Saturday, December 12, 2020

The Darkness of Advent

 Hey Everyone - 

Yesterday I was cleaning out my garage because it was my day off and it was warm outside and because, well, that's the kind of thing I do when I'm procrastinating about writing a sermon. (Another thing I do? Write a blog post.) While I was going through all the things that are in my garage that I haven't used in years but still insist upon taking up space in my life, I was thinking about how hard it is to get "up" for Christmas this year. I mean, our lights are hung, the trees decorated, and the decorations are all out; I put on Christmas music in my office and in my car and at home; Tuesday and I have watched several Christmas movies. But these things aren't really doing the trick. I'm just not "feeling" it this year.

This year has been hard...for all of us. We stopped all in-person activities at the church in March. We opened up to have people in worship and meetings in the church at the beginning of October, only to close again five weeks later as the infection rate in our county soared. Through it all you all have been so faithful. Everyone has done so very much to continue the mission and ministry of the church and to see that the church thrives. And we have. It's really been amazing to see what you all have done, and continue to do. You truly took the lemons of 2020 and made some sweet lemonade. I am so very grateful to you all and to God, I really am. But, like you, I am just getting emotionally fatigued by the distance, all the extra effort that goes into doing ministry in a pandemic, the masks, the fear, the partisanship in our nation, the arguments, the disagreements, the injustice and racism that persists, the everything-that-2020-has-been.

Maybe that's why I'm having hard time putting my thoughts together for tomorrow's sermon. This week is Gaudate Sunday - Joy Sunday. But how do I stand before people (well, stand before a camera that represents the people on the other end of the internet) and proclaim a message of joy when I'm not feeling particularly joyful myself?

The other day I was designing the Christmas Eve Service, and I was reading through the lectionary passages for the day. The words of the prophet Isaiah leapt out at me: 

The people walking in darkness have seen a great light; on those living in the land of deep darkness a light has dawned. (Isaiah 9:2)

Usually when I read that passage I focus on and think about the light that shines in the darkness, the light that dawns at Christmas. This week, however, the words that leapt off the page at me were darkness and deep darkness. I feel like I am walking in darkness, that we are living in a land of deep darkness. I mean, it's easy to get excited about Christmas when life is shiny and pretty and fun. But what about when things are dark? When there is an empty place at the table that didn't have to be there? When you can't hold the new baby that was born to your colleague and friend? When peoples' jobs and livelihoods are in jeopardy? When you can't be with the people you love? When you are afraid of endangering the health of your congregation and those you love?

I think that now, perhaps more than at any time I can remember, we need Advent. We all love Christmas, but Christmas is easy; Advent is tough. Advent is waiting and watching. Where is God for a struggling people? Where is God when we have lost our smiles? Or we can't see the smiles for the masks? Where is God when our collective attitude seems to be "it is what it is." Where is God when our souls cry out with Habakkuk and with the Psalmist, "How long, O Lord?" Where is the light that shines in the darkness?

It is coming. At Christmas. It was to those living in the land of deep darkness that the light dawned, that God came in the form of a vulnerable child. And it still is. This is the world into which God came, and into which God still comes - a world full of people scared about an uncertain future, a world rocked by loss, a world waiting and hoping, sometimes against all reason, for the light to break through. Into a broken, dark, and fearful world, hope was born. Hope is born. This is true, even if we can't feel its immediacy.

I need to be reminded of this truth again and again, but especially this year. I need to be reminded that God chooses to come to us, abide with us; that he is our Lord, Emmanuel, God-with-us. This year, for me, I think Christmas will be more like Passover is for the people of Israel: a reminder that God has been faithful in the past, and will be faithful in the future. Just because I can't see it, just because the darkness is so...dark, doesn't mean that the light isn't coming. It doesn't mean that we won't see the dawn of a great light. No matter how uncertain 2020 has been, this is one thing I know to be certain, one thing I know in the depth of my being to be true: God has been faithful, and God will be faithful, and that faithfulness is the thing upon which I rest my hope, thanks be to God.

So we will light the candles of hope, peace, joy, and love. We will sing the songs and continue, for a little while longer, to observe a holy Advent. We will let it remind us of the faithfulness of the God who holds us fast and calls us Beloved. And we will continue to pray from the depths of the darkness, "O come to us, abide with us, our Lord, Emmanuel."

Grace and peace...

PT

3 comments:

  1. Stop stressing and read your blog post for the sermon, lol! On a different note, I'd much rather write the sermon than clean the garage.

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  2. Great blog. May hope, peace and joy feel our hearts this season!

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  3. This is just what I needed to read today!

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