ermons
Deacon Stella Clark
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November 27, 2005
Advent I
She Was Waiting for a Cure
A child from our town died several weeks ago. Victoria was a healthy and energetic seven year old, glad that summer was coming, when she was diagnosed with cancer. My son, Michael, died ten years ago in October—he was waiting for a lung transplant—and my memory of him still tugs on my emotions and roams around the back roads of my mind. A few days ago, I was working in the attic, opening boxes, untouched for ten years. There in that singing silence, I found old letters and pictures, ribbons and childhood drawings that drove memories so boneward they will never depart from me.
It was then when I remembered a sweeping image from a funeral when the priest urged us to appreciate the gift of life. He said that if we have people to love, we should continually show them and tell them how we feel.
Thornton Wilder wrote a play called “Our Town” which tells the story of a young man and woman who fell in love, married and ultimately parted when the woman died during childbirth. The final scene of the play is set on the hill of the local cemetery. The spirit of Emily, the recently deceased wife, decided that she would return to Grover’s Corner to relive some of the scenes of her short life in this quaint little town.
As she revisited her family and friends, her new perspective as outsider made her realize that there were a multitude of things happening all around her that had completely escaped her notice, her mother’s expressions, familiar smells and other special details caused her to realize that she hadn’t lived life to the fullest, but had rather had only survived its lightning pace. She also began to realize that she had been so self—involved that she had missed out on the best part of life, and that most folks had made the same mistake, On her return to her grave, other departed souls, helped confirm her notion that humans miss the true beauty of life because they are just not paying attention.
The last bowl of turkey soup, the final plate of turkey hash have been eaten. The familiar carols are heard once more; and we are pleased by them. It is yet four weeks till Christmas. The rush has not begun. It will come. But we are between the holidays now——catching our breath, so to speak—— readying for shopping and wrapping and rehearsing. For the moment, we are waiting.
God’s people have always been a waiting people. Cannot the same be said of humankind? People have always been waiting, wanting, watching. Sometimes, not knowing exactly what they expect. Sometimes wishing for what can never be. Sometimes simply hoping——hoping that something will happen, someone will come: a check in the mail perhaps, daisies from a friend, first prize in the Publisher’s Clearing house contest.
We know the one for whom we wait, We know that he will come. It is his way. The problem is not whether he will come; that has already been decided. The problem is; What do we do while we are waiting.
The prophet Isaiah revealed the waiting of his people—a longing and despairing people. “Oh that thou wouldst rend the heavens and come down, that the mountains might quake at thy presence.” We know the mood well. In sickness, in sadness, in death. “Where are you, Lord? Come down. Know you not that I need you?”
Waiting is hard. In a hospital, awaiting word; at home, awaiting the phone’s ring; near the front door; awaiting someone’s return—someone we love, someone we have not seen in a very long time? Much is revealed in a person’s character, is it not, by the manner of waiting—whether with sure hope or anxious fear?
Our Lord spoke of waiting, in the gospel lesson for the day. His words have an ominous tone: we endure tribulation, darkness, falling stars. But, three times the warning: Take heed, watch; Watch, therefore; And what I say to you, I say to all: Watch.
When he first came to Bethlehem, there was song and delight. When he comes again, bleakness and despair. The questionis : What happened?
Need we be told, that every day in life cannot be Christmas morning? Oh, we would like it to be. We survive on dreaming the impossible dream and climbing every mountain. Everyday cannot be Christmas morning. We will grow old—in spite of jogging and Clairol and designer jeans, face lifts and tummy tucks. Something terrifying is going to happen to someone we love; to many of us it already has! We know that there is no pot of gold at rainbow’s end, no chicken in every pot. But, in the time that is ours, how shall we wait, what shall we hope for? Shall we listen for the angel’s melody? Or shall we watch for the sun to be darkened?
Let’s confess that we realize that it is going to end someday. Let’s agree that there are lots of bad and sad stories in the newspaper each morning. Let’s admit that there may be suffering and pain and loneliness. And, having acknowledged all that, let’s go to Christmas Eve, to a waiting world and to waiting hearts. Let’s go back.to see what God does for those who wait with courage and with a smile.
That first Christmas wasn’t as pretty as the Christmas cards make it. Wouldn’t you rather have your baby in a hospital than in a stable? And how would you like to have a carpenter deliver your child?
But, there is the holy truth that God comes to our darkness, our rejection, our pangs, and says, “Listen to the angels and look for the star: All is well!’ No need to cry aloud: “0 that thou woudst rend the heavens and come down.” No need to dread a tomorrow that may or may or may not come.
Watch? Of course. We dare not take the loveliness for granted. We know that lust and greed are often more compelling than right and kindness. “We have erred and strayed from thy ways like lost sheep.” That’s not just part of the liturgy; that’s a fact of life! We have gotten so caught up in the lightning pace of the twenty first century that we refuse to take time to listen to the first century message of the Christ of eternity. We have the same problem as Emily, the heroine in Our Town—tunnel vision.
We must be awake and alert and watching. Not because God is going to appear on a cloud and shake his finger at us, saying, “Bad, bad,bad!” We must be alert and watching because, before we know what is going on, something can sweep in on us and make us less.
Yet, having said all that, let us sing of our Christmas hope. It tells of a God who “descends the staircase of heaven with a baby in his arms.” It tells of a star that forever shines, and lights our way through every darkness. It tells of a father and a mother and a child amid the stench of a stable loving each other, and adoring God.
Charles Schultz preached an important sermon through his Peanuts comic strip. Peppermint Patty, one of the more forlorn children in the Charlie Brown group, finds a butterfly sitting upon her nose. She is afraid it will turn into a caterpillar. Assured by Marcie that it has already been a caterpillar, Patty wonders if the butterfly may be an angel. When it flies away, she is certain it was an angel. A miracle has happened. From caterpillar to butterfly to angel. She tries to tell of the miracle. No one will listen to her—no one at home, no one at church, none of her friends. The last cartoon in the series pictures Patty saying, “Back to the minors,eh?”
Too many people, even inside the church, are deriding the angels— the whisperers of God, who bring us hope and light, joy and love. Too many people tell of darkness and despair, and warn, “Watch, lest he come suddenly, and find you asleep.”
Let not that be our way today. Let us go from this place with a different mood, a Christmas mood. Be watchful——yes! But even if you would be napping when he comes, know that his angel will fly to your side, as happened long ago. The angel will whisper of love born in a manger. Then she will take you by the hand and by the heart. You will see the Lord Christ, and by his smiles and in his joy, you will know that all is well.
So in this season we sing the old familiar hymn “Oh come, 0 come, Emmanuel,” God be with us. “In all time of our tribulation; in all time of our prosperity; in the hour of death, and in the day of judgement.” Be of good cheer. He stands at the center of all things; he is King and there is no other.
For the Christian believes Christ comes continually, in bread and wine, in suffering and love, in the midst of misery, and in the moment of grief, in a thousand ways as men are ready for his coming— to raise us up within his Church, the fellowship of reconciliation.
God is with us. We are no more alone!
| A note about sermons: Please remember that since sermons are oral presentations, they are likely to change each time they are given. Often they are constructed of notes, not whole sentences; and often they carry the rhythm of speech, not of writing, and so the sentence breaks and punctuation are individualistic. |