Transcript
She will bear a son, and you are to name him Jesus. Please be seated.
If Advent is all about waiting, anticipation, knowing something is coming and expectantly preparing for it to happen, then I have to ask, what exactly are we waiting for? I’m sure we can say the baby, the sweet little newborn baby that’s who is named Jesus, who will save his people from their sins, who will scatter the proud in their conceit, and cast down the mighty from their thrones, who will heal the sick and give blind sight, who will cast out demons and walk on water, who will hang on a cross, and die, and then 3 days later rise again. Or we could say we are waiting for our families, the chaos of too many people gathered around one dinner table, of kids running through the house screaming filled with the sugar of endless cookies and candies, of dogs sneaking treats from people’s plates, which we’ll have to clean up later, or cats causing havoc on the never sits too close to the edge of a counter. Or maybe, at least some of us are waiting for that jolly old man, dressed all in fur from his head to his foot, and his clothes all tarnished with ashes and soot, and of course a little round belly that will shake when he laughs like a bowl full of jelly.
And all of these are wonderful things to look forward to, wonderful things to wait for, wonderful things to prepare for. But beyond that special day, which is literally 3 days away, y’all, and that season, which yes, in the church lasts 12 days, what exactly are we waiting for? What does all of this mean for us?
For those of us who perhaps have our own heartache this time of year, our own loneliness, our own demons that hide in the darkness. Yes, we can celebrate a light that shines in the darkness, and the darkness that will not overcome it, but how do we see the light when we are waiting for the results from that one medical test that we know aren’t good. How do we see the light when we are waiting to know if the meeting with our boss is a promotion or a pink slip? How do we see the light when the dinner table will be only set for one? When the kids have all grown up and grown out of that jolly old man, when loved ones have moved on to the next phase of eternal life, and the reality of life can be so very draining.
Perhaps though, that’s part of the very magic of our waiting. Not because life isn’t full of pain and heartache, brokenness and loneliness and grief, but because it is. Because we, each of us, have our own darknesses, our own experiences of those things we might be forced to wait for, for which we have no desire to have, or to know, or to experience.
I love Advent and Christmas. Advent is one of my favorite seasons. Yes, that makes me a church nerd. They are wonderful seasons of joy and anticipation, bright twinkling lights and red bows and shiny bells, friends and family gathered together. I’m pretty sure I’ve had more social engagements in the month of December than the whole rest of the year combined. And I do love my social engagements.
And yet, even in all of the joy, Advent and Christmas always seem to have that one small twist or twang of something else. Something blue, like that song by Elvis Presley. Perhaps it’s because we know how the story ends. That sweet little baby Jesus will one day have to hang on a cross. He cannot always be wrapped in swaddling clothes and laid in a manger.
We know that family will have to go back home, and friends will return to their own busy lives. Decorations will come down, get packed up, and placed in storage until next year. Bills will still have to be paid, and chores will still have to be done. Doctors’ appointments will still have to happen. Hard decisions will still have to be made. Life will go on as before.
We know that the joy of Christmas, the anticipation of Advent, it doesn’t fix the blue, the darkness, the brokenness of the world. And yet, perhaps that is the point of this time of year. That is the point of Advent and Christmas.
Not to gloss over the realities of life, wrap the pain up in fancy paper and bows and pretend like it’s not there, or hide the brokenness under the tree, or behind the manger, pretend like the world is as perfect as we would want it to be as we anticipate the arrival of God made man who will save us from our sins and bring us to everlasting life. Instead, Christmas, the incarnation, God made man, it’s the fact that Jesus wasn’t born because the world was perfect. Jesus was born despite the world’s imperfection.
It’s okay to feel the pain and brokenness and grief and sorrow of life during this time when everyone seems to think we should only be feeling the joy and hope. After all, I can almost guarantee Mary felt the pain and brokenness and grief and sorrow of life as I preached about last week. And according to today’s gospel reading, Joseph also felt the pain and brokenness and grief and sorrow of life.
Joseph is told to wait, to do what is right, to know the world is broken and still obey the Lord. And Joseph doesn’t get the glamour and glow that Mary got with her Theotokos, God-bearing significance. Joseph doesn’t get the small glimpses of life growing and the world changing and time progressing towards a savior who is the son of the most high, who is wonderful counselor and mighty God, everlasting father, prince of peace. Joseph, like us, just had to wait and take God’s word that the world will change because Jesus is coming.
Joseph may not have fully understood what was happening, the significance of what he was witnessing, and the things he was doing, obeying the commands given to him by the Lord, but he still did them, even within his own pain and brokenness and grief and sorrow. Even within his own stress and anxiety and loneliness and fear, even within his own reality of a life that will never be what he thought it was supposed to be. May we be like Mary, who celebrated the indwelling of God by proclaiming with loud shouts the promises God made to her of a God made man who will overturn our very understanding of the world and life. And may we be like Joseph, who even in his fear and sadness and brokenness and probably anger, still knows in his heart that the world is about to change, even if he doesn’t fully understand it in his head.
The waiting is almost over. Christmas is almost here. And while life will still go back to normal, I pray that each of us feel even a little bit of something changing, a little bit of that light which will shine in the darkness and always overcome. And when life does go, quote, back to normal, I pray we hold on to that little bit of spark for the many days and weeks and months and years to come.
Just wait and see. Jesus is coming.
Amen. Amen.