Preached at St. Martin’s in-the-Field, Severna Park
December 1, 2024: Advent I, Year C
Nothing says the beginning of Advent like a little apocalypse. I really do mean that.
Every year, at Thanksgiving, we start preparing for Advent and Christmas. In my house this means making sure the kids’ wish lists are updated on Amazon for the sake of my in-laws who start asking in October if I have updated said lists yet. It means washing new Christmas jammies I always give the kids on the first Sunday of Advent. It means pulling out the Christmas decorations so Jay can make our home look appropriately festive and silly with too many inflatables. It means playing our favorite soundtrack: A Charlie Brown Christmas.
And it means coming to church to hear the world is coming to an end. Every. Single. Advent.
Here’s the thing. When Jesus says: “There will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves…” it is good news. I know it doesn’t sound like good news to those of us who would like as little disruption as possible in our already full and complicated lives, but friends, this is good news.
To the people listening to Jesus as he spoke these words, this was a message of hope! It promised an end to oppression, marginalization and grief. It promised a kingdom of peace instead of Roman rule. It meant worshipping God without risk of imprisonment or death. It meant an end to families being separated and scattered as they fled persecution.
That is why Jesus says: “Now when these things begin to take place, stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is drawing near.” Your redemption is drawing near! Relief is coming! The kingdom of God is near! The end of one world is giving birth to something new, something good.
And to us, living our full and complicated lives, it is good news, too. Because as much as we don’t want one more disruption, one more change, one more transition to troubleshoot… I think it is possible that there’s another way—perhaps a better way—to approach life. The end of one way of doing things could indeed give birth to something new, something good.
This, really, is what I love about Advent.
Advent invites us to do the opposite of what the world around us is doing—to slow down when everyone else is speeding up. Advent invites us to stop, pause, pay attention, take stock of what is actually serving our life with Christ and one another, and what needs to end for the sake of new life.
You may have noticed that instead of singing/saying the Gloria or a “Song of Praise,” we sang/said the Kyrie: Lord have mercy, Christ have mercy, Lord have mercy.
These are penitential words. We are asking for mercy because Advent, like Lent, is a season of reflecting on what is getting in the way of our relationship with Jesus. In Lent, we are preparing our hearts and our lives for resurrection. It is intentional work to make space for the Risen Christ to change us.
In Advent, we are preparing our hearts and our lives for incarnation—for God with skin on. And because the season is shorter and the time is especially frenzied, we have to be that much more intentional about making space for God to be born once more. Everybody knows that babies take up time and space—they upend our lives! And this baby, this Christ child, this God person growing in the womb of an audacious young woman, this Jesus cannot come into our lives without upending our lives.
So, friends, how will you prepare for the end of the world and the start of something new?
How will you “be on guard so that your hearts are not weighed down,” and how will you “be alert at all times, praying for strength.”
Paul’s letter to the church in Thessalonica suggests that love is what strengthens us, and that love is what sets us apart and makes us holy. I actually really love his prayer that the church would be “abounding” in love. It speaks to an abundance of love, yes, but the word “abounding” sounds to me like a cup-running-over kind of love. May you have more love than you know what to do with. May you love one another excessively. May your love spill over into everything you do and everyone you meet.
Even and especially when it feels like the world is coming to an end—may you love with abandon. Even and especially when you cannot tell up from down and you feel dizzy and disoriented by the changes you see around you, may an overabundance of love be what carries you, holds you, and keeps you steady. Even and especially when your hearts are “weighed down with dissipation and drunkenness and the worries of this life,” may you find the will to love
Jesus says: “Heaven and earth will pass away, but my words will not pass away.”
Jesus is the Word incarnate, love incarnate, God with us.
Stop. Pay attention. Make space for Christ to be born once again in you.
Oh come, oh come, Emmanuel. Turn our lives upside down and show us something new, something good. Amen.
lauren laughs 