the texts for this sermon were:
2 peter 3:8-15a (ends with "... Lord as salvation.")
the sun is darkened and it feels as
though the powers in the heavens have indeed been shaken. daylight has been passing away,
electricity, too seems scarce after last night’s snow, and everyone seems to be
too busy and wrapped up in friends and family to have time for anyone
else. not to mention, every ad on
tv or store i pass is pushing for more and more consumption of things—stuff;
anything, really, as long as you buy it.
life is passing away—loved ones are
dying, children are dying, innocence is snatched away at every turn, and even
heaven and earth seem to be passing away.
and yet day after day we are
here. we keep showing up, putting
one foot in front of the other and wondering, “how long?” how long must we live in exile like the
israelites isaiah addresses?
whether we are far from loved ones, struggling with depression, anxiety,
or mental illness, trying desperately to make ends meet, or simply feeling a
bit lonely or blue, we find ourselves as exiles trying to navigate our way
through a harsh holiday season.
in the midst of this exile, we hear
our god crying, “comfort! oh,
comfort my people!” god cries
enough! enough of the pain and
sorrow, sadness and hurt. enough
of the oppression and persecution.
our term is served, the penalty paid.
god calls for a highway through the
wilderness, a highway back home.
preparations must be made, for god’s people are coming home. god sends out the orders for comfort
and for expediency, the way will be direct: the way in the wilderness, the
highway through the desert; a fast-track home. it is coming.
all in god’s time.
but still, we lament the waiting
and the slowness as peter reminds us “that with the lord one day is like a
thousand years, and a thousand years are like one day.” we agonize and lament as god’s time
remains mysterious to us. we ask
god why not now—not yet? what is
it that takes so long? why has zephaniah’s
word from god not yet been fulfilled?
we still wait for disaster to be
removed, for god to deal with our oppressors: saving the lame and gathering the
outcast, changing all our shame to praise and renown. we wait for god to gather us home, to bring us back from
this exile.
we wait with impatience for the
coming of our savior, for light to return to brighten our darkness. and yet peter tells us that god is the one who is patient with us! god waits so that all
might come to repentance; so that all
might be saved. it’s not that we
are waiting for god who has not yet shown up, but god is waiting with us
and for us.
i heard someone blame the massacre
at sandy hook elementary school on the fact that we’ve taken god out of the
schools. there is no way god can
be simply removed from anywhere.
god, who comes to us incarnate, is
with us always. god waits with
us. god is here now, where we are,
god is in our homes, in our work places, and yes, in our schools. god is with us always, waiting and
hoping with us.
we wait and we search and we
struggle and god is there. god is
in the midst of our struggle and waiting, our tears and frustrations. even in the face of all things breaking
down, of a world not like we want it or wish it, god is with us and waits.
we gather for this longest night,
knowing that the world is not as it should be. our struggles are not just our own, they are the struggles
of humanity. humanity waits and
longs for god’s time to come, justice on earth, mercy and grace, and love.
we await our savior this advent
season and with us, god waits and god makes preparations. even as the voice in isaiah confronts
us with the reality that everything in this world is fickle, fading and
withering, easily swayed by the prevailing winds, god’s way is strong and true
and god prepares a way home for us.
god waits with us and for us,
calling us back and bringing us home—home to a dirty little manger where the
glory of god is revealed in the most vulnerable: a baby in a feeding trough,
wrapped in some old cloth. in that
meagerness, we find god who is rich in mercy, who comes to us to be with us and
to be us, human, real, suffering as we suffer, living as we live, dying as we
die, and struggling together.
god waits with us for our savior,
who comes with might and power, and
with mercy and care, gathering the lambs in a loving embrace, safely
shepherding us home.
god who comes to us in a baby in a
manger also comes to us in the wheat and grapes of communion. the bread that sustains and the wine
that enlivens us, bringing us together from our places of exile to our home
here at the table. the broken
bread and the outpoured cup: gifts from the god who waits with us, the god who
struggles with us, and the god who comes to us.
and so, we can sing aloud and shout with zephaniah, rejoicing and exulting
with all our heart because god is in our
midst. god is with us and even
as we are in exile, god sits and struggles and dwells with us. god cares for you and for me and is
patient with us and with humanity.
we struggle,
we despair,
we lament
and god who is with us is big
enough for all our despair. god is
big enough and god wraps us in loving arms, carrying us into the next day,
guiding us as we journey through this longest night, with the hope and
expectation that in the morning, light will come, in a few short days, we will
welcome the christ child, and even as we wait, god welcomes us here, tonight,
to god’s table, where jesus meets us in our darkness, to bring light and hope
and salvation.
thanks be to god.
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