Davison's Doodle

No one knows. Don’t even ask.

Sometimes I revisit words I crafted in the past for a new setting. This sermon, Edgy Advent, is a revision with ideas I’ve been thinking about for a couple of years. I was gifted the trust of the pulpit the first Sunday in Advent this year. The scripture text for the day is Matthew 24:36-44.

‘But about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father. For as the days of Noah were, so will be the coming of the Son of Man. For as in those days before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day Noah entered the ark, and they knew nothing until the flood came and swept them all away, so too will be the coming of the Son of Man. Then two will be in the field; one will be taken and one will be left. Two women will be grinding meal together; one will be taken and one will be left. Keep awake therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming. But understand this: if the owner of the house had known in what part of the night the thief was coming, he would have stayed awake and would not have let his house be broken into. Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.

Matthew 24:36-44, NRSV

Edgy Advent

In the book, A Walk in the Woods, Bill, a travel writer in his 60’s has returned to America after living in Europe for many years. He is a bit restless in his new, old, surroundings. Seeking inspiration and a desire to explore, Bill decides to hike the Appalachian Trail, all 2000 miles of it. After reading about life on the trail and many stories about bears mauling hikers, Bill is afraid to be on the trail alone. He puts out a call to friends to see if anyone would take the journey with him. The only one who shows up is an old friend from high school. Stephen is overweight, significantly, has a slight drinking problem, only eats junk food, and insists he has has to eat every hour to keep from having seizures.

Bill and Stephen buy all the supplies they think they need. Bill pays for it all. They pick out the right backpack, tent, sleeping bag, bear repellent, hiking boots, and socks. They gather up the suggested food packets for the trail. They plan the days of hiking and depart on the best weather day after a last supper in a restaurant surrounded by other hikers preparing to set out as well. Their adventure has many low points and some mountain top vistas along the way.

It is easy to get all the stuff together, read the map, and plan. Any hike, any journey begins with that first step, and many, many more to follow. Christian tradition considers Advent one end of the Christian trail that has many entrances and some exits.

Some walk the trail anew each year traversing Advent, Epiphany, Lent, Easter, and Pentecost into the expanse known as ordinary time. Some remember with fondness the first steps, the first mile, the first blisters. You will hear those stories in this sacred space and around tables in your home. And, along the way you will hear stories, maybe experience one or two of your own, that will make you anxious, irritable, and full of all the emotions a person can feel. You will hear and see things that set you on edge.

And remember, sometimes, being on an edge, or being on edge, requires risk. On the edge can be too hard. Too painful. The view from the top, though appealing, doesn’t feel worth the risk. You don’t usually get to mountain vistas or back to the safety of the valley without traversing a few edges. Even an edgy Advent.

The first Sunday in Advent begins a new year of Lectionary readings. This is Year A of Lectionay readings which means it is the year of Matthew’s experience of faith as the gospel reading. John the Baptist’s voice and Jesus’ voice echo through the faith of the writer of Matthew whose ‘good news’ story about Jesus is bound up in his cultural experience of the moment. All the gospel writers are active participants in their cultural moment. Their time was as edgy as our own.

Though first in our New Testament, Matthew is written after Mark. He takes Mark’s outline, the letters of Paul that are floating around, and a collection of Jesus sayings that modern scholarship calls “Q,” as source material to write his novella about Jesus. Along the way the author sorts-out his theology of proclaiming Jesus, “Christ,” in a thoroughly Jewish context.

Matthew’s gospel begins with a genealogy connecting Jesus, a peasant from Galilee, to his Jewish faith. It lists people who did small things and great things remembered down through time. Matthew’s context is fifty to sixty years after the death of Jesus. It is full of violence, revolution against Rome, and an internal power struggle in the Roman government. Matthew’s Jesus has been characterized by scholars as another kind of Moses story. One who has come, sent by “I am who I am” to lead the people, his people, away from bondage, again, anew.

There is a growing community of Jesus followers, some with Jewish roots and the rest like us, Gentiles. There are disagreements between them about who Jesus was and what he means now, in their historical context.
Who gets to claim Jesus?
Who gets to define what being a follower of the Way or being a Christian means?
How does one get to be identified as a Christian?

Harsh words are shared. Us and them wins the day. Family members do not speak to one another. Later in the gospel we hear some called a “brood of vipers.” Do you have one of those lists? What about a “hypocrites” list? Maybe we just have different labels for our lists.

Matthew doesn’t have time for a nice story about the baby Jesus and his growing up years. He needs the adult Jesus who challenges “the way it has always been.” The first three chapters layout the case for Jesus’ identity as God’s most recent change agent.

Dr. Warren Carter, one of the New Testament professors at Phillips Theological Seminary, summarizes the Gospel of Matthew this way:

The Gospel is a counter-narrative that helps its audience to live a counter-cultural, alternative existence. (in the midst of such claims and commitments.) The Gospel asserts that it is God’s world, not Rome’s (11:25; 28:18); that God’s reign and presence are manifested in Jesus, and not in the emperor (1:23; 4:17); that God’s blessings extend to all people, not just the elite (5:3-12); that Jesus, not Rome, reveals God’s will.

Warren Carter, “Matthew Introduction.” The New Interpreter’s Study Bible, Abingdon Press, 2003, p. 1746.

This year, Advent begins with a warning, “No one knows. Don’t even ask.” We are near the end of Matthew’s gospel. Jesus has just painted an apocalyptic vision that includes the destruction of the temple in Jerusalem and the disciples want to know, “When will that happen? What are the signs that is going to happen.” Jesus responds, “No one knows that day or hour. Not even me. Only God knows.” And in v42 he says, “Keep awake, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming.” Well, if that doesn’t make you a little edgy I’m not sure what will. Then Jesus goes a step farther and compares the coming of the Lord to a thief breaking into a house. Tense, nervous, irritable, unable to relax, all these describe what it means to be “on edge.” Do you feel it? Can you sense it in yourself and others? Do you hear it? Something louder than a little squeaking sound.

Our devices give us instant access to all the terrors and the wonders of the world. The FOMO, fear of missing out, makes commitment harder. On edge. It seems like it has been this way since the last fireworks faded from the night sky New Year’s Eve in 2000. It was amped up in Sept 2001. Again during the Iraq and Afghanistan wars. Viral political profiteering. Mass casualty gun violence. Covid-19. I don’t think your politics, theology, religion, or ideological perspective matters. Little has felt normal for a long time.

But it is Advent and we are invited to hike the trail. There is a big sign at the entrance. In big letters is reads: Hope, Peace, Joy, Love. In smaller lettering, near the bottom, it says, “No one knows when. Don’t event ask. Just stay awake.” And still, some of our cousins in Christian faith think they can manipulate the Holy into acting on their timetable. They see signs or create signs that fit their perspective. But, that’s not hope. Not peace. Not joy. Not love. That is despair.

The longer I live, I have come to think of Advent through the lens of Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol. We are visited by hope, peace, and joy which are the building blocks of knowing love.

Jacob Marley, Scrooge’s business partner in life, appears in spirit form. He is weighed down by a long chain and his ledger books. Scrooge tells the spirit that Jacob was a good businessman in life. And Jacob, recounting his life and how he made his chain link by link shouts at Scrooge, “Human kind should have been my business during life. But, you Ebenezer, you still have a chance to change.”

In advent, we are visited by these spirits, these glimpses reminding us of what the writer of Psalm 122 said:

For the sake of my relatives and friends I will say, ‘Peace be within you.’
For the sake of the house of the LORD our God, I will seek your good.

Psalm 122: 8-9, NRSV

At the end of his second inaugural address, President Lincoln said:

With malice toward none, with charity for all, with firmness in the right as God gives us to see the right, let us strive on to finish the work we are in, to bind up the nation’s wounds, to care for him who shall have borne the battle and for his widow and his orphan, to do all which may achieve and cherish a just and lasting peace among ourselves and with all nations.

Abraham Lincoln, “Second Inaugural Address.” March 4, 1865.

Those words always jar my being. They are a big idea and commitment these United States struggle with today.

When my cousin Matthew was in the 6th grade, his mother bought him shoes three times that year. The summer before 7th grade she bought him shoes two sizes too big, and did so each year until he left home after high school. Matthew looked pretty goofy walking around in shoes too big, and often stumbled even after learning to navigate the bigger size. Lincoln gave the Nation a vision back in 1865, an idea at least two sizes too big.

And the same is true for the prophets in the Hebrew bible. We hear Isaiah and Jeremiah spin an image of God’s comfort, reminding us that it is our task to comfort exiles wherever they are found. We must cry out and act out through the lessons taught by our own grief, suffering, growing, and maturing. Act out: the Lord our God is revealed in the way we live and move and have our being. God is revealed in the way you practice hope; practice peace; practice joy, and practice love.

And here in the 21st century, disciples from all the branches of Christianity go to Jesus and ask, “When? What are the signs of the reign of God?” The Jesus that preached about the kindom of God and the good news of God responds, “You can’t know. Even I don’t know. Don’t even ask. Stay awake.” That counter-cultural Jesus. That Jesus who lived a daring and provocative hope, peace, joy, and love.

An edgy Advent challenges the distracting sentimentality and consumerism of our time. It’s an Advent that names the wilderness and points to the good news of God.
It’s a compass to help us prepare a way,
our way,
the Lord’s way,
and navigate the trail’s wilderness, valleys, mountain tops, and edges.

Is Advent one of those two sizes to big ideas?

I don’t know if you plan to enter the Christian trail this year through Advent. The experiences in your life may be too painful, too confusing, or you just aren’t feeling it: Advent and Christmas. Though you’ve hiked the trail many times, maybe you can’t imagine what the trail looks like anymore. If so, you are not alone. I know many embodying that space, admit it or not. Maybe the best you can do is hear the stories of others who walk this part of the trail. It’s ok. You don’t have to enter the trail here.

Sometimes, all we can do is hear stories and ponder them. Stories like this one about the Magic Monastery.

They have a Brother there who was one of the shepherds who first greeted the Christ Child. Of course​ this Brother is very old now, but when you hear him play his flute, you will become very young. (Be careful. You may do something silly.)

The three Wise Men are there also. Each Christmas one of them will give the sermon. Listen very carefully. You may have difficulty with his language, but that is because he is so wise and you are so foolish. I thought he was superficial, talking about incense on Christmas. It was only later that I realized he had been talking about the Real incense, and now I can smell that wherever I go. Perhaps when you go there he will be speaking about the real gold, or the real myrrh.

And then there are the angels. You’ll hear them singing. What shall I say? It is God’s music. It gets into your bones. Nothing is the same afterwards.

But all of this is nothing. What really matters is when the Word becomes flesh. Wait till you experience that.

Theophane the Monk, Tales of a Magic Monastery. Crossroad, 1981.