Raise Your Heads!
Psalm 25:1-10
Luke 21:25-36
For the most part, our world does not deal very well with mystery. We want answers, explanations, solutions. We have little tolerance for the hidden and the unknown, that which is beyond our grasp. Maybe that is why Advent is not a holiday that is observed at the mall. The only mystery there is how the plastic that was so easy to handle in December turns into bills that are so hard to handle in January.
But here in church, we encounter true mystery: how to wait for one who has already come, is present even now, and will come again. The texts for the first Sunday of Advent confront this mystery through the use of metaphors and parables. The psalmist speaks of life as a path, of living as walking a certain way. In the psalmist’s metaphor, God is the one who created the path; God is the one to lead the way. Jesus also uses metaphor in the form of a parable. He tells of a fig tree to help his friends pay attention to signs of the nearness of God.
I follow these ancient practices this morning and begin by telling you a parable, a kind of metaphor of mystery. My parable is a story that was first told by a man named David Griebner in the journal Weavings. Some of you will be familiar with it.
Once upon a time there was a man who lived in the middle of a desert. Yet, that was not quite true. It would be better to say that he was a prisoner of the desert. You see, somehow and sometime in the past, our friend had acquired the habit of following his shadow, and only his shadow. Every morning when the sun came up, he began walking in the direction his shadow pointed. All day, he followed the subtle bending of his shadow. By evening, he had traced a rough oval and was nearly back to where he had started. While his course varied a little with the seasons of the year and the speed he walked, it wasn’t much, and it was never enough to allow him to leave the desert.
This had been going on for as long as he could remember. It was familiar and comfortable, the only way he knew. Yet he also had to admit that it often left him feeling trapped and alone. Sometimes he wondered what it would be like to face the sun instead of always turning his back to it and walking the other way. And he longed to see if there might not be something more to the world than the desert, but he never seemed to have enough resolve to do anything different.
Then one morning, while it was still dark, as he was preparing to set out
once again, something came and spoke to him. It was a voice. At least, it was
more like a voice than anything else. It said, “Just stop it.” That’s all,
“just stop it.”
Just stop it? He didn’t know how he knew, but he knew without a doubt that what was meant by this was following his shadow. Just stop it. Could it be that simple? What a lovely thought. Yet it was a frightening thought as well. Certainly there was joy and hope in what the voice suggested, but there was also fear and dread because following his shadow was the only way he knew to get around – such as it was! . . .
But then, just a moment before dawn, he suddenly turned his back to the dark, western sky and faced the glow in the east.
It was done almost before he realized what he was doing. The freedom to do it happened in a moment. And he recognized in his new freedom, the presence again of the Voice, which lovingly offered him what he could not offer himself.
The rising sun in front of him was brighter and more wonderful than he had imagined anything could ever be. As the sun cut across the sky that first day, it was all he could do just to stand there and face the light, turning slowly now to keep his shadow in back of him! There was no question about going anywhere . . ..
Finally, one morning, the Voice came again. As with the other times, he could not fully describe what happened, only that the Voice brought him another gift. The gift this time was a sense of direction. Slowly, he put one foot in front of the other, fixed his gaze on some distant mountains, and set out. He wasn’t sure where he was going, but at least he wasn’t still going around in circles. And he certainly didn’t feel alone anymore.
(Shadowbound, by David Griebner, in Weavings, March/April 1991, pp 32-33)
I can see myself in this parable, especially the first part of it. Maybe you can see yourself, too. I think it is human nature to follow our own lead, to chart a course based on what we can know of ourselves, which is often our own shadow. It is important to understand our shadow side, and we all have one. It is that part of us that would draw us away from what is good, that part that would separate us from love, that part that would isolate us from each other. To follow our own shadow is to be imprisoned in a wasteland, a vast open spiritual wilderness. And the tragedy of this is that no one holds us there except ourselves. It is ironic, too, because we all too often end up following the lead of the side of ourselves that we are most afraid to acknowledge, that we most wish to hide from others, the worst of our nature. When you come right down to it, we are all, more or less, shady characters.
Is there a way out for us, as for the man in the desert? Are we able to hear
and respond to the Voice that calls to us? Are we paying attention to the signs
around us that call us to another way?
There is a reason that we dress our church in penitential purple and blue for Advent rather than holiday red and green. This is a season of reflection on our shadowy side, on that part of ourselves that we would hide away from the healing, cleansing light of God. Advent is a time to face the light, to turn our lives around. That kind of turning around is the literal meaning of repentance. We are called to repentance as individuals, for our own lives, and we are also called to repentance as a body, collectively, for the life of the world, because in the lives we lead in the world, whether they are called work or church or state or nation, we are also trapped by our own shadows. We are also set on following our own lead, having our own way.
As a people, we have never met a problem we could not solve. We have never confronted a situation we could not manage. We have never faced a challenge we could not overcome. We have power and might on our side and therefore, we must be right. We are gifted as a people, no doubt about that, but there can be a kind of arrogance in our giftedness. That is part of our shadow side, and we endanger the soul of the planet when we walk in our own way without regard for others or for God.
Advent calls us to a new perspective as part of our preparation for the coming of the Christ. That coming brings with it a time of judgment, of decision. God will find in our favor – or not. A lot of folks dismiss this idea of God’s judgment as a kind of quaint old-fashioned notion, one that conjures up cartoons of people in white robes standing on mountain tops waiting for the end of the world. At the opposite extreme, there are those who imagine that they will be deemed holy and good and perfect, and will therefore be lifted out of the world before God’s punishment descends on everybody else.
As I have thought about this, I have wondered whether both groups have gotten it wrong. Increasingly I come to believe that maybe what we call the last judgment is instead a long and lasting judgment and that perhaps we have been living in the midst of it for 2000 years. Perhaps we are living in the midst of it even now.
Ours are terrible times. It seems sometimes like the fulfillment of Jesus word’s spoken so long ago: “Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be great earthquakes and in various places famines and plagues, and there will be signs of dreadful happenings all around . . .” The earth will be full of trouble and distress, and the horrors of human life will take your breath away.
To live in times like these evokes an almost instinctive reaction in us to
hunker down, to protect ourselves, to keep our heads down and look to our own
interests. But the Voice that speaks to us through the noise and nonsense of
our days says “No. Just stop it.” Just stop it. When you see these things
happening, then you know that the
What does this mean to live this way? Different things to different people, no doubt. But here are some of my thoughts: Be reconciled to each other and to the world. Work for peace in world hell-bent on war. Pray for your enemies and find your heart changed in the process. Step out of the rut of your own self-interest. Weigh your actions in terms of whether they serve God, whether they are consistent with what you can know of God’s intention for humanity. Seek ways to be open and inclusive rather than trying to limit and hoard God’s endless supply of grace. Listen for the Voice that will provide the sense of direction for your life, the Voice that calls you to walk in the way of the Lord. This is the work of Advent, the work of waiting and hoping for the one who was and is and is to come.
So be on your guard. “Do not let the sharp edge of your expectation be dulled by parties and drinking and shopping.” (Eugene Peterson, The Message) The kingdom is near – the kingdom is now. Raise your heads and pray that you may have the strength to stand, to stand before the Son.
Sermon preached on the first Sunday of Advent