Pastor Cogan

Advent Preparations

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Mark 1:1-8

The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.

As it is written in the prophet Isaiah,

‘See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you,

who will prepare your way;

the voice of one crying out in the wilderness:

“Prepare the way of the Lord,

make his paths straight” .

John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. And people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him, and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. Now John was clothed with camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey. He proclaimed, ‘The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. I have baptized you with* water; but he will baptize you with* the Holy Spirit.’


I like to be prepared. In the fourth grade, a friend had a birthday party at table tennis hall. So to prepare, I bought my own paddle, practiced at home as much as I could, and showed up to that party ready to take names (which in fact I did). If guests are coming over, the baseboards of my house have to be clean. I will spend a good hour on my knees wiping to make sure the dog hair and baby puff crumbs are gone. In college, I would stay up for hours studying for the smallest quiz. I think its something I’ve inherited from my mom (thanks mother), but it’s also my own way of making me feel like I am in control, like everything will be okay, like I can determine how things are going to turn out.

Preparation is obviously helpful and necessary; But, what I think lurks behind our preparation, or practice, or training of any kind, is this notion or feeling that I can depend wholly on myself, because I’m prepared. I don’t need anyone or anything else. I control how things will go for me. And when we think or act that way, what we’ve done without even recognizing it often is make ourselves into an idol, trusting myself and my preparation more than anything else, like it can save me, whatever comes my way. I become my own god; a savior of my own doing.

As Martin Luther puts it, “Anything on which your heart relies and depends, I say, that is really your God”.

But it doesn’t take many trips around the sun to learn that no matter how much one has prepared in life, things do always go as one hopes. There are times when we still mess up; when we do get it right; times when no matter how hard we try, we can’t control what happens.

No matter how many books you read or podcasts you listen to, I’ve learned quickly as a parent that you make many mistakes just in the course of a day: like getting angry when your son swings his foot wildly during a diaper change, getting poop all over the changing table.

Or we read a book, a devotional, a piece of Scripture instructing us, preparing us to love our neighbors, yet from behind the safety and distance of a screen we say nasty, hurtful things about those libs or the right wingers or those trans people.

And no amount of preparation would have readied the nearly two million people in Gaza who are now displaced with virtually no place to turn that isn't already bombed out or could be.

We talk and hear a lot about how Advent is a season of preparation. We count down with calendars, put up trees, and decorate our homes. But it seems John the Baptist called for a different kind of preparation.

The Gospel of Mark begins with this strange man, wearing even stranger clothes, shouting in the wilderness: “prepare the way of the Lord; make his paths straight”. I wonder if when the people heard this, they were caught off guard. Perhaps they thought, “we weren’t ready for this; we haven’t prepared for the Messiah to come now. How does one even prepare for the Messiah?”

John the Baptist gave them a way, telling people “here’s how you prepare: confess your sins, receive forgiveness, and repent of your ways”. John offered the people a baptism of repentance;

a chance to admit their shortcomings, be made clean in the Jordan river, and walk away changed. And people came in droves; people from the cities, from the countryside, from all over to confess, be forgiven and repent. And you know who came to John in the wilderness to be baptized? It wasn’t the ones who felt in control and thought everything was fine. Not the ones who were self-determinate and well prepared.

It was the ones who messed up, who had made mistakes and failed. It was the ones who tried to be their own god, failed, and realized their need for a savior. And doing all of this in the wilderness was no accident. Afterall, it was in the wilderness where the Israelites were instructed not to prepare for the next day, but gather only enough manna to eat that very day, making them see their need and trust that God will provide and not themselves.

Advent preparation for us then is also confession, forgiveness, and repentance. It’s confessing that we too aren’t prepared for God to come among us and do what God has planned.

It’s recognizing that the world around us is a mess and so am I. And that no matter how hard we may try to get things in order, to make the paths straight, and to fix the brokenness both in and around us, we simply can’t. Our preparation or training will always fall short. There will always be problems we can’t solve, situations we can’t control, and yet we will still try to depend on ourselves and no one else.

In response, John the Baptist says repent; give up all that you're holding onto: the fear of failure, the need to be perfect, the idea that you can rely solely on yourself and no one else. I hope you hear this invitation of repentance as good news. Because repenting isn’t about remorse or guilt, but about being freed from all that weight and expectation you put on yourself.

Once we’ve done that, we can see the gift that God gives us, namely a Messiah, for what and who he really is. We’re given a savior so that we don’t have to be our own, because we can’t be.

A savior who takes away all that sin and expectation and through the Holy Spirit, gives us faith to trust in God alone. Instead of trusting in ourselves, in our preparation (or our money or privilege or anything else) in giving us Jesus,

it’s as if God says to us, “Whatever good thing you lack, look to Jesus for it and seek it from him, and whenever things don’t go as you hoped, crawl and cling to me. I, myself, will give you what you need and help you… Only do not let your heart cling to or rest in anyone else, including yourself”.

Above all, Advent preparation is acknowledging that we need a savior; we need God here and now, at work in us and in the world. I’m not saying we shouldn’t put out the nativity and decorate the tree. Those are meaningful traditions no doubt. But preparing for Christmas, for Christ’s coming, is first and foremost acknowledging the need for his coming. Afterall, what good is Christmas if we don’t see the need for a savior?

A friend in seminary said to me, “things must not be too bad here if God came down to live” to which I said, “or things were just so absolutely terrible that God had no other choice. God had to come”. Yet, to this I would add that God also desired to dwell among us, to be Emmanuel, God with us. In abounding love, God came because despite our preparation and our attempts to be our own god, things didn’t go the way we hoped… for ourselves, for others, for the world around us.

But thats the good news in all of this. That the Messiah has come, is coming again, and that the Messiah isn’t you. You can’t save yourself nor the world, no matter how well you think you’ve prepared or how hard you try. Only God can do that and will do that, in God’s own timing.

Until then, we prepare for Jesus' advent by confessing our sins, receiving forgiveness, and giving up our idolatry; because, ready or not, here he comes. Amen.

Comfort for the Mourning

Matthew 5: 1-12

When Jesus saw the crowds, he went up the mountain; and after he sat down, his disciples came to him. Then he began to speak, and taught them, saying:

“Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. “Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. “Blessed are the meek, for they will inherit the earth. “Blessed are those who hunger and thirst for righteousness, for they will be filled. “Blessed are the merciful, for they will receive mercy. “Blessed are the pure in heart, for they will see God. “Blessed are the peacemakers, for they will be called children of God. “Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness’ sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven. “Blessed are you when people revile you and persecute you and utter all kinds of evil against you falsely on my account. Rejoice and be glad, for your reward is great in heaven, for in the same way they persecuted the prophets who were before you.


Say the name, toll the bell, light the candle. It may seem like a strange tradition, at least from the outside. But the church has been celebrating this day, in some way or another, for over 1700 years. Meta Herrick Carlson writes movingly about this day in her book Speak it Plain and I share her words, call it a prayer or poem, with you this morning.

She writes,

“I listen for it tolling from steeples in the sky. The bells stir the air between here and heartache. For a moment, the mystery satisfies, and we are all together.

I hang onto memories and promises with my fingernails just barely - not because I am certain, but because it is all that’s left. Because if I let go, I will fall and break apart.

Perhaps, someone will speak of my Beloved today and then I will not be so alone. Hearing the name aloud makes it real, shares the weight like a new song I think I’ve always known.

There are candles to light, the quiet resistance of remembering.”

It is comforting to hear something so accurately describe what or how you feel. Carlson does that for me with her description of mourning: it’s sad like heartache, it's a heaviness that weighs on you until tears or tiredness take over; its the griping of memory for dear life, its a loneliness we can’t quite shake.

Yet Jesus says blessed are those who mourn. That’s the thing about a beatitude… it's contrary to what we think its going to say or should say. Blessed are those who mourn is not what we expected.

Mourning doesn’t feel like a blessing. You don’t need me to tell you that. You have lost a loved one before, maybe it was this year or the last or 20 years ago; regardless of when, the mourning is still there. We all mourn but we might not all mourn the same. Maybe you’ve been on the receiving end, hopefully not here, of someone saying “its been x number of years, don’t you think its time for closure?” But that's not really how it works is it? The feeling of loss may not ever leave.

Today though is about the promise of comfort Jesus talks of. Today is a day set aside to speak about your beloved, to remember them, and by doing so, receive a little bit of comfort in the midst of mourning. Remembering may seem insignificant, a way of living in the past and not present in the hear and now.

Frederick Buechner says there are two kinds of remembering. “One way is to make an excursion from the living present back into the dead past.” Like a longing to live in the days already gone.“The other way is to summon the dead past back into the living present. The young widow remembers her husband, and he is there beside her.”

That’s the kind of remembering Jesus had in mind when seated at the last supper, he said to his disciples and to all of us, do this in remembrance of me. In our remembrance of that night, of that meal, Jesus and all the company of heaven, all those we have lost, including your beloved, are right beside you at this meal.

That’s the kind of remembering we are doing today when we say their names, ring the bell, and light the candles. So often we don’t ask about someone else’s beloved, the people or person they’ve lost because we think it’ll make them upset, that it will draw back unwanted memories, that it's salt in a still healing wound. But here, in this community, on this day, to speak the name is not salt but a soothing salve. Because when you say to someone, tell me about your beloved, and a story is shared, we who mourn are less alone. When you say, I remember when they did that or when they said this, you help the weight of grief be shared with another set of shoulders.

“Perhaps, someone will speak of my Beloved today and then I will not be so alone.”

That’s one of the reasons I find funerals so moving. This may sound morbid, but I don’t intend for it to. Some of the most formative, insightful, grace-filled moments in my first year here at Cross of Grace have been the funerals and memorials. I never met Jim Smith, or Chuck Hershberger or Janis Janelsons. And I met with Bev Bancroft and Mike McCoy too few times. I did not have the pleasure to know them as many of you did. Yet, leading up to and at their funerals, I heard many stories and memories, about when they were a child or a young adult, about what led them here and what they did for work, what and who they were proud of.

It gave me a fuller picture of not only that person, but of those who loved them and a deeper understanding of this community. On those days we are unafraid to speak their names and share their stories. And those gathered were comforted.

That's the promise; blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted. Of all the beatitudes, this is one where you can make that promise happen, here and now.

You can help give someone else that comfort, if even for a moment, simply by speaking of their beloved.

So today ask someone else about their beloved. Invite someone to share that memory they are holding onto with just their fingertips, and share the weight of mourning. Even better, make this a practice throughout the holiday season. It may seem early to talk about the holidays, but don’t act like some of you don’t already have your Christmas decorations out. You know who you are (we do too).

In this season the weight and loneliness can feel acute and overbearing, but you can be the promised comfort Jesus speaks of to someone else. In doing so you too will get a fuller picture not only of that person, but of those who loved them. And if that sounds like you receive a lot of joy in being that comfort for someone else, consider being a Stephen minister. If you need that comfort, consider getting a Stephen Minister, thats what they do!

And while that comfort may only be temporary, today is also about holding on to the promise that one day, we will receive the full comfort of being reunited with all our beloved ones, forevermore. As Meta wrote, our quiet resistance to death is remembering. But Jesus’ quiet resistance was his work on the cross, where, as the spiritual reminds us, he never said a mumblin word. And it’s through his work that we are forgiven and the promise to be with God and loved one’s is made ours.

Receive that promise as a gift this morning. That your beloved is a saint, not because they lived a nearly perfect life, but because as Luther liked to say they are a forgiven sinner. In our tradition that’s what makes a saint, and we can trust that all saints now rest with God and one day so will you. That too is the promise of comfort Christ makes to us in this beatitude.

Today is not simply saying the name, tolling the bells and lighting the candles. It’s much more than that. It’s holding on to our memories, to our beloved, and to Christ’s promise with all we have, if even by the tips of our fingers. It is the practice of quiet resistance to death and all that separates us from God and one another.

So I invite you to practice the quiet resistance of remembering. Who is your beloved? As we sing our hymn of the day, come light a candle for them, remember them, and be comforted by the promise that you, dear saint, will be with them once again.

Thanks be to God. Amen.