Sunday, December 7, 2014

Let's Get Busy

[Sermon from Sunday, Dec. 7, 2014]
I have news to announce this morning:  Jesus is coming to Kansas City. 
What – you don’t believe me? 
Maybe you’re thinking something like this.  “OK, Fr. John, we get it that this is Advent, and we’re preparing ourselves for the coming of the baby in the manger.  ‘Let every heart prepare him room,’ and all that.”
Well, let me ask you for a little willing suspension of disbelief this morning.  If it were true that Jesus is coming to Kansas City, what would you do?  I’m reminded of one of my favorite bumper stickers of all time:  “Jesus is coming.  Look busy.”  I have a hunch that might not be a sufficient response.  So, if you knew that Jesus had booked a flight to arrive at KCI and was planning to drive up under the porte-cochere just before your favorite service on Christmas Eve or Christmas Day, what would you do?  What should we do to get ready?
Let’s see what kind of preparation our readings today might suggest.  In that beautiful passage from Isaiah, we hear the prophet proclaiming comfort to God’s people.  And they needed a little comfort at that point.  They’d been in exile in Babylon for decades, after a long period of national decay ending in conquest.  Up to this point in the Book of Isaiah, the prophet has been proclaiming God’s judgment on Israel and Judah – especially judgment on the religious and political leaders – for failing to honor God, failing to care for the poor and powerless, failing to practice the fundamental commands to love God and neighbor.  As a result, the prophets have said, the nation will be lost, for “the judgments of the Lord are true and righteous altogether” (Psalm 19:9).  But now, the prophet writing from Babylon hears God’s call of comfort instead: “Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that she has served her term, that her penalty is paid, that she has received from the Lord’s hand double for all her sins” (Isaiah 40:2).  We can take comfort in God’s promise of comfort, but we have to remember the brokenness and judgment that came before it.
In the Gospel reading, John the Baptist helps us put things in order.  John speaks as one of the Old Testament prophets and brings their message to completion.  He stands as the fulcrum between the Old Covenant and the New Covenant, the tipping point moving salvation history from promise to fulfillment.  He reminds his audience of that beautiful promise from Isaiah – that God is working toward delivering us into a new habitation, God’s own kingdom.  But John also offers the first part of the prophet’s message – the call to turn our hearts back toward what God desires for us.  Divine comfort doesn’t just come like a candy bar from a vending machine – hit the right button, and there it is.  Divine comfort comes from having moved through our own hard stuff first – the times we miss the mark, the times we put ourselves first, the times we play small and fail to live into the amazing personhood God has in mind for every last one of us. 
Echoing the prophets, John the Baptist reminds us what God’s path truly looks like.  In Mark’s Gospel, the account ends just after John tells what he knows about this coming savior.  But if we continue the story in Luke’s account, we hear people asking the kinds of questions we might ask John, if he were standing here in his animal skins, his fingers dripping with wild honey.  What exactly are we supposed to do to get ready?  Well, John says, “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none, and whoever has food must do likewise” (Luke 3:11).  Government officials must not abuse their power.  In other words, love the people around us – whether we like them or not. 
So as we’re getting ready for Christmas Day, loving people intentionally might be a good plan.  It’s all about those guiding principles of Christianity:  love God, love neighbor, love one another.  Think about the Confession we’ll offer in a few minutes.  Now, in the past week, we’ve each done a hundred things, or not done a hundred things, that we probably should confess to God, asking forgiveness.  But when we come to the General Confession (which many of us have said so many times we barely hear it anymore), what sins do we actually confess?  Only two:  “We have not loved you with our whole heart, and we have not loved our neighbors as ourselves.”  Discipleship comes down to practicing love.  Not feeling love – that’s a whole different thing, a wonderful blessing that comes from following Christ and living in love, but hardly a guarantee. 
Getting ready to meet Jesus means loving people, and loving people means constantly repenting.  Now, by “repenting,” I don’t mean saying, “I’m sorry.”  I mean what the word means in Greek: metanoia -- changing our heart, changing our mind, changing our path always toward the true north of God’s purposes and desires for us.
That change is a constant process; it is the journey of discipleship, and it takes a lifetime, by definition.  One way we do it is by looking for ways God might be asking us to help prepare the way of the Lord, ways we might help level the uneven ground and make the rough places a plain.  We can do that as individuals and as a congregation.  First, let me tell you an individual’s story – an “Andrew moment” one of you shared with me. 
You might remember, a couple of weeks ago, I asked you to tell me your stories of people putting flesh and bones on love, like Andrew bringing his brother Peter to meet Jesus – small moments that can change lives.  Well, here you go.  A parishioner was trying to sell something on Craig’s List, a wheelchair lift that goes on a van.  Surprisingly, there was a response very quickly.  The person selling the lift was suspicious because honestly you never know who you’re dealing with on Craig’s List or what they really want.  So the parishioner sent a text to learn more about the buyer. 
“Are you a car dealer?” 
“Are you planning to resell it yourself?” 
“Tell me about your situation.” 
“Well,” texted they buyer, “it’s for my daughter.  She can’t walk.” 
And the parishioner saw an open door.  He called the buyer and shared with her that someone in his family had also been disabled and couldn’t walk.  They talked and talked … and, in the end, the parishioner gave the woman the wheelchair lift, free – with the “stipulation” that she pay it forward with an act of love to another stranger.
So that’s one example of the kind of thing John the Baptist might encourage us to do on an individual level.  When the Holy Spirit comes knocking on your door, open it up and take the risk to walk through to meet someone … and love him or her.
Here’s an example on a broader scale – another way we can do our part in leveling the uneven ground and making the rough places a plain so the glory of the Lord might be revealed.  Since August 9, and especially vividly in the past few weeks, we’ve seen our society’s brokenness and separation related to race.  That chasm has been present all along, of course, but the death of Michael Brown and all that’s followed, including the death of Eric Garner in New York, has made that chasm harder than usual to ignore.  There are so many manifestations of the racial divide in our society, from economics to politics to religion.  Thankfully, there are also many efforts underway in cities across the country to bring people together to work for healing.  In our city, Fr. Marcus is involved in a project to bring together civic leaders, clergy, educators, police officials, and others to talk openly about how we can heal racial divisions in our own context.  Those leaders will gather this Tuesday at 6 p.m. for a public conversation; you’ll find information in the bulletin on that. 
But there’s one manifestation of our racial brokenness that we can confront even at the micro level of our own parish.  I believe it’s actually among the deepest roots of the racial thicket.  It’s communication – or, more precisely, the failure of communication.  Deep down, most of us don’t have any idea how to talk about race. 
I’ve had some fascinating conversations over the past few weeks as people shared their frustrations and fears about race.  Here are some snippets of what I’ve heard.  One person said, “I understand people are angry about Ferguson and the grand jury’s decision – but I don’t understand what the protesters really want.”  Another said, “I don’t think I’m a racist, but I’m afraid if I say the African American community needs to own some of its problems, then someone will see me as a racist.”  And another said, “I don’t know how I’m even supposed to talk about race with a black person without offending them.”  Those are hard statements, but they’re real.  And we don’t do ourselves, or Jesus, any favors by sweeping them under the Jewell Room rug.
So I’m working with a few parishioners to put together an opportunity for us to hear difficult questions about race and discrimination, asked and answered in love.  I don’t know yet exactly how this will look, but I’m imagining something like listening in on a private conversation between a couple of parishioners, one black and one white.  The questions might include:  Why has Ferguson sparked the fire it’s sparked?  What do the protesters really want?  Why can’t white people see the injustice that people of color see?  What’s it like to be pulled over for “driving while black” in the wrong neighborhood? 
And more fundamentally:  How can we name race as an issue, and confront it honestly, without fearing we’ll offend someone?  How can we “speak the truth in love” and thereby “grow to become in every respect the mature body … of Christ” (Ephesians 4:15)?  How can we go beyond being careful not to offend anyone and actually deepen love through conversation?  How can we be God’s partners in preparing the way of the Lord – lifting up the valleys and lowering the mountains, leveling the uneven ground and smoothing the rough places that divide us, so that the glory of the Lord might be revealed?
Jesus is coming.  Let’s not just look busy.  Let’s get busy.

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