It's the first Sunday of a new church year and the first Sunday in a new church season, Advent, the season of ongoing tension among our beliefs that God has already come decisively into the world in the person and work of Christ; that God will eventually return to the world in the person and work of Christ; and that God is powerfully and decisively present in the world through the Holy Spirit. Because we live in the world, we are in the season of getting ready for Christmas. Because we are not of the world, we are in the hopeful season of Advent.
The new church year and season arrive, as usual, near the end of the world's year, and at the beginning of the world's most lucrative season, and therefore on a Sunday when our souls long, or so we think, for the ever-illusive delights of a perfect and beautiful Christmas.
But the season of Advent is not a preparation for Christmas. It's an invitation to a new beginning as Christ's people in the world. Advent and the newly begun Christian year do not deliver what we think we want and need. That's because hope does not spring from unrealistic expectations, or the pipedream of seasonal good times, comfort, and forced optimism about the future. Hope springs from a more realistic assessment of the world and a completely different set of expectations. Hope springs from hearts restless for something more and better than what they see around them. Hope springs from a relentlessly disturbing sense that things are not as they should be, and that there is nothing good or lasting to be gained by denying this or covering it up. Hope springs from hearts burdened by the worries and weariness of life, but not overcome by them. Hope springs from hearts containing a bright kernel of faith that will not let them go, forsake them, or leave them in despair.
It's always so tempting to gravitate, to simply drift along with the crowd, toward that which we think we want and need, to that which the world relentlessly tells us we want and need: consumerism, familiar carols, lavishly decorated homes and packages, comfort food, and tradition.
Except the gifts never get appreciated as we hoped, or we never get that one gift that makes us truly happy. We enjoy the familiar carols and how they connect us with warm feelings of seasons long past, but the connection is tenuous and always fleeting. Our home never gets decorated as perfectly as we think it should. We never quite find the time to make each package a lovingly created masterpiece; and when all is said and done, we wonder why the food and traditions didn't quite measure up to expectation and our family is not worthy of Norman Rockwell.
Where, in this season of hope, IS hope? Where is that one essential ingredient that makes us know that all is well and that all will be well, that life is rich with meaning and possibility, that giving ourselves away is more satisfying than anything we could ever get or be given, that God is not far away, but right here in the muck and mess with us?
"Be on guard," the Gospel says. "Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life, and that day [the day that ends the world's time, or our time, whichever comes first] and that day catch you unexpectedly, like a trap. For it will come upon all who live on the face of the whole earth. Be alert at all times, praying that you may have the strength to escape all these things that will take place. . ."
On All Saints Sunday, and again two weeks ago, I read the verse that informs us that the poor in spirit are blessed. Jesus isn't asking us to be depressed, or miserable and hopeless. Jesus is saying that we ought to be honest about what we see in the world, and about what we see in ourselves.
We are beset with all kinds of stress; financial, occupational, medical, societal and personal. Our world is a mess and I'm sure you don't need me to describe exactly how, where, or why. Life is difficult, exceedingly difficult. It always has been and it always will be. To know this, to see this, to acknowledge this and to search for God in the midst of this, to work for God in the midst of this, this is what it means to be poor in spirit and this is why it's a blessing. It's a blessing because it's real and because it's holy; because it has to do with God.
Imagine visiting Mother Teresa during the season of Advent, when she lived and cared for the miserable dying wretches of India's urban slums, and offering her a cheery, glib, "Merry Christmas!" Imagine what "Merry Christmas" sounds or feels like to the homeless, the dying, the jobless. Likewise, I can't imagine offering God, by our thoughts or our actions, a cheery, glib, "Merry Christmas."
Jesus made the point so many times that I marvel we do not yet fully understand it. Don't tell the man in the ditch "Merry Christmas" and throw him a coin. Lift him up onto your own animal, take him to the nearest inn, see to it that his needs are met, and promise to return and pay his bill in full. Don't offer your sinful, wayward, foolish, miserable son a cheery "Merry Christmas" and make sure he has a present under the tree. Start running down the road to meet him, with your arms open wide, as soon as you see him heading for home. Take his filthy, wasted body into your arms in loving embrace, and then throw a party like you've never thrown before.
It's the beginning of a new church year, a marvelous opportunity for new beginnings imagined through the eyes of Christ. It's Advent, the season of hope that has its two feet firmly grounded in the harsh realities of life, its hands dirty with the messy but tender mercies of life, and its heart firmly grounded in God; God who was, will be, and IS down here in the muck and mire with us. Among these blessed Advent truths lies the new beginning, the new perspective that we so desperately need.
Trees and decorations are appearing all around us and we are all set to jump on the worldly bandwagon, to take our place in the cultural juggernaut that we have come to call Christmas, that will steamroll everything and everybody if we will let it. It's all there and it's so easy to join in.
Except it's the first Sunday of a new CHURCH year. It's the first Sunday of a new CHURCH season. Regardless of how much we think we want it to be Christmas, it's Advent. "Be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life and that day catch you unexpectedly . . . be alert at all times, praying. . ." The world is not improved by decoration, celebration or denial. It is improved by the presence of God in human hearts; manifest in human lives of mercy, peace, and sacrificial love.
Because we live in the world, we are in the season of getting ready for Christmas. Because we are not of the world, we are in the hopeful season of Advent, where God offers us the glorious possibilities inherent in a hopeful new beginning.
