  So, perhaps the joy that Paul speaks of and calls us to in our Epistle Lesson today is not an oblivious dance around the harsh realities of life, but rather something deeper -- a disposition that flows from a trust that ALL is held within the embrace of the Spirit of God.  A trust that our grief, anger, and longing are not ignored but have a purpose, an end -- a deeper opening of our hearts to participate in the transformative work of the Spirit that we heard described so poetically in our lesson from Isaiah.


The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me
    because the Lord has anointed me;
he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed,
    to bind up the brokenhearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives
    and release to the prisoners…
to comfort all who mourn…
to repair the ruined cities,
    the devastations of many generations


This is, of course, the work of Jesus — the One that John the Baptist points to in our Gospel lesson, the One whom we await this Advent, and who invites us to join him in his work as the adopted children of God.  It is the completion of this work that we await and long for this Advent, and it is this work that the Spirit invites us to participate in.  

However, for us to be able to join God in this work of healing, liberation, and repair, we have to first be willing and able to see the realities of the brokenness around us and within ourselves.  Because we cannot actively participate in the renewal of the things that we cannot or will not see.  But seeing is painful; experiencing the brokenness of this world — and our own hearts — can incline us toward shutting down, walling off, using every tool at our disposal to bypass the pain.

But the Spirit of God, whose work Paul reminds us not to quench, seems to be faithfully about the work of expanding our hearts, of opening them up precisely to perceive and experience, unflinchingly and honestly, that which is true both about the world around us and the worlds within us.
 
And I believe that this may be where joy has an important role to play.

There’s a saying in the Taoist tradition, “When you open your heart, you get life’s ten thousand sorrows and ten thousand joys.”

Dharma teacher James Baraz articulates an understanding of the purpose of joy that I believe resonates with the wisdom of Scripture, and I’d like to share with you. He writes,
“Joy creates a spaciousness in the mind that allows us to hold the suffering we experience inside us and around us without becoming overwhelmed, without collapsing into helplessness or despair. It brings inspiration and vitality, dispelling confusion and fear while connecting us with life. Profound understanding of suffering does not preclude awakening to joy. Indeed, it can inspire us all the more to celebrate joyfully the goodness in life…[experiencing joy does not] mean disregarding suffering; [but] it does mean not overlooking happiness and joy.”  

Joy, then, is not an escape from reality but rather a profound encounter with it. It creates a spaciousness in the mind, a sacred container that allows us to hold the weight of suffering without being crushed beneath its burden. Joy brings inspiration and vitality, connecting us more deeply with the pulse of life itself.  

The Spirit of God that holds us and gives us life connects us to the pain and suffering in our own hearts and in the lives of those around us, but it also connects us to the joys emerging wherever there is life.  The Spirit is present and holds the tragedies in Gaza and the Ukraine and invites us to lament and mourn with those who mourn and to work for just peace. That very same Spirit also connects us to the beauty, awe, and wonder experienced at the birth of a loved child, or the simple heart’s delight at being nuzzled by a beloved pet.

The way that joy seems to function in our lives reminds me a bit of the way one of my very favorite singer songwriters uses music as he composes his songs.  This artist has an uncanny ability to pen the most unflinchingly heartbreaking lyrics, but then deliver those lyrics in a way that we can stomach -- that feels almost gentle because he surrounds them with such musical beauty.  The beauty of the music holds the pain of the lyrics and enables us to endure them and even connect our own pain and loss to the pain expressed in the song.  I believe that joy functions analogously to music in this example — joy holds us as the Spirit broadens our hearts and opens our eyes. It enables us to endure the pain in our own lives and witness and stand alongside others in their own. This opening of our hearts, this beholding, in turn, allows us to begin to connect to the healing, renewing work of God around us and within us.

One of our most beloved Advent hymns captures this tension between joy and mourning well.

O come O come Emmanuel
And ransom captive Israel
That mourns in lonely exile here
Until the Son of God appear
Rejoice, rejoice,
Emmanuel shall come to you, O Israel.

May these words remind us that even in the midst of our waiting and mourning, there is room for joy to blossom, and that joy will help further open our hearts to the healing and renewing work of God that we await and long for this Advent.  So may we not quench the Spirit, and may our hearts be opened to experience the 10,000 sorrows and 10,000 joys of this life, so that in those moments when the longed for Son of God appears with healing and redemption in his wings we stand ready to behold and join him in his work.

In the name of God, Lover Beloved, and Love overflowing.
Amen.

Sunday, December 11, 2022

Advent 3 A - December 11, 2022

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

The Rev. Samuel Kennedy

Advent 3 A - December 11, 2022



In the name of God: Father, Son and Holy Spirit

A blessed Gaudete Sunday to you.  What is it about this Sunday that sets it apart from the other Sundays in our journey through the season of Advent?  There are signs around us that something is changing – something is a bit different.  The warm glow from the advent wreath is a little stronger today -- a bit brighter now with the third candle lit. Our priests are dressed in rose vestments, and if you have one of the traditional advent wreaths at home you may have lit a rose-colored candle this morning as you woke up.

While we the reading from which this Sunday gets its name is not assigned for us this year, our journey through Advent does begin to take a particular turn this Sunday which I believe is very much a cause for joy.  But we are going to discover that cause for joy within a Gospel lesson full of dissonance.
 
In Matthew’s gospel, we continue with a narrative that focuses on the rather fiery and enigmatic character John the Baptist. But whereas last week we met him in the full strength of his ministry in the Jordan valley, in this week’s Gospel, we find him in a dramatically different situation.  He has been imprisoned unjustly by Herod Antipas, and while John may not have known it at this point in his story, we the readers know that his earthly journey is nearing its end.  Nothing about that situation speaks of joy.  

Our Gospel for today opens with John in prison sending a message to his cousin, Jesus.  Our passage reads, “When John, who was in prison, heard about the deeds of the Messiah, he sent his disciples to ask him, ‘Are you the one who is to come, or should we expect someone else?”

Mind you, this is the same John who had been “all in” on the idea that Jesus was the long awaited One.  The One whom the prophets had foretold.  The One who would come to his people and set them free.  
What had happened to lead John from such certainty about Jesus to this place of doubt?  Was it the fact that he was unjustly imprisoned?  Just some understandable depression? Perhaps. 

But I find it unlikely that a figure as bold and contrarian as John was terribly surprised to find himself imprisoned by corrupt leaders.  After all, he had spent much of his ministry decrying the immorality and hypocrisy of the power structures and leaders of his day.  And while I can only imagine the hardships of life in prison in the 1st century, I would imagine that the asceticism of his life up to that point would have equipped him to be able to live in such a place without falling into deep despair.

It would appear that John’s doubt stems from something deeper than the setting he finds himself in – as terrible as that setting may be.    

Lets take another look at the text, it reads “When John… heard about the deeds of the Messiah, he sent his disciples…” to ask this question, ‘‘’Are you the one who is to come, or should we expect someone else?’”

It would seem that there is something fundamental about Jesus’ ministry that has led John to this place of profound doubt.  Jesus, it would appear, is not measuring up to John’s expectations.  

In our Gospel lesson last week we heard John articulate some of his expectations for Jesus’ ministry.  When talking about Jesus he says to his listeners, “I tell you, the ax is already at the root of the trees, and every tree that does not produce good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.  I baptize you with water….but after me comes one who is more powerful than I, whose sandals I am not worthy to carry.  He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.  His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor, gathering his wheat into the barn and burning up the chaff with unquenchable fire.”

John expected the promised One to come with righteous vengeance and a measure of wrath, with a winnowing fork and the flames of purification.  And lest we dismiss John too quickly, we must remember that these are not unnatural or even unscriptural expectations.  In our Old Testament lesson which soars with hope and provides an evocative litany of images of transformation – images of thirsty land being transformed into bubbling spring, and of the parched desert bursting into bloom, we also hear the expectation that God will execute vengeance on behalf of the oppressed, “Strengthen the feeble hands”, the text reads,” steady the knees that give way; say to those with fearful hearts, Be strong do not fear; your God will come, he will come with vengeance; with divine retribution he will come and save you.”    

This appears to be what John was expecting; what he was longing to see. And if we are honest, if I am honest, this is sometimes what I long to see.  I want to see those who oppress others, and certainly those I feel are oppressing me, punished.  I want them to experience some sort of retribution.  And quite frankly, on a practical level in this world, the unseating of unjust powers always seems to require a measure of violent power on the part of the oppressed or those who choose to protect them.  It’s just the way this world seems to work.  So, I don’t think John is terribly misguided in his expectation, that the promised One of God, would be ushering in his reign in a decidedly different way than Jesus appears to be living, teaching, and ministering. 

How does Jesus respond?  Well, he doubles down really.  
He replies, “Go back and report to John what you hear and see.  Jesus is reminding John’s disciples that change is truly afoot, and Jesus is ushering it in.  Jesus continues by quoting from our Old Testament Lesson for today, “the blind receive sight, the lame walk, those who have leprosy are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the good news is proclaimed to the poor.”

Note what Jesus decidedly leaves out of his quote.  He leaves out the hallmark descriptions of Divine violence.  He doesn’t say, take heart John, just a few more days, and I will rally the people to overthrow the tyrants who have imprisoned you.  Take heart John, because in just a few more days I will marshal legions of angels to dismantle the systems of oppression that have subjugated your people.”

No, instead, Jesus indicates that he is doing something very different.  He is starting from the inside out.  He doesn’t begin by eliminating the systems of oppression, but by healing the very wounds that the systems of oppression are built to exploit.  The blind who are helplessly dependent on the seeing -- they have their sight restored.  The lepers who are excluded from the community by virtue of their illness?  They are cleansed and reincorporated into society– free to return to the Temple of their God.  The deaf hear, and even the dead are raised – the power of the sword itself is mitigated.   And this is indeed incredibly good news for all of these poor who have been healed and given new life.

But what we do not hear, is Jesus centering the sword of justice in this his work of restoration.  And Jesus knows this is a conspicuous and scandalous absence.   He knows it isn’t what John expects as he adds to his message, “And blessed are those who do not stumble on account of me.”  

But notice, there is another conspicuous absence in our Gospel lesson today.  And it is this.  Jesus does not condemn John for his doubt or his fundamental misunderstanding about how Jesus was going to usher in the Kingdom of God.  In fact, Jesus goes on to publicly commend John for his faithful work as a prophet who leaned into the winds of oppression and injustice.  Jesus does not swing the sword of condemnation toward his forerunner who is struggling in doubt, confusion, and quite possibly anger, but rather extends to him the gift of love that can expand John’s heart and mind, that can bring to John to the place where he can rejoice in the work of God that extends far beyond anything John had been able to conceive of.

And this is what we are invited to take joy in today, my siblings. As the swirling clouds of the apocalyptic imagery of advent begin to clear, we find the image of this coming Kingdom of God beginning to take shape.  And the shape it takes is challenging but it is cause for true joy.  It is challenging because it will frustrate some of our basic notions about how bad power is disrupted and how the oppressed get lifted up.  But it is cause for joy because this Kingdom that Jesus ushers in, creates change that cannot be undone.  

There is also cause for joy, because this is how Jesus comes to each of us.  Not bearing the sword of vengeance and retribution, but with the powerful touch of healing love.  To set us free from the spiritual blindness and willful ignorance that leads us to participate in these systems of oppression and injustice.  Our participation in these systems is both external and internal, and he also comes to set us free from the spirals of shame that lead us to acts of great internal violence.  

This advent, Jesus does not come bearing the sword of Divine retribution but rather bearing the cross of love.  He comes to heal his people and set us free. And if we can allow ourselves to not be scandalized by this Jesus, I believe we will find that this is indeed great reason to rejoice.
 In the name of God: Lover, Beloved, and Love Overflowing.  

Amen.

Sunday, December 12, 2021

Advent 3 C - December 12, 2021

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Randy Greve, OHC

Advent 3 C - Sunday, December 12, 2021





Prophets have tough jobs. As we grow and our habits of thinking and acting become fixed, we adapt into an imperfect mixture of healthy and unhealthy thinking and acting.  Adaptation becomes familiar, and familiar becomes habit, reality, the security of what is known.  The imperfect ways serve a function, meet at need.  If we are in a crowd that shares the acceptance of our hurtful ways, then they are normalized. If a call to conversion enters into our awareness, it will only become possible if it contains a better story - one that is more attractive than the familiar and comfortable.  To convert, we must be persuaded or come to believe that something better awaits us if we stop doing what we are doing and take up another course of action.  

If you have ever undergone a conversion, become sober, allowed yourself to be changed deep within, you know what a journey it can be.  The prophet can appeal to our moral aspirations by critique of our behavior and the danger and pain that it is causing.  The prophet can inspire us to a greater vision of ethical life - to see beyond our own selfish and immediate interest to the good of the community and the long-term viability of peace and harmony.  So once we are sufficiently motivated to avoid pain and adopt a better way, we will change - but not before.  If the stakes are high, if our very lives (and perhaps souls) are at risk, then the urgency of the prophet’s witness becomes the means of awakening us to our true condition of imperfection.  God’s love will do whatever it takes to get our attention, to make us listen, if in those moments there is the possibility that we will attend to the call, heed the warnings, and forsake our sins.  

We can choose to ignore or mock John the Baptist and his message, but that does not change the urgency of repentance and preparation.  Criticize his style or his method of pastoral care all you want, but the bottom line remains the same - he is speaking to us, the repentance he demands is directed to us, the call to wake up and avoid catastrophe is for us.  The charges he is levelling at the religious leaders of his day can be just as true for us.  These are the traps of the so-called “good” person.  They made following the external standard of the law a life substitute rather than a life revealer. Righteousness was not a way into dependence on God, but a way out. Abraham is our father, everything will be fine, God will protect us, the Romans can’t harm us.  And then 70 AD and the Fall of Jerusalem happened and it was all destroyed, not one stone upon another.  Apocalypses are not real until they are, and we deny the possibility of the same happening to us at our peril.   

Today’s Gospel is a continuation of Luke 3 from last week’s reading.  Last week’s call to repentance and the offer of forgiveness and the quote from Isaiah 40 framed the theological overview of the urgent alarm to wake up and be alert for the coming of Messiah.  The way of the Lord is to be smoothed out and leveled.  Oppression, injustice, abuse, and corruption are to be called out and exposed and put right.  We are invited to participate in the great leveling project that clears a straight path for Christ.  Repentance means “transcend your mind”, your fixed categories of thought, of grasping at absolutes and non-negotiables and welcome new ways of thinking and speaking and being that will be open to the surprise of Messiah’s coming.  “Stop hurting yourselves and each other”, John the Baptist is saying, “there is a better way.”  

The common thread which weaves together each answer John gives is that entrance into the kingdom of God goes against nature, against our ingrained and habituated ways of discerning what benefits us.  Whoever wants to repent and be transformed does so with full awareness of his or her responsibility and the consequences of choices made and not made.  This is a call to the narrow and difficult way.  As I embark upon this way, my selfishness and greed and arrogance do not magically disappear, I am not delivered from temptation and struggle - if anything, waking up increases temptation and struggle.  

Group consciousness, living in a mass movement, is the road to hell.  John is not exhorting his listeners to easy, charitable gestures of moral niceness, he is calling them to fundamentally change the way they are in the world.  His commands are not about the material goods and money, but about relationship - the potential for community, sharing, abundance, peace that is more valuable than all the money Rome collects or steals.  John is interested in fundamentally subverting the system of injustice.  Generosity in a crowd that idolizes greed is controversial.  Kindness where extortion and fraud is acceptable is revolutionary.  Sacrifice where building bigger barns is a sign of success is dangerous.  This is the kind of language that could cause a person to lose their head.

Christian communities of all types continue the vocation of John. We hear and repent and proclaim conversion. We model and witness to the coming of the Messiah in every act of service and compassion because those acts are exactly the acts that renounce and dismantle the evil ways of this world which oppose God.  From our privileged perches we can faintly imagine the kind of distress and fear that filled the air of Israel in the first century.  The times were different then, we say. We are safe, it can never happen here, we say. If the fall of Jerusalem in 70 AD was the wrath of God, it happened because the people did not discern the time, they became arrogant and complacent, and believed they were God’s special, protected people.  Whenever we close our ears and shut our eyes and dissolve into the crowd, we are in that response already experiencing the wrath that betrays our human dignity and divine image.

As we embark on the journey of conversion, we keep in mind that the end is joy.  Listening leads to repentance, repentance leads to liberation, liberation frees us to receive the grace and mercy of Christ, which lavishes us with the blessings of goodness and peace.  Waking up to ourselves and changing our ways is the deepest expression of what it means to be beloved children of God, objects of God’s eternal and unrelenting love.   The Collect confesses to God that we are “sorely hindered by our sins”, next year, God willing, when we are here for the third Sunday of Advent, we will once again know the truth of those words.  But knowing how hindered we are is the opening to what we most need.  The collect goes on to ask God to help and deliver us, speedily, speedily, by your grace and mercy. 

Amen.

Sunday, December 13, 2020

Third Sunday of Advent B - December 13, 2020

Holy Cross Monastery, West Park, NY

Br. Aidan Owen, OHC

Advent 3 B  - Sunday, December 13, 2020





In the name of the One God, who is Lover, Beloved, and Love Overflowing. Amen. 
We’re three weeks into Advent now, and still no baby, nor even a hint of one. Instead, we remain at the River Jordan with John and in the wilderness with Isaiah. 


No matter how many Advents I live through, I always expect this season to be a happy one. Somehow, from year to year, I forget that Advent is not about building a crib or painting a nursery in joyful anticipation of the coming of a sweet baby among us. Instead, Advent descends like a thief in the night, stealing us away once more to the desert, there to be tested and there to be formed or reformed once more. 

 

It is all so disorienting. And I suppose that’s a big part of the point. 

 
Amos reminds us that we may not know what we’re really after. “Why do you desire the day of the Lord? It is darkness, not light; as if someone fled from a lion and was met by a bear; or went into the house and rested a hand against the wall, and was bitten by a snake.” (Amos 5:18-19) 

 

No, Advent is not a warm fire and a cup of coquito. It is a dry and dusty sojourn through the wilderness to the borderland of our belonging, where we can once more encounter our wild and wily God. And as much as we may think we are waiting on God, it’s really God who is waiting on us. 

 

John’s station at the River Jordan is not accidental. The Jordan formed the border between the promised land and the desertIt is in that wilderness that the Israelites wandered after their slavery. It is there that they encountered God and that, through their trials, murmurings, and cursing God forged them into a community. It is through this wilderness that God brought her people back from the exile in Babylon. And it is into the same wilderness that the Spirit drives Jesus after his baptism, there to be tempted, but also there to be formed. For it is through his temptation that Jesus touches his deepest desire, which is for God alone. 

 

It is in this place of wild wandering that we come to know God and, in that encounter, to be known as God’s beloved.  

 

And so, it is to the wilderness that John calls—or we might say recalls—the people when they have strayed from God’s ways. And it is in the wilderness of this historical moment that we, too, must face down temptation and despair. It is in this wilderness of plague and political unrest and longing for communion and community that we may allow God to strip down our desire, until all we want is God. And it is from this wilderness of darkness and wandering and disorientation that our hope will emerge. 

 

For three weeks now we have heard some of the most exquisite poetry in scripture, as Isaiah offers words of hope to those longing for their homeland. The desert in which the Israelites wandered, in which the exiles yearned for their return, and in which we, too, cry out for the bread of life, is the very place of our salvation. We might be used to thinking of the wilderness or desert as place through which we pass on our way to the homeland of God. But such a view, beautiful though it may be, shortchanges God’s promise to us. 

 

The wilderness is not a waypoint. It is, if we have eyes to see and hands to work, the blessed theatre of our redemption. And as such, it is a paradise amidst the ruins and the dwelling place of God. 

 

Thomas Merton, in his book on Benedictine monasticism, writes that “the monastery is a tabernacle in the desert, upon which the shekinah, the luminous cloud of the divine Presence, almost visibly descends.” He continues, “the monk is one who lives ‘in the secret of God’s face,’ immersed in the divine presence. […] The monastery is never merely a house. […]  It is a Church, a sanctuary of God. It is a Tabernacle of the New Testament, where God comes to dwell with [us] not merely in a miraculous cloud but in the mystical humanity of His divine Son, Whom the cloud prefigured.”1 

 

Our Advent prayer - Come Lord Jesus! -  is not a plea to be saved from our lives. Or, at least, it shouldn’t be. God is not a superherowho swoops down to rescue us from the world we have created. No, God is a candle in the darkness, revealing the world in which we live, and illuminating the way to new and deeper life. God is the loving one who pries apart the chains that bind our hearts and frees us to offer our lives as a living sacrament. And sometimes God is a push out the door to encounter this extraordinary place we have been given to live, with all its joy and all its pain. 

 

We Christians—and, in a peculiar way, we monks more especially so—are an in-between people. We live between the proclamation that Christ has died and Christ will come again, planting ourselves right here where Christ is risen. Just so, we make our living in the desert of this world, refraining from the easy convenience of either despair or oblivion. No, we are not the Messiah, but we, too, can be voices crying out to this world, drawing the people, and, yes, ourselves, too, back to the desert where the stars shine more brightly, pointing the way home to God.  

 

Our longing for return is its own answer. And in our hunger for God, we are already fed. For in the ruins of our lives, God has planted us as oaks of righteousness, her full glory on display within and around us in the mystical humanity of her dear Son in the face of our brothers and sisters.