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Sermon at The Church of the
Holy Apostles, New York City,
December 1, 2002, The
First Sunday of Advent
Year B
by The Reverend Barry Signorelli
Lection: Isaiah
64:1-9a; Psalm 80,
1
Corinthians 1:1-9;
Mark 13:24-37.
Give us grace, O Lord, to watch for the signs and the seasons of
our mortal life; that, amid the changes and chances of this world,
we may not miss your coming. Amen.
At the beginning of the musical West Side Story, Tony the “white
American” teenager sings of feeling that something of enormous
significance is about to happen: “could it be, yes it could,
something’s coming, something good. If I can wait….” He senses
that the very air around him is alive with possibility, that
whatever it is, it’s barreling towards him out of the dark unknown
of the future. And so he waits, anxiously and expectantly, for
that “something” to appear.
When it does, of course, it is everything he anticipated – and
more. He meets Maria, the Puerto Rican girl with whom he instantly
falls in love, and who loves him in return; and it seems for a
time that their love will transcend all the obstacles of prejudice
and social separation that their families and friends set before
them; their love, the “something” that barreled out of the future
has exploded upon them like a flash of lightening with the power
to change everything for ever.
But of course, their happiness is short-lived. As powerful as
their love is, it appears to be no match for the hatred that
surrounds them, and their hopes and dreams are extinguished in the
flood of violence and death that swirls around them. The
“something” that barreled out of the future into their hearts has
been thwarted, by something else already firmly established in the
human heart.
There is, in our times, a kind of shared expectancy, a sense many
of us feel that “something” is coming; but what? Is it not a sense
of impending doom, that the threats of terror and war, poverty and
hunger, intimidation and distrust will more fully gather together
their strength and overcome us with inevitability? We could be
pardoned for thinking so; our nation stands literally on the brink
of war with Iraq (indeed, it could be said that we have been
waging a quiet little war for years in the skies over that
country), and each day brings new reminders that terrorists lie
quietly in wait to strike again at innocent civilian targets. Our
government’s leaders continue their disreputable campaign to ease
the tax burden on the top 1% of the wealthiest citizens, even as
federal workers’ wage increases are slashed and social services
threatened because they are “unaffordable.” Big Brother becomes
more of a reality each day as law enforcement and the intelligence
agencies gain greater access to information about our private
communications and activities. Fewer and fewer of our fellow
citizens can honestly look back and claim that they are better off
than they were a couple of years ago. Something’s coming, yes; but
more and more we might be saying, “something’s coming, I’m
afraid.”
That sentiment is not uncommon in human history. In Jesus’ day and
for a long time before and after, this was expressed in what we
know as “apocalyptic literature.” The word “apocalypse” means
“revelation,” and refers to the secret knowledge about the
ultimate destiny of the world. Apocalyptic literature describes,
in very potent and poetic language, the events that are said to
accompany the end of this present world and the establishment of
the world to come. This literature emerged about 200 years before
Jesus, and came out of the frustration of the Jewish people at
their continued domination by foreign armies and empires. The only
way to make sense of this was to assume that God would ultimately
intervene to keep his Covenant, and in the process establish the
Kingdom of Heaven on earth.
Of course, if God is going to keep his side of the Covenant, then
God’s people had better keep their side of it, too; and so
apocalyptic literature necessarily contains a strong element of
judgement as well. Woe to those who are unprepared and flaunt
their straying from God’s ways! Only the righteous can hope to
survive the tumult and horror of the times to come, and no one
knows when those times will arrive. The only solution is to live
each moment as if the Day of the Lord were about to begin.
The prophet Isaiah, while not an apocalyptic writer, hints at the
apocalyptic sentiment when he bemoans Judah’s disobedience: “we
have all become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous
deeds are like a filthy cloth.” And how should this be remedied?
“O that you would tear open the heavens and come down, so the
mountains would quake at your presence – as when fire kindles
brushwood and the fire causes water to boil….” Even Jesus gets
caught up in the apocalyptic mood as he encourages his followers
to faith by describing the Day of the Lord in the Gospel passage
we heard today: “…the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not
give its light, and the stars will be falling from heaven, and the
powers in the heavens will be shaken. Then they will see ‘the Son
of Man coming in clouds’ with great power and glory.”
Now, the troubles I mentioned earlier, and all the others we could
identify around the globe, are not themselves apocalyptic in
nature, no matter how tempting it may be to cast them in that
light; for they concern the ongoing struggle of humanity to order
and operate this world in which we are set. It is unlikely that
bombing Baghdad or slashing the tax revenues will set in motion
the last days. But apocalyptic language may honestly represent our
emotional response to worldly horrors, and may goad us into a
stance of engagement rather than retreat. For we have two choices
when faced with calamity: we can either run in terror in a vain
attempt at escape, or we can face our destiny with courage and
fortitude, and by so doing perhaps even help to avert catastrophe.
Which of those choices seems more in line with God’s expectations
of his Covenant people? Or, to re-visit the parable from last
week’s Gospel, “when did we protest the injustices forced upon
you? Or when did we struggle to wage peace instead of war? And
when did we fight for your dignity and survival?” As we do these
for the least of our sisters and brothers, we do it for Christ.
Something’s coming, all right, barreling toward us out of the
darkness of the future. It’s easy to be afraid of it – it’s
unknown, and so is its effect on us and who we shall become as a
result. At this time of year, as the days shorten and the very
light of day seems pale and thin, it can be easy to fall into
anxiety and let ourselves be overcome by the darkness. We can feel
the expectation in the air, and be afraid; we can list our own
failings and despair. Whatever is coming, we know it will be an
ending of some sort: somehow it will change everything we are, and
everything we know and love.
That’s what it did to Tony and Maria; their lives were turned
upside-down and inside-out; they were lifted up to the
mountain-top, and thrown into the depths of an untimely grave. But
remember, that’s not the end of the story; if human history went
on as usual, then Maria would have killed her lover’s killer in a
cycle of blind vengeance and retribution. Instead, she finds
within herself the strength to break that cycle, and in the midst
of tragedy brings forth redeeming change. She does not run from
the calamity, but engages it with the fullness of her humanity –
humanity that has been empowered by the “something” that came upon
her out of the darkness. She is ready for the Master to return, at
any moment.
“Could it be, yes it could; something’s coming, something…” –
good? Who can tell, if we judge it only by what it seems to do to
us? Apparent blessings can hold hidden dangers; but by the same
token, so too can unavoidable dangers hide untold possibilities
for good. On this first Sunday of Advent, the time of new
beginnings, we go forward into the dark future, barreling on to
collide with our destiny. And as we do, we have finally the hope
of God’s promise to be there with us all the way. For it is Jesus
himself who is coming, the Christ who was, as the Incarnate Lord,
and who will come again with great power and glory. Global wars,
economic recession, social injustice, all pale beside the power of
that Christ to uproot our lives and transform our world.
Something’s coming: in the evening, or at midnight, or at
cockcrow, or at dawn…and what Christ says to us, he says to all:
“Watch.”
Amen.
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