Isaiah 2:1-5

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!

Today marks the beginning of Advent – the time of expectation, anticipation, preparation and longing for Christ (both his birth and his second-coming).

The world in which we live is in a time of anticipation. It is incomplete. A world in which 1 billion people live on less than $1 a day, where religion is used to justify violence, where every day 1,500 children worldwide (the vast majority of them newborns) become infected with HIV, where soldiers return to their countries in coffins – this world is not complete.

If we believe in a God whose creation is good; a God whose goal for the world is to usher in a new kingdom of peace – A kingdom where the lion lies next to the lamb, where weapons of death are remolded into instruments which will bring forth food from the earth. Then we are right to expect something more; to wonders aloud “there has got to be more to life than this.”

Today’s scripture reading from Isaiah speaks about anticipation. Isaiah is given a prophecy concerning Jerusalem. At this time in history Jerusalem was not the formidable city on a hill with secure walls, attracting pilgrims from all over the world. Instead, Jerusalem and Mount Zion (which was a mere hill on the outskirts of Jerusalem) were physically unimpressive; the very symbol of international insignificance. Yet, God designates this insignificant place to be “established as the highest of the mountains” and to become the epicenter of God’s instruction which would bring about peace on earth.

The power of Isaiah’s prophecy is that he reveals God to be “for us.” God is on our side. God is committed to bringing peace. God is willing and able to use seemingly insignificant and unimpressive things to correct the course of the world. Nothing embodies this message more than the incarnation – God coming to earth in the form of a fully-human infant, born in a barn in an insignificant town, living a life of service to others, and ultimately giving his life on our behalf and at our hands.

It is true that this is a time of anticipation. But it is also a time or participation. We must allow our lives to be shaped by God’s teaching. What exactly does a life shaped by God’s teaching look like? Well, we just read how the apostle Paul would answer that question. He gives us a list of don’ts: don’t get drunk, don’t be sexually immoral, don’t argue, don’t be jealous, etc.

On one level Paul’s words are hard to argue with. I mean, can anyone dispute that the world would be a better place if we all stopped sinning? No. But what are we to make of the fact that we just can’t stop sinning? After all, you can tell me hundreds of times not to do something but I can’t promise you that I won’t end up doing it. What is important to understand about Paul is that he is not saying that we have to rely on ourselves to find the power and energy to faithfully live out God’s commands every minute of our lives. We can only love God when we realize that God loves us – that God loved us while we were still sinners gives us the freedom to love God through our thoughts, words and actions

Let’s look back at Isaiah 2:5:
“Come, house of Jacob, let us walk in the light of the lord”

To walk in the light is not a command, it’s a promise. Throughout the Old Testament, “light” refers to God’s provision and deliverance. God promised to provide something which would allow us to live in the peace of a world ordered around God’s word. And this is what we wait for in Advent.

God’s promise of deliverance occurs in two stages. The first occurred when God became incarnate 2000 years ago in the person of Jesus. He brought the kingdom of God to earth through his teaching, miracles, reaction against earthly power structures, and his victory over death through his death and resurrection. In this sense, the kingdom is described as being an “already.” It is already here.

Jesus also spoke about coming again, to finalize the kingdom of God on earth. In this sense the kingdom is a “not yet.” We are still waiting for the day when the lion and lamb will lay together in peace, where there will be no poverty, no death, no sorrow, where the insignificant things of this world will become the very instruments of God’s peace. In Advent we remember the anticipation of Christ’s first coming, as well as his promised return. This is not a passive anticipation, but an active participation. We are actively participating in the kingdom of God which is already here but not yet complete.

Once while I worked as a hospital chaplain, I visited a patient on the intensive care unit. Her chart indicated that she was in a “persistent vegetative state.” I entered the room, walked around her bed to sit down by her side and I noticed that her eyes were following me. I introduced myself and she grunted in response. I asked her if she would like me to pray with her and again she grunted. I folded my hands, bowed my head, and prayed. I prayed that she would not be in pain. I prayed for protection, for peace as she continued on her journey toward death. I prayed even when the words left me and I had no idea what to pray for any longer.

When I said “amen” she began to move. She picked up her right arm and reached out for my hand. When our hands clasped together she spoke, “your hands are so cold!” As I was holding her hand I was amazed at the level of consciousness this woman was displaying. It was here where I realized exactly what it is like to live in an “in-between time” an “already but not yet.” She was a person who people had given up on. A person terrorized by a great injustice of life – a person who was dying, a person who by all accounts had nothing to be thankful for. She was utterly powerless and insignificant. Yet, in the midst of prayer, this woman reached out. She reached out for a hand to hold, to comfort her. Though it was a cold hand that embraced hers, I would like to think it was comforting nonetheless.

We are all trapped inside bodies which cannot fully respond to God’s grace and love – bodies which will ultimately fail us. Yet, we do have the ability to reach out to God. No matter how insignificant the world tells us we are, God has promised to take our hand and hold it. This is the same God who has promised to ultimately recreate the world into a place of peace. As we live in this “in-between time” and anticipate Christ’s birth and return, we are encouraged to use the freedom from sins which Christ has earned for us and faithfully obey God’s command by serving our neighbors and participating in the peace which has already begun on earth.

Amen.

John 1:1-5, 14, 16-18

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God. all things came into being through him, and without him, not one thing came into being. What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.

And the Word became flesh and lived among us, and we have seen his glory, the glory as of a father's only son, full of grace and truth. From his fullness we have all received, grace upon grace. The law indeed was given through Moses; grace and truth came through Jesus Christ. No one has ever seen God. It is God, the only Son, who is close to the Father's heart, who has made him known.

I came across a poem by Shel Silverstein some time ago, and put it in the hopper as something that might be good to remember, or to use, or at least just to read again for my own edification and inspiration. It’s a poem called “Masks,” that takes on a whole different meaning for me than I originally thought it might, when I considered it again in the dim days of Advent and with the idea of Blue Christmas swimming around in my mind. Of course, Shel Silverstein, the author of The Giving Tree, Where the Sidewalk Ends, and A Light in the Attic writes poems and stories that are always better if you can see the drawings that go along with them. So… “Masks” is short and sweet, and looks like this:

At first blush, it’s enough if this poem is about being yourself in every way that God might have created you to be. Imagine all the ways we hide our true selves from one another and the world. We wear masks that change the color or style of our hair. We put on masks that cover up all variety of physical features we’d like to keep hidden. We use masks to cover up our insecurities and our dreams, even, if we think – or if someone has told us – that we shouldn’t feel that way or dream that big, or whatever. We use masks, sometimes to pretend we’re okay when we’re not and masks and some use masks to pretend they’re not okay when they’re really just fine. We use masks too much of the time to blend in, then, and to not stand out, to not be seen, in ways maybe we should be.

And Shel Silverstein reminds us that if we’re hiding something about ourselves that matters, and if we’re waiting for someone else who looks or acts or believes the way we do, there’s a very good chance that someone else is in hiding, just the same, and that we’ll never meet or know about each other if we keep ourselves “hid,” as the poem goes. And wouldn’t that be a shame?

But the poem got my attention in a different way this time around – again with Advent and Blue Christmas on the brain – because what the boy and girl were hiding behind their masks just happened to be “blue.” Again, “blue” as something to hide, could just as easily mean “afraid” or “addicted” or “recently diagnosed” or “gay” or “abused” or “bankrupt” or “stressed beyond our limit” or any host of things we’d just as soon keep hidden behind a mask from the rest of the world.

And maybe that’s why Shel Silverstein picked “blue” instead of “red” or “orange” or “purple” for his poem. Maybe he chose “blue” because whatever it is we hide isn’t good for us. I think this “blue” that we keep hidden behind a mask – whether it’s the thing itself or the sadness, despair, and loneliness that comes from living our lives in hiding – is what God means to uncover for us at every turn, and especially at Christmas. And it’s the kind of “blue” I mean for this worship service – this “color of Christmas” – to be about.

I can’t tell you how often I’ve been told by any number of people that they didn’t come to a particular event, or they weren’t in church one particular Sunday, or they couldn’t sit through the rest of a worship service, even, because they were just too sad, or struggling with too much, or knew they wouldn’t be able to sing, or serve, or stick around for small talk, pretending that everything was okay in their world. In other words, they just didn’t have the energy for the mask. (Notice how big and cumbersome Shel Silverstein paints the masks to be.)

And I understand, believe me. Between you and me, there are plenty of days when I’m only here because it’s my job to be here. I’m as good with a mask as any of you. But I also believe it’s on those days, at those moments, during those times in our lives when we’d rather bury ourselves under the covers or stay at home, safe and secure and secluded… when we’d rather keep our friends and our family, the world, and our God, even, at a distance…those are the times when God might just be inviting us to let ourselves be seen.

And I understand that “for everything there is a time and a season under heaven,” but in those moments when we’re hiding behind – or hiding from – whatever it is we’d rather keep to ourselves, we might just be better off making our confession; or singing a song; or hearing a good word; or praying a prayer, or whatever. When we stay hidden behind our masks or locked up and locked away in our grief or our fear or our struggle or whatever it may be, we are denying the reality – and missing the chance to see – that so many others are very often right there with us, struggling or suffering or scared, just like we are.

And that doesn’t always make things better, but the truth of that removes the illusion that any one of us can expect to be happy and content and without struggle and sadness at every moment.

Which is one of the greatest gifts of God, in Jesus, at Christmas, in the end. By choosing to show up, in the flesh, God takes off God’s own mask, and invites us to remove ours, too. Not only are we free to be just who and how God created us to be, but we are free and encouraged to feel just exactly who and how we are feeling – faithful and afraid; loved and lonely; hopeful, but grieving.

God shows up, in Jesus, to live this life we live with all of its struggle. God shows up, in Jesus, to teach us that light comes in the morning; that forgiveness is offered for sins; that what is lost can be found; that life follows death, even. God shows up, in Jesus, so that we can stop pretending we’re alone in this; so that we can stop searching for what seems elusive; so we can see in each other the face of this Christ: the common ground of our humanity, the forgiveness of sins, the light in our darkness, the life everlasting.

God shows up in Jesus, not to end all of our suffering and struggle, but to unmask it, to uncover it, to expose it to the light of God’s grace in one another, and to help us to bear it and to forgive it and to hope in spite of it, that it will all be redeemed by God’s grace, in the end.

Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.

"Already...but Not Yet" – Isaiah 2:1-5

Blue Christmas - "Unmasked by Grace" – John 1