Texts:

First Lesson: The word that Isaiah son of Amoz saw concerning Judah and Jerusalem. In days to come the mountain of the LORD’s house shall be established as the highest of the mountains, and shall be raised above the hills; all the nations shall stream to it. Many peoples shall come and say, “Come, let us go up to the mountain of the LORD, to the house of the God of Jacob; that he may teach us his ways and that we may walk in his paths.” For out of Zion shall go forth instruction, and the word of the LORD from Jerusalem. He shall judge between the nations, and shall arbitrate for many peoples; they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more. O house of Jacob, come, let us walk in the light of the LORD! Isaiah 2:1-5

Second Lesson: Owe no one anything, except to love one another; for the one who loves another has fulfilled the law. The commandments, “You shall not commit adultery; You shall not murder; You shall not steal; You shall not covet”; and any other commandment, are summed up in this word, “Love your neighbor as yourself.” Love does no wrong to a neighbor; therefore, love is the fulfilling of the law. Besides this, you know what time it is, how it is now the moment for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we became believers; the night is far gone, the day is near. Let us then lay aside the works of darkness and put on the armor of light; let us live honorably as in the day, not in reveling and drunkenness, not in debauchery and licentiousness, not in quarreling and jealousy. Instead, put on the Lord Jesus Christ, and make no provision for the flesh, to gratify its desires. Romans 13:8-14

Gospel: For as the days of Noah were, so will be the coming of the Son of Man. For as in those days before the flood they were eating and drinking, marrying and giving in marriage, until the day Noah entered the ark, and they knew nothing until the flood came and swept them all away, so too will be the coming of the Son of Man. Then two will be in the field; one will be taken and one will be left. Two women will be grinding meal together; one will be taken and one will be left. Keep awake therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming. But understand this: if the owner of the house had known in what part of the night the thief was coming, he would have stayed awake and would not have let his house be broken into. Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour. Matthew 24:37-44

Prologue

For my reflection this week I initially wanted to lay down some heavy thoughts from Isaiah’s passage; about beating swords into plowshares, and nations that would study war no more. I started there; but I kept being led back to the deeper, ultimate all-encompassing hope of Isaiah’s future vision; about the Lord’s house “established as the highest of the mountains.” (Isaiah 2:1-5)

Then, as I thought about the season, I thought about some of our folksy customs; how Advent begins with simple, unadorned evergreens, an empty manger, and a lone, lit candle. Not terribly festive. Not yet. There’s nothing but a flicker of hope in “the fading glory of these autumn days, when night creeps early on to darkness; and leaves us, bound in shadows, longing for the light.” It’s that flicker of hope that I wanted to talk about.

A Season of Hope

But, besides this, you know what time it is, how it is now the moment for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we became believers; the night is far gone, the day is near. Let us then lay aside the works of darkness and put on the armor of light; let us live honorably as in the day.

Romans 13:11-14

This last week, mid-way through the Middle East peace talks in Baltimore, Maryland, a newscaster was interviewing a prominent official, seeking his opinion on the chances of a successful outcome.

The official first recapped the historical failures of previous attempts; and then proceeded to outline the seemingly insurmountable challenges at this present time. He spoke of how conditions now seemed more dire than ever before, how Israelis and Palestinians had greater reason than ever before to distrust one another; that there was more reason than ever before to assert their own form of power, dominance and terror over the other.

That is, they might continue to employ their military superiority on the one hand, or the insurrection’s trade on the other, in the vain hope that the undaunted perpetuation of such terror, fear and dread would finally triumph over their adversary. And all this, despite the stark, obvious reality that it never has … at least, not yet.

The interviewer asked him again, “Then what gives you any more reason to hope for a different outcome now, how an accord could be achieved this time, when you say conditions now would make it seem even less likely … ?”

He replied, “It is precisely because of that, because things seem more hopeless now, more than ever before, I cannot abandon hope. I have to hope the impossible is possible.” When pressed further, he went on to say he was a pragmatic optimist; essentially because the present alternative – the way things seem to be –was simply unacceptable.
I took this to mean he refused to believe that which

– to all outward signs seemed undeniably self-evident as the way things are – would continue to define what would ultimately prevail as the reality of this world.

… he refused to believe that which – to all outward signs seemed undeniably self-evident as the way things are – would continue to define what would ultimately prevail as the reality of this world.

So, I’ve been thinking this week about hope, and how universal a theme it is to the human experience:

• Presidential candidates speak and write about the audacity of hope.
• Diplomats delicately dance around thorny, un¬resolvable issues and refuse to relinquish the possibility of hope
• And certainly preachers like to talk about hope as one of the three great, divine virtues; along with faith and love … The greatest is love, Saint Paul says; but hope ain’t bad.

There’s a greeting card section in the local drugstore dedicated to Hope. It’s more commonly categorized as Encouragement, or Support:

“Hope you’re feeling better.”
“Hope you’re not as lonely as you were; just
remember, you’re not forgotten.”
“Hope you haven’t given up hope.”
Or, the colloquial “Hang in there.”
Sometimes it helps. But sometimes it doesn’t sound so much like “hope.” As in:
“Hope you haven’t smashed the car again.” Or,
“Hope you haven’t burned the pot roast.”
Hope can be audacious, I suppose. But it can also be obnoxious, like a superficial panacea; especially when accompanied by a prescription to pick yourself up and shake off whatever’s getting’ ya down.

Because sometimes people are down for a reason. And sometimes it’s a pretty good one. And it’s not always a matter of wallowing there; but recognizing it for what it is. That may be the only way to do something about it; including realizing there may be nothing you alone can do about it. …. Which brings me to Advent.

In the more liturgical traditions of the Christian faith, the Church Year has always had this funny thing about starting over. But we don’t jump in and start off with the remembrance and celebration of the birth of the baby Jesus; but rather the imminent advent of that holy nativity, and what that could possibly mean for us.

Hoping Christmas comes, really comes, is a season –and a different reality, and way of being in this world –that precedes what we still, in so many ways, hope will happen. Someday, we hope, Christmas really will come.

Put another way, the “Spirit of Christmas Past” is but a prelude to the Second Coming; which we hope will be the first Christmas ultimately worth really celebrating.

The Feast of the Holy Nativity (Christmas) is about the first cast of characters (but certainly not the last) to arrive, one by one, at the manger; in order to see what real hope really looks like. It’s about those willing to make this journey to the least likely place on earth, and peer into a feed box to find what the real nature of God’s reign is all about; expressed in the weak, the powerless, the marginalized and outcast. Such audacity! Such audacity of hope.

Advent also comes with its own warning: Be careful what you hope for. We may think it will come on December 25th, just like the calendar says. Think again, the gospel passage this evening tells us.

It may come when you least expect it. Which, I take to mean, it’ll come like a thief in the night; sneaking in to relieve you of your callow presumptions, your comfortable biases, limited expectations, and maybe even your best intentions, hopes and dreams. It’s about God’s will and God’s time, breaking in to turn our presumptuous, preposterous world upside down.
And not only that, it not only comes with a warning, but a challenge, as well. We can challenge a God of all hopefulness, just as he challenges our belief in a God who will define what is ultimately real, authentic and divine about this world in which we live; in which “Emmanuel” comes to live with us.

Simply put, Advent confronts us with the question whether we can believe in –and hold fast to –that reality we come to know and call gospel. That, and an impossible (and sometimes even unwelcome) hope; which is the first step in that journey.

Amen.

© 2007 by John William Bennison, Rel.D. All rights reserved. This article may not be used or reproduced without proper credit.

Commentary for Advent II -2007

Texts:

First Lesson: A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots. The spirit of the LORD shall rest on him, the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the LORD. His delight shall be in the fear of the LORD. He shall not judge by what his eyes see, or decide by what his ears hear; but with righteousness he shall judge the poor, and decide with equity for the meek of the earth; he shall strike the earth with the rod of his mouth, and with the breath of his lips he shall kill the wicked. Righteousness shall be the belt around his waist, and faithfulness the belt around his loins. The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them. The cow and the bear shall graze, their young shall lie down together; and the lion shall eat straw like the ox. The nursing child shall play over the hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall put its hand on the adder’s den. They will not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain; for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the LORD as the waters cover the sea. On that day the root of Jesse shall stand as a signal to the peoples; the nations shall inquire of him, and his dwelling shall be glorious. Isaiah 11:1-10

Second Lesson: For whatever was written in former days was written for our instruction, so that by steadfastness and by the encouragement of the scriptures we might have hope. May the God of steadfastness and encouragement grant you to live in harmony with one another, in accordance with Christ Jesus, so that together you may with one voice glorify the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ. Welcome one another, therefore, just as Christ has welcomed you, for the glory of God. For I tell you that Christ has become a servant of the circumcised on behalf of the truth of God in order that he might confirm the promises given to the patriarchs, and in order that the Gentiles might glorify God for his mercy. As it is written, “Therefore I will confess you among the Gentiles, and sing praises to your name”; and again he says, “Rejoice, O Gentiles, with his people”; and again, “Praise the Lord, all you Gentiles, and let all the peoples praise him”; and again Isaiah says, “The root of Jesse shall come, the one who rises to rule the Gentiles; in him the Gentiles shall hope.” May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. Romans 15:4-13

The Gospel: In those days John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness of Judea, proclaiming, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” This is the one of whom the prophet Isaiah spoke when he said, “The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: `Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.’” Now John wore clothing of camel’s hair with a leather belt around his waist, and his food was locusts and wild honey. Then the people of Jerusalem and all Judea were going out to him, and all the region along the Jordan, and they were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. But when he saw many Pharisees and Sadducees coming for baptism, he said to them, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bear fruit worthy of repentance. Do not presume to say to yourselves, `We have Abraham as our ancestor’; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. “I baptize you with water for repentance, but one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to carry his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor and will gather his wheat into the granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.” Matthew 3:1-12

“Advent, our season of expectation, makes no sense
unless there are promises spoken by God which
impinge upon our life. For Advent, therefore, we may
set ourselves two agendas: to clarify the promises of
God that have been spoken over us, and to decide if
we dare to look at those promises seriously. If we
cannot locate the promises, or if we do not trust the
promises, then Advent is an empty, silly gesture.”

Walter Brueggemann

My own reflections this last week started with another one of Isaiah’s ancient visions. This time it was the wolf and lamb dwelling side by side, the leopard with the young goat, the lion, calf and fatling together; and babies playing harmlessly with lead-contaminated toys (‘er, rather poisonous vipers, in this case). And a little child leads the whole thing. What a vision.

As I recall, for me it was a well-known, prophetic, contemporary preacher, George Regas – who was at the time a grad school classmate of mine at Claremont – who first told this old gag:
An animal trainer had managed to create a zoo exhibit featuring a ferocious, mighty lion in the same enclosure with a little lamb. Imagine, a lion and lamb dwelling side by side. People came from all over to see such a sight.

Finally, someone asked the obvious, “How’d he do it?” The trainer replied, “Oh it’s not that hard – quite simple really. Every so often you just have to put in a fresh lamb.”
So much for Isaiah’s ancient vision about a time yet to come; and meanwhile – even in what becomes our Christian faith – we all know what happens to the sacrificial lamb. Advent, in some ways, is all about that mean-time,that in-between time; about what we see, what we do, how we hope, and the un-met promises we see and even challenge God to yet fulfill.

Advent, in some ways, is all about that mean-time,that in-between time; about what we see, what we do, how we hope, and the un¬met promises we see and even challenge God to yet fulfill.

So I reflect further on the passages we read this evening, to find what’s alive in what we want to believe is living Word.

In Isaiah’s passage we have the future predicated on own emergence from the “stump of Jesse.” Jesse, you recall, was the father of King David. And God had made a promise to David that his kingdom would last forever; that through his descendants, his reign would never end, God would save God’s people and bless the world. But things didn’t work out. So 200 years after the great King David, Isaiah picks up a fresh hope of the ancient promise and prophesizes: “A shoot will come up from the stump of Jesse; from his roots a Branch will bear fruit.”

Centuries later, when Paul wrote his letter to the early Christian Church in Rome (the 2nd reading), he refers to what was written in former days for the sake of our “instruction,” for “steadfast and encouragement” we might have “hope.” Paul wants to look back along the branches and down the trunk to the root of the tradition from whence came his new message we call the Christian gospel.

Not too many years after than, when the gospel of Matthew emerges in another early Christian community, the passage we read this evening links John the Baptist to Isaiah’s ancient prophecy about the Jesse thing. Not only is this gospel story about a link (Matthew’s very big on “proof texting” – showing how ancient Jewish scriptures get fulfilled in his gospel story), but – according to John –the fulfillment of that ancient hope and promise. It comes in the form of one crying out of the wilderness. It is the prelude to the main act.

Matthew, however, also expands the earlier gospel of Mark’s similar story about John. Matthew includes the additional scene about John the Baptist dissing not only the authority – but even pedigree – of the ecclesiastical authorities (the Pharisees and Sadducees). And, in so doing, he essentially severs that future hope and promise of Isaiah’s ancient visions left unfulfilled from the kind of comfortable concessions to the way things are.

The old stump of Jesse does indeed yet hold promise. In fact, Matthew will go through geneological contortions to attempt to trace Jesus’ ancestry back to Jesse. But everything in its path – every tree that can’t produce good fruit, John the Bap says –should be cut down and thrown into the fire.

“Even now,” he says, “the ax is lying at the root of the trees …”

John was one of any number of self-appointed prophets and preachers who felt inspired to make sense out of the seeming senselessness of an unfulfilled promise; the tattered remnants of which had left God’s chosen people left in shambles. The only superpower in the known world had imposed its will, by means of its military might and domination, in order to presumably offer them the great benefits in being a flattering reflection of Rome; when, in fact, what was once King David’s great kingdom that was supposed to last forever was now just a backwater province of the Empire.

By the time John the Baptist emerges out of the wilderness, the Pharisees and Sadducees had been unable, or unwilling, to conceive of any kind of divine reign on earth, other than a physical, tangible, literal one they could sink their teeth into; which, of course, they eventually did – serving up the Baptist’s head on a platter before moving on to his cousin, the troublemaker from Galilee.

And all this, despite such time-honored, ancient writings available to them, such as Isaiah’s passage; this passage which speaks of wisdom, understanding, counsel and might described as being executed by one who wears “righteousness” like a belt ‘round his waist, and “faithfulness” ‘round his loins. What kind of an outfit is that, they must have asked themselves?

They’re much more comfortable with what is seen, not unseen. They’re used to seeing the likes of John the Baptist, dressed in a hairsuit and leather belt ‘round his waist. For in the ensuing centuries of Jewish tradition, since the days of the ancient prophets like Is, the temple leaders and scholars -¬who by that time had literally inherited their positions based on succession –had pretty much settled for the way things were.

But those shrill words from Baptist’s lips, “Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees …” must have had an un-nerving, chilling effect, about a different kind of judgment, about a different kind of unsettling of this world as it now is; enough, at least, to draw the “brood of vipers” out of their comfortable places, to meet the one coming in from the wilderness at the riverbank.

At the Jordan, John would employ the Jewish practice of baptism: a symbolic ritual dunking, an act of confession and a token of genuine repentance for one’s wayward ways; in order to get straight again with God and others. The symbolic gesture of the literal dunking was meant to portray not just a cleansing of one’s dirty old soul; but a renewal that could transform someone – along with the world around them – and set them off in a new direction.

And at the heart of John’s proclamation was this: It had nothing to do with who you were, but about the One who is coming, and is indeed “very near.” It’s about what the One who is coming with “water and Spirit” can make out of you; even if you got about as much going for you as a “stone!” So it is that John says three things:

The only thing that matters is what you do; which includes what you do differently than what you’ve done before – about straightening the crooked ways. Another way he puts it: Wanna flee from the coming wrath? Bear fruit worthy of repentance. Get real, with what really matters.

Second: Don’t presume your position and pedigree – descendants of Abraham, the great father of the faith

– counts for anything. “God is able to make children of Abe out of stones.” In other words, your prior perks are as worthless as a rock. Maybe worse, it’s a weight could slow you down, and you’ll miss the boat (in this case, the kingdom of heaven, the imminent reign of God); which is to be the imminent, ultimate fulfillment of the ancient hope and promise.

Matthew depicts this message in terms of harsh judgment; a “winnowing fork” cutting large swaths through the harvest of the end time, before the chaff is tossed into unquenchable fire.
If that kind of warning language was much of a religious motivator in those days – and it still is in some of the more fanatical belief systems of every stripe today – I can tell you it doesn’t really scare me all that much. I pretty much believe you reap what you sow. There’s nothing hidden that shall not be revealed. And the righteous still suffer; but not as much as the poor and persecuted –or even the persecutors for that matter in their own sort of miserable existence.

I was reminded of this yesterday, news out of Fresno, where the Episcopal Diocese of San Joaquin and its archconservative bishop finally voted to sever its ties with the larger Church. The vested interests of the ecclesiastical authorities have long dismayed over the liberal direction of the American branch of the world-wide Anglican Comm. Now they’ll align themselves instead with other fringe groups or renegade Anglican types who claim to be the only ones clinging to the true faith.

It may not come as a shock to any of you who know me very well at all that I was unable to conjure up much dismay about the further disorganization of the “organized” Church. Earlier in the month, this particular bishop was quoted as having told a gathering of reporters that the consecration of an openly gay bishop in 2003 was merely a “flashpoint” for those who had had “enough because of the liberal theology of the Episcopal Church.”

“Those who want to remain Episcopalians,” he said, “but reject the biblical standards of morality, the ultimate authority of the Bible, and the biblical revelation of God to us in His Son as the only savior of mankind, will in the end be left solely with a name and a bureaucratic structure.”

Personally, I find reducing the living Word of God to a book about morality, authority and an exclusively-proprietary plan of salvation to be problematic, presumptuous, blasphemous, and therefore even dangerous in its own form of religious bigotry. The hope and promise of the Bible is a far greater vision to be sought and found, longed for and expected.

Personally, I find reducing the living Word of God to a book about morality, authority and an exclusively-proprietary plan of salvation to be problematic, presumptuous, blasphemous, and therefore even dangerous in its own form of religious bigotry. The hope and promise of the Bible is a far greater vision to be sought and found, longed for and expected.

A dissenting voice to yesterday’s diocesan convention and their schismatic vote came from a parishioner, named Samantha Bland (of all things). A printed news story reported she’d urged fellow delegates to instead focus on teen pregnancy, soaring foreclosure rates, methamphetamine addiction and dwindling resources plaguing the local Central Valley congregations; instead of what she called “this distraction.”

So who’s to say who’s right?

Next week, the answer might actually be found in the ensuing gospel passage we’ll read from Matthew; when Jesus replies to John the Baptist’s disciples, who’ve asked him if he is the expected Messiah of God and fulfillment of the ancient hope and promise. “Go and tell John what you hear and see,” Jesus says.

The Advent season is a time for hope and promise. It is a time, as Brueggemann says, to “clarify the promises of God that have been spoken over us, and to decide if we dare to look at those promises seriously. If we cannot locate the promises, or if we do not trust the promises, then Advent is an empty, silly gesture.”

Advent is a time and season of “finders keepers.” This next week will be about further locating those promises, honestly asking ourselves if we dare trust the promises to be fulfilled in the face of such seeming contradiction, and asking ourselves how we could be a part of that living hope and promise.

© 2007 by John William Bennison, Rel.D. All rights reserved. This article may not be used or reproduced without proper credit.

Commentary on Advent III – 2007

Texts:

First Reading

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. Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees. Say to those who are of a fearful heart, “Be strong, do not fear! Here is your God. He will come with vengeance, with terrible recompense. He will come and save you.” Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; then the lame shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy. 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; the haunt of jackals shall become a swamp, the grass shall become reeds and rushes. A highway shall be there, and it shall be called the Holy Way; the unclean shall not travel on it, but it shall be for God’s people; no traveler, not even fools, shall go astray. No lion shall be there, nor shall any ravenous beast come up on it; they shall not be found there, but the redeemed shall walk there. And the ransomed of the LORD shall return, and come to Zion with singing; everlasting joy shall be upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away. Isaiah 35:1-10

Gospel Reading

When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples and said to him, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” Jesus answered them, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.” Matthew 11:2-6

This last week’s quote for reflection:

“Advent is not just about the birth of a baby, even this special baby. It is about the coming of God, the “good news” of God’s incursion into a world that seems closed and well-defined against any such incursion.”

From The Help of the Helpless
by Walter Brueggemann

“Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?”

Last week, while painting my kitchen, I listened to the Nobel Peace Prize acceptance speech in Stockholm by former vice president Al Gore. He used the auspicious occasion to, once again, advance an inconvenient truth; about his urgent, dire predictions of imminent, nearly irreversible destruction of our earthly planet at our own hands, and to our everlasting peril.

As he spoke, I couldn’t help but pick up on some Advent themes we’ve heard the last couple weeks about the imminent coming of something harrowing at the least expected hour.

“Sometimes, without warning,” he said, “the future knocks on our door with a precious and painful vision of what might be.”

Then he quoted one of the ancient prophets of the Jewish scriptures, about the choice that lies before us; and the option to choose life over mutually assured destruct.” He went on with a withering list of environmental woes.

“… it has been harder and harder to misinterpret the signs that our world is spinning out of kilter. Certain major cities are nearly out of water due to massive droughts and melting glaciers. Desperate farmers are losing their livelihoods. Peoples in the frozen Arctic and on low-lying Pacific islands are planning evacuations of places they have long called home. Unprecedented wildfires have forced a half million people from their homes in one country and caused a national emergency that almost brought down the government in another. Climate refugees have migrated into areas already inhabited by people with different cultures, religions, and traditions, increasing the potential for conflict. Stronger storms in the Pac and Atlan have threatened whole cities. Millions have been displaced by massive flooding. As temperature extremes have increased, tens of thousands have lost their lives. We are recklessly burning and clearing our forests and driving more and more species into extinction. The very web of life on which we depend is being ripped and frayed … Indeed, without realizing it, we have begun to wage war on the earth itself … It is time to make peace with the planet.”

Earlier that same morning I’d been reading the scripture passages for our worship hour this evening, especially those verses from Isaiah: “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.”

Later, I turn on the TV to watch the nightly news and see a feature story about the impact of rising sea levels in some low-lying south Pacific islands, where the prior dwelling places of certain indigenous peoples have been virtually washed away; as whole villages scramble to plant mangrove saplings as a natural barrier to the rising tides that don’t recede.

And again, I recall another verse from the Isaiah passage: “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; the haunt of jackals shall become a swamp, the grass shall become reeds and rushes.”

So, that’s supposed to be a good thing, right?

Then yesterday, in Bali, Indonesia, in what was reported as a sudden dramatic reversal, U.S. representatives to an international meeting of the world’s nations agreed to at least resume talks about reviving an aging UN treaty to reduce global warming. Perhaps, in the eleventh hour of what more and more people acknowledge as an environmental crisis, the now-waning reluctance of the largest polluting nation on the face of the earth has agreed to at least talk about a way forward. So I wonder to myself, what would such a path forward look like?

“A highway shall be there,” Isaiah says, “and it shall be called the Holy Way; the unclean shall not travel on it, but it shall be for God’s people; no traveler, not even fools, shall go astray.” Not even the foolish will veer off-course? Good.

One could even read between the lines of Isaiah’s ancient vision of a redemptive future, and ask if there is a reasonable hope and expectation that there might come a time when “the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped.”

And, as far as Al is concerned, that doesn’t even have to be read metaphorically. In his acceptance speech he noted, “We must understand the connections between the climate crisis and the afflictions of poverty, hunger, HIV-Aids and other pandemics. As these problems are linked, so too must be their solutions. We must begin by making the common rescue of the global environment the central organizing principle of the world community.”

Well, Al Gore may be a Nobel prize winner, a former VP and presidential candidate; but I don’t mean to suggest he is a nominee for becoming the savior of the world and humankind.

Whereas his prophetic voice over an environmental crisis speaks to a destructive past caused by our own doing, which must change course in order to avert a future disastrous consequence, the larger question is when and where – in the straight line progression of human history – will God’s time break in upon us as the dawn, and all these ominous shadows flee away? In Bruggeman’s words, when and how might such a godly incursion take place?

… the larger question is when and where … will God’s time break in upon us as the dawn, and all these ominous shadows flee away? In Bruggeman’s words, when and how might such a godly incursion take place?

The answer to the environmental crisis seems to be about reversing our present course. Isaiah’s vision is more than that. It’s about a future hope and promise that holds within it the inversion of the way things are. It’s about an upside-down re-ordering of the present structures in a way that refutes and contradicts the way things presently are. In such a scenario – as Isaiah prophesizes and Jesus’ proclaims –the blind see, the dear hear, the lame walk, the weak are strengthened, and the faint-hearted fear no more. It’s about turning the world upside down.

If you were to ask me if Al Gore is the One to save us from ourselves I would ultimately say no; and I think Al would agree. But, at the same time, I’d say he’s on the right path, where – as Isaiah envisions it for us -¬even fools might tread and not go astray.

But if Al Gore is not the one to save us from ourselves, then who? Who is the one? That’s the question John the Baptist sends his disciples to ask Jesus. “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” Who’s the one?

Consider the Oprah-Obama factor. Last weekend, the queen of American talk shows, Oprah Winfrey, asked and answered the same question about who is the one, when it comes to this year’s crop of political presidential candidates. Jumping into the fray made her nervous she said. “It feels like I’m out of my pew,” she told the crowds. But she went on:

“We need someone who knows the need to bridge the difference between those who have, and those who need a chance to have. These are dangerous times and we must seize the opportunity to support a man who – as the Bible says – loves mercy and does justly. … None of us is God, and we do not know what the future has in store for us, but this is the moment and I believe the moment is now.”

Well that kind of language sounds very Advent –like.

Oprah then referred to another book that had once inspired her; it was Ernest Gaines’ The Autobiography of Miss Jane Pittman. It tells the story about an African-American woman who died in 1962 at age 110; about being old enough to remember her childhood days as a slave on a southern plantation before the American Civil War. In the decades that followed, she loved and lost several young men. Each of them –over the course of a century of emancipation, segregation, racial hatred and inequality

– were killed for the cause of civil rights and freedom.

Each time the old frail woman would recount how with every young fresh face of hope she’d encounter she would wonder again and again, “Are you the one? Are you the one?”
Eventually she found that she herself was the one; the one to follow in the line of martyrs or prophets who – as her particular story went, by such a simple act of civil disobedience as sipping cool, refreshing water from a drinking fountain reserved for whites only – gave voice to Isaiah’s ancient vision in her own way: “Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees. Say to those who are of a fearful heart, be strong, do not fear! Here is your God. … He will come and save you.”

Well, last week Oprah went on to proclaim with her particular endorsement: “I’m here to tell you, Iowa, I have found the One. I’m here to tell you, he is the one. He is the one!” I’ll leave it to you to know which one is the One for her.

It’s a curious thing in our contemporary world that with the early caucus states and others scrambling to move their primaries up, the American electorate has found itself in a peculiar juxtaposition of the campaign season encroaching on our Advent season, posing the same question, regardless of the distinctly different context.

Who is the One? Who is the One to come? Who’s the One to save the planet? Or who’s the One to lead the people? Or, who’s the one to redeem us and turn this old world on its ear, if we could only hear another message and dare to believe it?

Even on the more personal, light-hearted side, there’s even a how-to book to help figure things out, entitled, Is He the One? It helps women figure out if the guy you got is the one for you. Author Susan Swimmer subtitles her book, 101 Questions that will lead you to the truth, no matter what it is.

You can take the test yourself, and find the answer by going through a checklist of questions, such as: “Is he fun?” “Is he helpful and sympathetic when you’re in pain?” Or, “Do you often feel the need to make excuses for him?”

Then, here’s one the blessed Virgin Mary might have asked herself about old Joseph: “Is he comfortable caring for a baby?” The author goes on with some reassuring advice:

“If he is, great, if he’s not don’t sweat it. Historically, serious babay caring has always fallen into the domain of women’s work. Many, many great men the world over have been chased away from cribs and changing tables (aka mangers). What matters most is that he’s willing to try and eager to learn.”

More helpful than that one –for the Virgin Mary, anyway –could have been this one: “Is his relationship with the extended family something he/you can live with?” (!)
When John’s disciples ask Jesus the same question (“Are you the One who is to come, or should we look for somebody else?”), it is helpful to remember that when they asked this question most of them had already been waiting a very long, long time with something pretty specific in mind. The one they waited for was the messiah of God. And for the most part, that messianic expectation held within a hope that included the restoration of the Jewish kingdom, and the reversal of centuries of hardship, domination, exile and subjugation. Their expectation was as much about a reversal of fortunes, as it was any kind of transformation or redemption of the whole created order; let alone a different way of living in this world.

With all such high expectations, Jesus’ answer to John’s question, “Are you the One?” may have been less than what they’d hoped for, or been led to believe they should expect.
Jesus tells them to return to John and tell him what they have seen and heard; meaning, the answer to their question should presumably be self-evident; but conditioned upon their own ability to see and hear.

In other words, Jesus is the One, if the one they await is the one who indeed restores sight to the blind and hearing to the deaf, restoration to those afflicted and outcast (the lepers), mobility to those who are too lame to walk the Way, and new life to those who are otherwise too far gone. And he calls all this good news; meaning, it’s better news than they could have hoped for, or expected.

Jesus is the One, if the one they await is the one who indeed restores sight to the blind and hearing to the deaf, restoration to those afflicted and outcast (the lepers), mobility to those who are too lame to walk the Way, and new life to those who are otherwise too far gone. And he calls all this good news; meaning, it’s better news than they could have hoped for, or expected.
Jesus’ itinerant ministry had begun with the performing of healing miracles, as recounted in the gospels; interspersed with preaching a message about the way in which God is present and made manifest in the world in terms that were not necessarily the most welcome and reassuring. So this particular “good news” may well have not been the news they’d hoped, expected, or had believed for centuries they had been promised.

And those healing miracles – those mirror images of John’s disciple’s ability to see and hear this good news
– would always point beyond each particular miraculous event itself to the deeper meaning and point Jesus meant to make in his preaching and teaching that always accompanied them. It was –and still is –a message about being in this world in an upside down fashion, where the weak are empowered, and the faint of heart lifted up; lifted up beyond both their hopes and fears over what is ultimately only the passing shadows of this world.

Is Jesus the one? Which One? The fact is, Jesus is only one among many who come along all the time; each in their own way offer a plan of salvation, emancipation, or even affection. The question may not simply be whether he is the One; but whether he is the One for you?

It is as much for us to decide if we first have the eyes to see, and the ears to hear; then the heart to feel, and even the backbone to stand for something that is at odds with all that is out of kilter in this world.

In all our hopes and dreams, do we wish to await the One who doesn’t come simply to reverse the present course of our own doing and un-doing, but extend to us an upside down way of living more authentically in this world; where faith really is stronger than fear. Where love really is stronger than hate. Where those who would wish us harm are to be forgiven; and in our weakness there is strength in him who, for us and for the redemption of this world comes to save us from ourselves, by God’s grace, love and mercy.

Is he the One we wait to come?

Amen.

© 2007 by John William Bennison, Rel.D. All rights reserved. This article may not be used or reproduced without proper credit.

Commentary for Advent IV -2007 *

*This reflection is an updated version of a piece first written in Advent, 2004.

Gospel Reading

Now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way. When his mother Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child from the Holy Spirit. Her husband Joseph, being a righteous man and unwilling to expose her to public disgrace, planned to dismiss her quietly. But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to him in a dream and said, “Joseph, son of David, do not be afraid to take Mary as your wife, for the child conceived in her is from the Holy Spirit. She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus, for he will save his people from their sins.” All this took place to fulfill what had been spoken by the Lord through the prophet: “Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel,” which means, “God is with us.” When Joseph awoke from sleep, he did as the angel of the Lord commanded him; he took her as his wife, but had no marital relations with her until she had borne a son; and he named him Jesus. (Matthew 1:18-25)

But just when he had resolved to do this, an angel of the Lord appeared to Joseph in a dream …

Everyone dreams. But have you ever had one of those dreams that was so vivid and telling that it startled you into reconsidering where you’d come from, who you were, or – contrary to all your wakeful plans — where you were headed? The kind of dream that runs contrary to all your daydreaming? The kind of extraordinary dream even an ordinary Joe – contrary to all his daydreaming –might have?

Most likely, we all have.

Describing last night’s dreams to another person is usually about as exciting as telling them about your last operation, or your last road trip to Fresno … But briefly, here’s a dream I had one night recently that startled me awake with a self-conscious laugh at three o’clock in the morning.

I was seated in a restaurant in downtown Walnut Creek in the middle of the afternoon, when the tables were nearly empty and the customer traffic was light. I looked up and saw someone seated alone in the opposite corner, staring at me. Though it was someone whom I had not seen, nor with whom I had had little contact for over twenty-five years, I recognized her immediately as someone who had at one time been a very significant part of my life. In fact, we’d once been married for eight years.

In my dream, the apparition stood up and walked over to my table and sat down across from me. She looked older; but, then again, I figured I probably looked older to her too! She began to speak and went on for a short while, until I interrupted her. Slowly, deliberately, I asked, “What do you need to hear me say to you?” I knew the answer, before she could really begin to reply. So as she began to speak again, I looked at her and simply said, “I’m sorry.”

Then I awoke. It was 3:00 A.M. It was a cold winter’s night, but the bedcovers were warm and reassuring, and I could return to sleep.

After a quarter of a century, a collage of images, experience and memory stirred from who knows where in my subconscious to manifest itself in what was for me a powerful dream.
In modern dream science research, the debate has progressed to the point of exploring and interpreting ordinary phenomena as a combination of physiological changes which occur in different portions of the brain in sleep mode, to all the psychological twists and turns we weave over a lifetime; with enough cumulative raw material to make a psychotherapist absolutely drool over the prospect of three sessions a week for the rest of one’s natural days. What inner conflict was seeking resolution in the dream sequence I conjured up for myself last week? Or, what did I eat for supper?

Ancients, on the other hand, believed dreams were visions and visitations of divine spirits or other celestial beings, quite apart from one’s own body, mind and spirit. The Bible, too, is filled with such experiences, described as dreams. There’s Jacob’s ladder and wrestling match.

There’s Joseph’s dreams with their bleak forecasts of the plagues of Egypt upon Pharoah and his people. There’s Mary’s visitation by the archangel, Gabriel, with the same startling news Joseph receives in his own dream in this evening’s gospel passage. And there is the warning dream the magi have, not to return and share their joyous news with the treacherous Herod.

Greek philosophers, like Aristotle and Hippocrates, suggested dreams were a product of our own invention; their usefulness lay in our ability to inform us (and therefore have a hand in shaping) our own destiny; and even as a means of diagnosing illness.

In the Bible, however, it is through Mary’s and Joseph’s dreams that it is announced God will once again – but this time uniquely through the incarnation of God’s own self – actively insert God’s life-giving Spirit into the human story; and do so quite literally and graphically, in such a way that not only the chosen elect, but all of humanity, will be redeemed: These dreams have within them the terrifying news the Holy Spirit will impregnate a virgin. And these two humble human beings have to go along with it.

Just imagine. The entire success of the assertion of a pregnant virgin and the Divine’s incarnate plan, hinges on the very human relationship between Mary and a shadowy figure known as Joseph, son of David. As Matthew sets the stage: “When Mary had been engaged to Joseph, but before they lived together, she was found to be with child … from the Holy Spirit.”

That’s a hard sell, in anybody’s book; but quite frankly probably more so today than when dreams and visions were less domesticated. Yet even in Matthew’s day people may have wondered how Joseph would perpetuate the lineage of David if he was not the physical father. In Jewish law, there was a provision for legal adoption of an “illegitimate” child; Joseph could acknowledge Jesus by naming him “son of David,” and accepting legal fatherhood. But would he? Would I? Would you? Doesn’t this Divine Plan for the redemption of humankind just leave a rather bad taste in one’s mouth?

So, what kind of a guy was this Joseph character? Matthew tells us he’s a decent fellow, righteous, some would say even magnanimous; in the fact that he’s apparently willing to quietly “dismiss her.” In fact, he had “resolved” to do this, Matthew says.

And I imagine when Joseph had, in fact, consciously resolved this raging conflict within himself, he must have gone to bed that night, alone –again; but at least with his mind settled. He’d finally be able to get a good night’s sleep, he must have thought to himself, after days of tossing and turning over the pain of his angry hurt and gnawing suspicions. A good night’s sleep would be welcome relief.

But then, this startling night dream.

Perhaps it was a dream that had begun with a blinding flash the held within it every promise of releasing him to run wild and escape the drudgery of his mundane existence, a dead-end job and a bleak future for a Galilean peasant living under strict religious codes of behavior and a brutal and repressive occupation by the only superpower in the world. It was a dream that might have begun with sweet promise –like those daydreams he’d often had of Mary.

Contrary to everything else that beset his life, at least there’d been Mary. Ah, Mary! She’d been the sum of his hopes and dreams for sons, old age, companionship through the long winter’s night, and maybe even pomegranates in the spring … Despite all else, she was one promised possession he’d prized above all else; and, though only a woman, he might even honor and cherish. This is the way I imagine it could have easily happened:

Only the day before, Joseph had been daydreaming. It was a typical day for a poor carpenter, working quickly while there was daylight, when the days were short and winter was blackening the sky well before supper. Hammer, and chisel, and hard olive wood; peg and mortise, table and stool. His nostrils would fill with the familiar smell of dust and wood chips, as he’d struggle to recall the scent of her hair.

He wondered if his rough and callused hands were already too worn to feel how soft the back of her neck would be, when they would one day soon curl up and lie together. It was only one man’s dream, a peasant’s dream; not much of a dream, by some standards: a length of days, an insignificant life in the scheme of things, a winter sun for warmth, a peasant’s wife, and – if God would grant him such favor – sons. His own sons.

What kind of father would he be, he would have asked himself, as we all do? Too strict or gruff, lenient or neglectful, indulgent or loving, or — most likely, a little bit of everything? It would be blessing enough.

And then, contrary to an ordinary man’s ordinary dreams, this other intrusive dream and startling vision would rouse in him another, different calling. And he would wake with this unwelcome call to take Mary as his wife, cast out his fears, and play the fool. If he could abandon all his lost daydreams, would he be a fool for God.

The tradition would quickly go on to push Joseph’s perfunctory role in the nativity story further back into the shadows, where his own dreams would fade. What of his own hopes and hurts? The gospels would tell of Mary weeping for her son at the foot of the cross on Calvary. Would anyone know or care to wonder about Joseph, his absence, or his aching heart?

In an apocryphal infancy gospel from Syria dated in the second century there appears a fanciful legend that portrays Joseph as a widower who previously had two sons; which conveniently explains Jesus’ brothers. It also provides a reasonable explanation why Joseph initially declines to take Mary as his wife because – as his script is written – “I already have two sons and am old.”

As if the divine scheme isn’t enough of an insult, now the poor guy is even portrayed as over the hill and beyond the point of being any competition for the Holy Spirit. So in this version, he simply takes her into his house, caring for her and protecting her virginity.

In this legend, Joseph is not just portrayed as a simple carpenter. He’s a general contractor who goes off on a large construction project, and returns home one day to discover she’s pregnant. But even after a dream convinces Joseph that she is a pregnant virgin, they can’t keep it a secret for long, for obvious reasons. The temple elders learn of it, reproach Mary and Joseph, and demand what is essentially a church trial.

Once again, the ecclesiastical authorities – those keepers of the covenant, the spiritual shepherds of the flock – are the ones who’ve lost sight of the whole point of God’s loving, compassionate, redemptive and reconciling plan. Blind to the hand of the One for whom they’d presumably waited centuries, they now cannot conceive of such a thing as Mary’s conception being that of this contrary kind of a God acting in their very midst. Instead they’ve simply become the provincial morality police.

So, at the trial –in this legendary tale –Mary and Joseph are compelled to drink something called “a water of conviction” that will presumably reveal their sins. They drink it. Nothing happens, and they’re off the hook. But the apocryphal tales continue, human nature being what it is. Somehow, people just have trouble believing something too good to be true can actually happen; perhaps because such divine gifts comes to them in ways that only seem to fall so short of our expectations and presumptions; presumptions about what’s real, what’s important, what such things as wealth, or power, or privilege or position are supposed to do for you, etc. A pregnant, unwed teen is bad enough. Worse is some blue-collar schmuck of a surrogate step-father willing to go along with it, play the fool and be forgotten. Apparently he does not reflect the kind of virtues the world highly values.

Many years later, in the 9th century, an anonymous Latin author compiled a collection of ancient traditions in a document known as the Gospel of Pseudo-Matthew. In it there is a story of Mary and Joseph in an orchard. The pregnant woman is having cravings for the ripest fruit from the highest branch of the tallest tree. In the Late Middle Ages it becomes the beautiful English hymn, The Cherry Tree Carol.

When Joseph was an old man, an old man was he, He married Virgin Mary, the Queen of Galilee. Repeat.
Joseph and Mary walked through an orchard green. There were berries and cherries, as rich as might be seen. Repeat.
Mary said to Joseph, so meek and so mild, “Joseph gather me some cherries, for I am with child. Repeat.
Then Joseph flew in anger, in anger flew he. “Let the father of the baby gather cherries for thee.” Repeat.
Then up spoke baby Jesus, from within Mary’s womb, “Bend down the tallest tree, that my mother might have some.” Repeat.
Then bent down the tallest branch, till it touched Mary’s hand. Cried she, “O look, thou Joseph, I have cherries by command.” Repeat.
When Joseph was an old man, an old man was he, He married Virgin Mary, the Queen of Galilee. Repeat.

On a winter’s day, a day typically filled with ordinary hopes and dreams by an ordinary “son of David,” and child of God, something utterly contrary to the sum of all our everyday blessings and curses breaks in to confound us, transform us, redeem us.
Contrary to all our conjuring, contrary to all the “hopes and fears of all our years,” the forgotten fool of God welcomes our Emmanuel.
© 2007 by John William Bennison, Rel.D. All rights reserved. This article may not be used or reproduced without proper credit.