Year C Advent 3 (sermon) environmental variant

http://www.io.com/~kellywp/YearA_RCL/Advent/AAdv3_RCL.html

Isaiah said:
The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad,
the desert shall rejoice and blossom;
like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly,
and rejoice with joy and singing.
The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it,
the majesty of Carmel and Sharon.
They shall see the glory of the LORD,
the majesty of our God.

The passage from Isaiah foretells a homecoming and a restoration, and as it echoes down the centuries to our ears, all the way to us listening this Sunday, it sheds various meanings. A way is being prepared for someone, it seems, but for whom, and what does it mean? To the people to whom the prophet originally spoke, it foretold the triumphant return of a remnant of the Exiles to promised land, to Israel. Centuries later, Christians recognized in it a prophesy about Christ’s coming; Jesus answered John’s disciples by citing many of its promises, ‘Go and tell your master, “The blind receive their sight, the lame walk, and lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear.”’ And after Christ’s resurrection, the early Church saw, as we still do today, an eschatological meaning in this passage—a meaning that stretches forward to Christ’s return.

One thing that really amazes me about this passage is its natural imagery. Apparently, this long-foretold coming isn’t just good news for God’s people, or for people in general. It’s good news for the earth. We hear that

The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad,
the desert shall rejoice and blossom;
like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly,
and rejoice with joy and singing.

What an amazing, lovely image: that the land itself can be glad! That an abundance of growth and blooming is actually like the voice of the wilderness singing! Isaiah goes on to say that formerly dry, dusty places will be as lush as foreign lands known for their greenery:

The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it,
the majesty of Carmel and Sharon.
They shall see the glory of the LORD,
the majesty of our God.

What’s interesting here is that the word “They” – as in, “They shall see the glory of the Lord,” doesn’t actually have any person as a referent in vvs. 1-2 or this passage. Either it refers to some people that Isaiah hasn’t been talking about yet, or, -- more likely – they refer to the “dry land,” the “wilderness” the “desert” which is about to be transformed as part of Christ’s coming. The very earth will share in witnessing the glory of God, and rejoice in its way—by becoming fertile, lush, and full of abundant water. For those living in the arid climate of Palestine, the promise of water transforming the land must have been an amazing expression of how God would redeem not only his people, the but whole earth:

“For waters shall break forth in the wilderness,
and streams in the desert;
the burning sand shall become a pool,
and the thirsty ground springs of water;”

What an amazing thought—that the earth itself is waiting for Christ’s coming, is just waiting to be redeemed, to rejoice, to be saved.

In the news this week, I’ve been following the stories about the UN-sponsored environmental conference being held in Bali. In Tuesday’s papers, there were three articles on one page— One about Al Gore’s joint acceptance of their Nobel Peace Prize with the UN panel for Climate Change; a second article, in which former White house employees reported that administration officials and scientists have been intentionally downplaying the impact of global warming in their releases and interviews. (Incidentally, A White House official, commenting in that article, said that the leak was a bald-faced attempt to draw attention away from the real progress being made at the Bali environmental Conferences.) And, as if on cue, the third article on the page was about the UN-sponsored environmental conference in Bali—where, it turns out, the U.S. was adamantly resisting setting numerical guidelines for the lessening of carbon emissions—a move which the EU and many other nations were pushing for.

Wednesday, an article entitled “Arctic may have melted past the tipping point”—complete with an alarming map of how much glacial ice mass Greenland has lost from melting since 1992, shared the page with the article “U.N. climate conference struggles on standards” – which, if you read it, was again largely about the U.S.’s unwillingness to set specific emissions reductions.

And late yesterday, after the Bali conference had gone into exhausting extra innings, they achieved some modest “success” – agreeing to meet in 2009 for another round of talks, and with no emissions reductions guidelines in the meantime.

In Al Gore’s nobel prize acceptance speech, he said: "Without realizing it, we have begun to wage war on the Earth itself, Now, we and the Earth's climate are locked in a relationship familiar to war planners: 'Mutually assured destruction.' It is time to make peace with the planet."

I do not think it out of keeping with Isaiah’s message that, as people making way for the coming of our Lord, it is high time to make peace with the planet. Luke says “all flesh shall see the salvation of God.” Isaiah describes a world in which nature itself is witness to the Glory of God, and in which the world is restored and made whole by God’s coming. As Advent people, we need to live into that vision. God has pronounced the created world good, and appointed us its custodians.

It’s really not such a radical idea. In the mid-first century, in his letter to the Romans, Paul wrote: “the creation waits with eager longing for the revealing of the children of God; that the creation itself will be set free from its bondage to decay and will obtain the freedom of the glory of the children of God. We know that the whole creation has been groaning in labour pains until now; and not only the creation, but we ourselves.”

The revealing of the children of God is supposed to be good news for creation itself, which groans alongside them for the coming of Christ. But all too often, we’ve abused that creation instead. Which brings us to our Collect of the Day. We need God’s help to live into God’s vision for the world. And so we pray:

Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us; and, because we are sorely hindered by our sins, let your bountiful grace and mercy speedily help and deliver us; through Jesus Christ our Lord, to whom, with you and the Holy Spirit, be honor and glory, now and for ever. Amen.

Year C, Advent 3 (sermon)

http://www.io.com/~kellywp/YearA_RCL/Advent/AAdv3_RCL.html

Advent, as we know, is a time of waiting. But every so often we need to stop and ask ourselves:

What are we waiting for?

The passage from Isaiah foretells a homecoming and a restoration, and as it echoes down the centuries to our ears, all the way to us listening this Sunday, it sheds various meanings. A way is being prepared for someone, it seems, but for whom, and what does it mean? To the people to whom the prophet originally spoke, it foretold the triumphant return of a remnant of the Exiles to promised land, to Israel. Centuries later, Christians recognized in it a prophesy about Christ’s coming; Jesus answered John’s disciples by citing many of its promises, ‘Go and tell your master, “The blind receive their sight, the lame walk, and lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear.”’ And after Christ’s resurrection, the early Church saw, as we still do today, an eschatological meaning in this passage—a meaning that stretches forward to Christ’s return.

This sort of double-vision, this plurality of meanings, colors so much of what Advent is. We are waiting for something—but what, exactly are we waiting for?

In one sense, what we are “waiting” for what has already happened—the birth of Jesus Christ. We are expectantly approaching Christmas day, when we celebrate the birth of our Savior—so that our waiting and watching actually looks backwards. And, of course, we are waiting for that time to be with our families, the holiday meals, the exchange of presents, and the little family traditions that go along with Christmas.

But if we leave it at that, we’ve missed out on half of Advent. Because, in another sense, we are “waiting” not just for something that has already happened, but for something yet to be. We are watching for the final culmination of all creation in the return of Christ. Jesus cautioned “anyone with ears to listen” that they must be on their guard, that they should live expectantly, on the lookout for the Day of the Lord. This sense of urgency, of edge-of-your-seat anticipation, kind of gradually fizzled out of the early Church as Christ’s second coming seemed longer in coming than anyone expected. But Jesus warned about exactly that—that no one would know the hour or the day. Still, it’s hard to keep up a kind of truly expectant, watching-for-the-Master’s-return kind of mindset when the sun keeps stubbornly rising and setting, day after day, on a relatively unchanged world. Despite the prophet’s beatific vision, and despite those whom Christ healed during his ministry in Galilee, there are still the blind, lame, and poor. People still need to make a living. “They work the fields, they give and are given in marriage.” Oh blah dee, oh blah dah, Life goes on.

Even John the Baptist, who had earlier in Matthew’s gospel recognized in Jesus one who ought to baptize him, not the other way around—Who saw in Jesus the one who would baptize with fire and the holy spirit, not with water—is now perhaps having doubts. Now, from his jail cell, he is sending disciples to ask Jesus point blank—“are you the one who is to come, or should we expect someone else?”

It’s hard to live at a fever-pitch of expectancy. James advises his readers: “Be patient, therefore, beloved, until the coming of the Lord.” Farmers can be patient about their crops, he reasons—so you be patient too. But James wants to make sure that his community doesn’t become complacent and lazy in their waiting—“Strengthen your hearts, for the coming of the Lord is near!” James wants us too live as if Jesus is just around the corner. That’s what Advent living looks like. I mean, If all we’re looking forward to is a nice Christmas dinner, and presents around the tree--- well, it gets pretty easy for us to get sloppy about Advent. But if Jesus is coming, if Jesus is right about to ring the door bell any moment—well, we all probably have some pretty serious housecleaning to do, and fast! James wants us to feel that urgency; he writes, “See the Judge is standing at the doors!”

Live like that, James counsels us. Live like that, Jesus tells anyone with an ear who’ll listen. Live like restoration and homecoming is really on its way, Isaiah tells us.

What are we waiting for?

Because Advent is about waiting and watching, but what we’re waiting for makes a world of difference.

If it’s just Christmas—even a thoroughly religious Christmas, with carols and prayers and church services before all the family time—then all we’re left at the end of it is a pile of wrapping paper, a few church bulletins, and the overfed feeling that we’ve had a little too much of Mom’s green-bean and French’s Onion casserole.

But if we’re truly waiting for Christ’s coming again, then we’re left with so much more: Hope. Expectancy. Something worth looking forward to. All promises that Isaiah, the James, and John, and all the prophets, gave us. And if we’re expecting that, we need to live like that is a real possibility, like it’s coming, and we wanna be get on board while the getting’s good.

To live like that is to live as an Advent people, a people who have faith and hope not just at one time of the year, but all the time. See, James reminds us, The Judge is standing at the door!

So, what are we waiting for?

Let’s straighten this place up!