Has anybody told you that this is the first Sunday of Advent? Advent is all about watching and waiting.
The gospel reading, Matthew 24:36-44, this morning dealt with that topic almost exclusively. I don’t know about you, but I don’t like waiting and watching for whatever I’m waiting for. Makes the waiting even worse. I can still hear my grandmother from the kitchen while I was making dinner, “A watched pot never boils.” But what Jesus is saying in this passage runs in contrast to my perception of waiting. It isn’t watching a pot until it boils, or that will never boil. It isn’t twiddling my thumbs while I wait for my child to get ready for Sunday morning church. No, no, no, no. This waiting and watching is active.
If there’s one thing I’ve learned in seminary about reading the Bible, it is to put scripture into its proper context. That can mean learning the historical context or using literary criticism to study the structure or rhetorical devices at play. It can mean checking out what surrounds a particular passage to track down the bigger picture of what the writer’s trying to communicate. In the case of this morning’s scripture, the sections before this passage seemed to follow along the theme of being ready, and the ones that follow, particularly in Matthew 25, seem to deal with what is done with the waiting time. This says something about verses 36 through 44 that might not be obvious when the passage is read in isolation. I think that it says that this passage is about being ready and being active while we’re waiting.
Dr. O Wesley Allen, Jr., of the working preacher, shares this view. He says, “Living faithfully in the already not yet of Christian discipleship does not mean that we can just rest in God’s grace. It means that God gives us all the more responsibility for doing God’s will on Earth as it is done in heaven.” And he says that this is a gift from God. We don’t have to be bored while we’re waiting.
Alan goes on to say, “Having already been transformed by the Christ event, the church is invited to participate in the transformation of the world, yet still in process. There are places where justice and equality have not yet been found. Places where hunger and thirst have not yet been alleviated. Places where school children die in senseless acts of violence. Places where the planet is not yet being treated with respect. These are the kinds of things that we are called to work on while we wait. This is what we do with our talents, how we steward the gifts that God has given us. And if we’re engaged in the work, chances are we won’t be caught sleeping.”
This Sunday, we lit a candle for hope. This year it seems more important than some others that we spend some time thinking about and looking at hope.
I’m not sure who said it, and I couldn’t track down the source of the quote, but it strikes me as true that it is often in the dark that the light shines its brightest.
Two weeks ago, I had the honor of preaching for a chapel service at the seminary. I was asked to share that particular week because Thursday, the 20th, was Transgender Day of Remembrance. I asked Pastor Kathryn if I could share with you a little from that sermon. A few weeks ago, I was confronted with a situation in which someone connected to Apostles had learned something about me that upset them and made them uncomfortable. They shared this with Pastor Kathryn, and she shared it with me, along with many other feelings that I had. When I learned of this, I was most concerned that this situation would negatively impact the congregation’s vote to become open and affirming.
I know this congregation has been working on this for quite some time, and I did not want to be the cause of its rejection. The world is a scary place right now for a lot of people. For some of us, I think it feels maybe a bit like what it felt like to be a Christian in the early days of the church. We are seen as a threat to the establishment. Our very existence is a rejection of everything the old guard has fought tooth and nail to maintain. We see on the news almost every day the disappearance of those who dare to dream of a better world and future for themselves and their families. We have watched as history has been scrubbed from sidewalks and libraries, though it seems new to some of us, as it is the first time we are seeing this with our own eyes.
To many of us, it is just more of the same. The LGBTQIA+ community has lived with violence and censorship for as long as anyone can remember. Every year on November 20th, we gather to remember specifically transgender lives who have been lost over the past few years. I have been involved in planning and leading such remembrance services. Last year, as part of an outdoor service, we lit candles and read the names of people who had lost their lives since the previous year. It was cold and windy, and the candles were having a lot of trouble staying lit without prompting. People began relighting candles from one another and moving close to closer to each other, to close the circle and block the wind. It was a beautiful demonstration of the power of community, and it gave many of us hope. Not only did the candles stay lit, but the light grew larger, and the bodies huddled close together provided warmth to all who were present.
I wanna share part of a song with you that I wrote about that experience, um, and that I shared recently in chapel.
“Live in harmony. Money is with both the rich and the poor. Don’t despise the outcast, or so journey be humble, meek, and gentle folk seek justice in an unjust world. It is good for whom? Mourn and those who have gone ahead. We must gather around the weaker ones and take up the banners of our dead. So gather around the flames and protect them. Though they may be small. And gently rise and softly call goodnight and hope be with you all. As the night grows dark and the winds blow wild, we cannot despair. Vulner one is free until all are free until justice rolls like a mighty way and sin. It fell into my mind that I should rise, and you should not. I’ll gently rise and softly call goodnight and hope be with you all. So gather around the flicking flames and protect them, though they may be small. And gently rise and softly call goodnight and hope be with you all. And gently rise and softly call goodnight and hope be with you.”
Two weeks ago, here in this church, you all lit a candle.
You declared your commitment to be an inclusive refuge, just like your mission statement says. Instead of watching for the pot to see if it would boil, you turned up the heat and got to work. Still watching. Still waiting, but actively joining in God’s work rather than twiddling your thumbs.
God is here. God is at work. God is still speaking in the already not yet. Are you listening? Are you watching? And will you join God in the work of waiting?
May it be so. Amen.
Sermon by Seminary Intern, Deklan Lewis
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