Sermon for the 1st Sunday of Advent: December 1, 2013

Sermon for the 1^st Sunday of Advent

December 1, 2013

Matthew 24:36-44

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith 

Grace and peace to you from God our Father and the Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

“You do not know on what day your Lord is coming.” What a very strange thing to hear when all around us the “holy countdown” has started! Only 24 shopping days to Christmas; 15 school days until vacation; 14 days to the Bethany Christmas Pageant; 7 days to the Swedish Children’s Choir Concert; and approximately…20 minutes until the next showing of “A Christmas Story” and/or “Home Alone” on cable t.v. And in case you might forget, here in our worship space we have reminders of the countdown as well. Today, the first Sunday of Advent, we have one Advent banner, one Advent candle lit behind the altar, just one verse of “Light One Candle” to sing, and the worship space is once again awash in blue, the color of Advent hope.

Yes, the countdown to Christmas has begun! So what does it mean for us today to be hearing this particular Scripture text, in which Jesus warns believers we cannot know on what day our Lord is coming? True, this is spoken in reference to the second coming of Jesus, not his birth—but does this text mean we should give up on counting down anything at all? How are Christians to wait in hope of the Lord’s coming when we’re told we can never know when it will happen? Jesus seems to be telling us to wait, but not to get too excited. To be ready, but not to stop what we’re doing. To keep watch, but to understand we won’t know anything until it happens.

This kind of waiting-but-not-waiting is even more difficult to accept because of the fact that we really enjoy counting down hours, days, weeks, and months! During Advent we love to open little windows on paper Advent calendars and eat the chocolate, even if it does taste like plastic; Elf on the Shelf moves around the house; we work our way through Advent devotionals and mark days off on our work calendars. One of my favorite new options for counting down the days to Christmas (though it’s out of my budget) is the whiskey advent calendar from “Master of Malt.com”: 24 tiny tastes of whiskey from around the world, hidden behind little paper doors just like those bad chocolates we grew up with! Yes, it’s a little naughty…but it’s also a little nice, and besides, I have it on good authority that Santa prefers whiskey to milk with his cookies, anyway.

But we don’t just count down the days to Christmas. We also love to count how many months until the baby’s due date; how many more payments on the student loans; how many days until Christmas or summer vacation; and how many years to retirement. Some of you can also testify to what it’s like to count how many chemo treatments are left, and the joy that’s felt when you’re finally done. Amen?

Counting down the days, marking time, and anticipating some future event is one small thing that makes living this unpredictable, sometimes unexplainable, seemingly random life a bit easier to manage. So why does Jesus insist we cannot know the day nor the hour of his return? Why paint pictures of people going about their daily business in the field or in the mill, and the Lord’s return taking them by utter surprise, when he knows this will freak us out? How is this helpful, Jesus?

One answer lies in the fact that in Jesus’ time, as now, there were those who made it their career and mission to predict the end of all things. Just in our lifetimes, can you even count how many “end of the world” prophecies have come and gone? From the year 44 (before the Gospels were even written) all the way to December 21, 2012, there have always been predictions of Jesus’ return. But in spite of their anxious countdowns and dire warnings, all have passed without incident. Our apocalyptic hope remains just that: hope.

So it is into this context Jesus speaks these words: “But about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.”

Only the Father knows…this a constant reminder to all who seek to discover the holy egg timer that one can never know the mind of God. It is not given to us to know God’s timetable. Whether we’re talking about Jesus’ return and the coming of the kingdom; or the onset of labor, the outcome of a particular cancer treatment, the future of a relationship, or the day and hour of our death, we are like Noah, who knew nothing until the day the rains came and he entered the ark. The one thing we know for sure about Jesus’ coming (and about God’s timing) is that it will be unexpected.

We do not know on what day our Lord is coming. We cannot know what the future holds. But, my friends, this doesn’t mean we stop looking, stop hoping, or simply resign ourselves to apathy and ignorance! Counting down the days, decoding prophecies, making predictions and preparing for disaster is waiting, all right—but it is waiting in fear. Believers, on the other hand, wait in hope. We do not know what tomorrow will bring—but we are watchful and ready. We keep our eyes open for the ways in which Jesus is at the same time here right now, and yet still on his way. And we seek to clear the clutter from our minds so we can stay awake.

Anyone who has ever worked the night shift, sat up with a sick loved one, or chaperoned a youth group lock-in knows some strategies for keeping awake! Amen? But here are a few for us, as Christians who wait in hope for Jesus:

First: Pray. This one may seem obvious! But if we’re honest, we can always use improvement in this area. So during this Advent season, I invite you to come to worship a few minutes early (or stay a few minutes late) and visit the prayer wall at the entrance to the sanctuary. There, you can write your own prayers, as well as read the prayer requests of others. For what do you wait in hope? For what does the world wait? What darkness does Jesus, the light of the world, need to come and banish?

Second: Go about your daily work. Jesus says “Then two will be in the field; one will be taken and one will be left. Two women will be grinding meal together; one will be taken and one will be left.” In other words: The proper thing to be doing when Jesus returns is the work to which you were called. Jesus doesn’t want to see you hunkered down, preparing for disaster, holding your breath for the worst case scenario. Live your life; pursue your dreams; be the person God created you to be.

And third: Get an Advent calendar. In fact, if you could find one, it would be great to have a calendar with chocolates for every day of the year! For I can think of no better way to be ready for Jesus’ coming than to celebrate each and every day we are given. Every morning, open the door of your day to see what God has revealed for you there. Eat that piece of chocolate and enjoy the sweet gift that is life! But rather than worrying about counting down, remember who you can count on.

Sisters and brothers in Christ, just as during Advent we can count on Christmas to arrive right on time, bringing again the joy of Jesus’ birth, so we can always count on God to come through for us again. We may not know the specifics, but we can trust that Jesus always shows up: not just on Christmas morning in the manger, but also every Sunday in the bread and the wine; in the reading of the Word; and in our midst, whenever two or three are gathered. And our faith tells us that one day, in his own time, he will come again in glory, just as was promised.

And so, dear people, during Advent and every day, we Christians wait in hope. All earth is hopeful—the savior comes at last. Thanks be to God! Amen.

DAY OF PENTECOST: May 27, 2012

PREACHER: Pastor Carrie Smith

Acts 2:1-21; Romans 8:22-27; John 15:26-27, 4b-15

Grace and peace to you from God the Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. Amen.

Sisters and brothers, let me be clear: This may be Memorial Day weekend, but Pentecost is not a memorial day for the Holy Spirit. Sometimes, of course, it can be hard to tell the difference.

After all, for Memorial Day we wear special colors: red, white and blue in memory of Americans who fought and died for freedom. And on Pentecost we wear special colors, too: red, or perhaps yellow and orange, in memory of that day when the Spirit rained down like tongues of fire and made the disciples free—free to share the Good News with neighbors and friends and to the ends of the earth.

On Memorial Day, the marching band plays and the drums roll in honor of our soldiers. And on Pentecost, we pull out the drums, too, and invite dancers to church, in honor of the fact that Christians can clap and dance to worship God anytime we want to! (…but we just don’t feel like it most of the time.)

On Memorial Day, every politician is a patriot, and heart-warming words are guaranteed to be spoken from every podium. And on Pentecost, we break out the Spanish and German and Swedish, speaking tongues in the pulpit and from the pews—and for at least one Sunday you would think we truly are the multi-lingual, cross-cultural, racially diverse congregation that was gathered on that first Pentecost morning (…but just don’t ask us to sing that setting of the liturgy that’s in Spanish, Pastor.)

But in spite of our red paraments, our global music and our prayers in foreign tongues, Pentecost can nevertheless seem like a memorial service for the Holy Spirit. Because we pull out all the stops just this once a year, it feels like more of a commemoration than a celebration.

Do you remember when we had the Spirit?

Remember that Global Mission Event where everyone was clapping and singing in Swahili? The Spirit was there for sure.

Remember when we went to camp, and we danced in worship? That was definitely the Spirit.

Remember when we tore down the old sanctuary and built a whole new one? Remember when we started the PADS ministry and opened the preschool? Wow, the Spirit was really moving back then.

Remember when we were young, when we were bold, and when the Holy Spirit seemed so near to us?

Do you remember?

Sisters and brothers, let me say it again: Pentecost is not a memorial day for the Spirit.

Pentecost is a celebration of the living God. It’s a festival day, set aside to honor the Spirit who is still here. God’s Holy Spirit is among us even now: poured out upon you in your baptism, interceding every day with sighs too deep for words, and guiding us into all truth—whether we notice her or not.
This is not a memorial service for the Holy Spirit! But…the colors, the music, and the languages of this day do invoke a dangerous memory: they awaken in us of the truth of God’s presence in and among us. And for this reason, our Pentecost worship traditions do have a purpose. The sights and sounds of this day serve to prime the pump, to open our eyes, to awaken our senses, and to fan the flame of the Spirit so we once again surrender to her fiery presence among us. 

And then, we can sing together in all truth: Come thou fount of every blessing! Tune my heart to sing thy grace!

A few months ago a miracle happened: it was a Saturday night, the sermon was already written, and both of our sons were occupied with sleepovers.  My spouse and I jumped at the chance to go into Chicago for dinner and a show. Because it was a last minute date, we chose to eat at the restaurant just next door to the theater. It happened to be a Middle Eastern restaurant run by Palestinians. Robert, of course, couldn’t wait to compare the food with his favorites from his many travels to the Holy Land, so he asked the waitress if we could speak with the chef.

Now this is usually the moment when I cringe with embarrassment. Robert is always doing things like this: chatting with the taxi driver about that time when he visited his home village in Palestine, or asking the pharmacist about her accent and correctly guessing she was from Senegal, or somehow knowing the exact spot in Cairo from which Christiane Amanpour is reporting on CNN. This was no exception.

But when the chef came out he knelt by the table to chat, and we learned he was from Jerusalem. He was a Muslim but had attended St. George’s, an Episcopal school in Jerusalem. He had many good things to say about Christians in general and Lutherans in particular. And then he said, “My brother is still in Jerusalem. He has a shop there across from the Sbitany Center.”

I sat with my mouth hanging open as Robert said, “Oh, yes—on Salahadin street, on the corner between two flower shops.” The chef was flabbergasted—shocked enough, in fact, to later send out free desserts for the two of us.

Just last month when Robert returned to Jerusalem, he stopped in to that very shop. He wasn’t quite sure what to say, so he simply opened with: “Hi. I was in a restaurant in Chicago and met the chef, who says his brother owns a shop here.”

To which the shop owner replied: “This is MY brother! You have come to the right shop!” He was so amazed that an American Christian would take the time to pass along a message from one Muslim brother to another, across continents, cultures, and creeds, the shopkeeper said: “You must come home with me. You must talk with my mother.”

Divided tongues, as of fire, appeared among them, and a tongue rested on each of them. All of them were filled with the Holy Spirit and began to speak in other languages, as the Spirit gave them ability. (Acts 2:3-4)

Come thou fount of every blessing: Tune my heart to sing thy grace.

When we lived in Waco, Texas, Robert and I were grateful to qualify for the public school’s free preschool program. I eagerly took 4 year old Caleb with me to Doris Miller Elementary to register on that first day—and right away I noted that we looked quite different from the rest of the student body. In fact, Caleb was not only the sole white child in the class, but in the entire school. We were encountering the reality of a divided city—whites on one side of town, blacks on the other; money on one side of town and none on the other—and we, it seemed, were living on the “wrong side of town.”

We decided not address this with 4 year old Caleb, because, after all, being the “token” is a reality for children of color nearly every day—but we wondered when (or if) the color divide would become an issue for him at school.

And then, one day, about four months into school, it happened.

Caleb came in from school and excitedly said “MOM! Guess what! I just noticed something about my friends today.” “What’s that?” I asked a little nervously.

“Mom, we were counting things today and you know what? I’m the only kid with blue eyes in our whole class!”

‘In the last days it will be, God declares, that I will pour out my Spirit upon all flesh, and your sons and your daughters shall prophesy, and your young men shall see visions, and your old men shall dream dreams. Even upon my slaves, both men and women, in those days I will pour out my Spirit; and they shall prophesy. (Acts 2:17)

Come thou fount of every blessing: Tune my heart to sing thy grace.

In 2003, my father-in-law died at the age of 52. He had been chronically ill for a long time, but his death was rather sudden. Robert and I were living in Minnesota, finishing up graduate school, and cash was more than tight.

But as soon as we got the call, we rushed to Oklahoma on gas cards and coupons and with the kind help of a state trooper who rescued us when a tire blew on the turnpike somewhere near Wichita. In times like these, you do what needs to be done, and that’s what we did.

It was a trying, emotional week, but the drive home was filled with just as much anxiety. We had emptied our bank account, and Robert, who was paid hourly, had missed an entire week of work, which meant another lean week to come. I wondered how we would even buy groceries when we got home. But I didn’t say much about it. After saying good-bye to Ed at such a young age, my stress about groceries and the budget seemed, well—inconsequential. I didn’t mention it to Robert. I probably didn’t even pray. I was determined to work it out on my own.

But when we arrived home and I was standing in the kitchen of our student apartment, reading through the stack of mail from the week before, I came across a letter from a good friend from high school. I realized I hadn’t called her to tell her about Robert’s dad, and made a mental note to call the next day.

But as I opened the envelope, something green fell out. $50, to be exact. It wasn’t the Mega-Millions jackpot, but it was enough to purchase food for the week. A windfall in our budget.
My friend had written this:

“I was about to go shopping today, but God told me you needed this money more than I did. I have no idea why I’m sending this to you, but I figured you would know. Love, Karla.”

Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we ought, but that very Spirit intercedes with sighs too deep for words. (Romans 8:26)

Come thou fount of every blessing: Tune my heart to sing thy grace.

Sisters and brothers, I stand here as a witness, testifying to the presence of God’s Holy Spirit among us today. God is still speaking. The grace of our Lord Jesus is with us. And the Holy Spirit—our Comforter, Advocate, Sustainer, and Intercessor—will guide us into all truth. And all God’s people said: Amen!