Advent Lutheran Church

"Is This The Way It's Supposed to Be? - Advent II"

            Grace and peace to you from God the Creator and the Lord Jesus.  Amen.

            Out in New Haven, Connecticut, Bill Goettler is co-pastor of First Presbyterian Church, and the story he tells goes like this: On a chilly December afternoon a couple of years ago a young man appeared at Goettler’s front door.  His name was Danny, he was homeless, needed some help.  He spent most of his nights on the porch in front of the Salvation Army headquarters in town, and they didn’t seem to mind, especially since Danny cleared out early in the morning, before anyone showed up for work.  That’s the way Danny wanted it, because he didn’t want to frighten anybody.

            He needed some food, maybe some money for the bus.  Goettler had just hung the Christmas wreath on the front door, there were electric Advent candles twinkling in the windows, and he had just come from church so he still had on his clergy shirt – it was pretty hard to refuse someone who wanted help.  So he fished in his pocket and came out with a few dollars, which he gave to Danny.  Danny said, “Thanks,” then turned and walked out to the sidewalk.  When he got about half-way down the walkway he turned, looked Goettler straight in the eye and said, “Reverend, is this the way it’s supposed to be?”  Danny turned and walked off before Goettler could respond, or even process what Danny had said.

            In the months that followed, Danny would return occasionally with one need or another.  Sometimes Goettler would give him some money, other times he’d make a call to try to find Danny a place to live.  But whatever they worked out never seemed to work out for long.  Every once in a while Goettler would see Danny downtown, selling newspapers in front of the coffee shop, sometimes washing windows at one of the busy intersections in New Haven.  Every time Danny would spot Goettler he’d call out, “Hey Reverend, howya doing?”  And then Danny would follow his greeting with the same question, “Reverend, is this the way it’s supposed to be?”

            Danny was asking a much deeper question, of course, deeper than he knew.  Is creation in perfect order?  Is it OK if some people live out on the margins?  Is it OK if some people are so poor that they have to beg?  Is this the way it’s supposed to be?

            To be honest, I don’t like Danny, and I don’t like him because his one-line sermon makes me uncomfortable.  But he keeps showing up – he’s among the restless crowds that make up the phenomenon that we call Arab Spring, which has seen the downfall of several dictatorships in the Middle East and North Africa; he makes his home in the encampments of the Occupy Movement; he’s the one ringing the bell next to the Salvation Army kettle at the entrance to Price Chopper.  Next time you hear that bell, take another look at who’s ringing it.  Whether male or female, it’s Danny.  Different disguises, same message: “Is this the way it’s supposed to be?”

            We don’t like to hear from Danny any more than we like to hear from John the Baptist, who brought the same message.  We’d like to give John some bus fare so that he can leave and get a real job, or whatever, just leave us alone and let us concentrate on what we want to concentrate on: shepherds out in their fields, keeping watch over their flocks by night; a young family on a long journey; an infant about to be born in a stable because there was no place for them in the inn.  But John the Baptist comes to us this morning and says, “No; not yet; you’re not ready for that story yet.  If you want to see the glory of God, something else has to happen first: you must prepare.”

            That message from the Baptist – prepare – was not original with him.  In fact, he borrowed it from another prophet, one who lived about 700 years earlier, a man named Isaiah.  Isaiah delivered that message to a people who were desperate for some good news.  This was a people who had spent 150 years in exile – dispossessed, plucked up from their homeland and deposited in a foreign place, to live among foreign people who worshiped a number of gods instead of the one God of Israel.  For two generations they endured captivity.  It was bad enough to be conquered, but it was worse for these people; they understood themselves to be God’s chosen people, intentionally selected by God to be God’s unique representatives to the rest of the world.  They had a special relationship with God, a special privilege in being God’s people. That special relationship had carried with it a special responsibility.  They were to cling to God alone, to follow his commandments and his only.  But the people had failed in that responsibility; time and time again they had turned aside and neglected the God who had claimed them. 

So when they were conquered they interpreted it as a sign of God’s judgment against them, God’s judgment on their sin.  For 150 years they had endured what they considered their punishment, all the while asking God for rescue.  “Come to us!  Save us!” they cried out.  But only silence answered their plea.  Two generations is a long time to hope, a long time to pray, a long time to believe.  Finally, they reached the only conclusion that the evidence permitted: God had not saved either because God could not save, or because God had simply abandoned them.

And it was into the depths of that despair that God spoke: “I am coming to you; get ready!  I’m not a God of judgment only, but also a God of forgiveness and redemption.  I’m coming to you with a future where the sunken valleys will be raised up and the mountains will be brought low, where the rough places will be made smooth and the uneven places made level.  Get ready!”  That was the message that Isaiah brought to his people, and that was the message that God resurrected and entrusted to John the Baptist.

I don’t know about you, but I don’t like to imagine a future where the powerful are brought low and the meek are made powerful, where everything that we know about how the real world really works is turned upside down.  Thinking about a future like that is unsettling to me, because I have to take a hard look at myself to see the ways that I might contribute to keeping the world the way it is instead of the way that God wants it to be.

For example: I carry two credit cards, and I notice that on my monthly statements it says that if I fail to make the minimum monthly payment, or if that payment is late, my interest rate shoots up to 30 percent.  Actually, it’s 29.99 percent, but that apparently sounds better than 30.  I don’t pay attention to that; I don’t care about the interest rate because I don’t carry a balance but instead pay off the amount every month.  But I’m thinking of the single mom who takes her two kids to Wal-Mart or Target or Sears to buy school clothes, and because she can’t pay cash she puts the amount on her credit card.  If she doesn’t make that initial minimum monthly payment, and on time, the higher interest rate kicks in.   Because of that higher rate she continues to fall behind until, soon, she becomes an economic slave. 

I have a feeling that if I called my credit card companies to complain about those policies, I would probably get a response something like, “Well, sir, you have to understand the cost of doing business in a challenging economic climate like ours.”  Good point.  However … I wonder what God thinks of this.  I participate in this system, so even more important, I wonder what God thinks of that.  It’s disturbing to my status quo to think about questions like that, because it opens the door to thinking about the other ways that I knowingly and unknowingly contribute to keeping the world the way it is instead of becoming the place God wants it to be.

And yet, those words of the prophet keep resounding: “Comfort, o comfort my people.”  When we use that word “comfort,” we usually mean something like peacefulness, or soothing calm.  But that’s not what “comfort” means.  It means strength; it means courage.  It is God-given strength and God-given courage that allow us to take a hard, honest look at ourselves, to take a personal inventory to see how we might be helping or inhibiting the realization of God’s intentions for creation.

It might we be that that kind of fearless self-examination is what the Bible calls “wilderness.”  It’s not a place but a condition, a state of the spirit in which we and God can be alone and honest, away from human pretense.  Sometimes that wilderness is right here, in this sanctuary.  Sometimes it’s at your office or job site; could be your classroom; might be the evening commute.  Wherever that wilderness is for you, it’s that place where you can hear God say directly to you: “Your brokenness is healed; your sins are forgiven.”  It’s that place where you can hear God tell you that your entire life is held securely in the hands of a loving God, and that God’s main message for you is not judgment but love.

Sometimes, it takes courage to enter that wilderness, but sometimes we simply end up there.  The movie “A Beautiful Mind” tells the true story of John Nash, a brilliant mathematician who is offered a position at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology.  He accepts the position and thrives in the rigorous academic atmosphere.  But Nash also suffers from schizophrenia, an illness that pulls him down into a wilderness of dark fears, of strange numerology theories and conspiracy theories.  He spends 30 years in that wilderness, and then slowly emerges from it.  It’s significant that one of the primary factors that led him out of that wilderness was the consistent, persistent and patient love of his wife, Alicia.  She never left, never threw up her hands in resignation.  She slowly loved Nash back out into the light of day, back into sanity and self-awareness.

So it is with God: it’s the persistent, faithful love of God that sees us through our wilderness into the light of a new day as God’s people.

“Is this the way it’s supposed to be?”  No; that’s why God is coming.  So prepare for his coming!  Be bold, because the wilderness is nothing for you to fear.  God is coming!  He’s coming with hope, and with forgiveness.  At the same time he’s coming to make you aware of the needs of those around you, needs for justice and compassion.  So accept his forgiveness; do justice; show compassion!  Prepare the way, and you will see the glory of God!

Amen.