Awaiting the Already.
As church, we are exploring this book, written by a pastor who served here in Iowa. And he invites us to look at the Christmas story through new lenses.
Over four weeks, we pull apart each gospel: Mark, Matthew, Luke, and John, and explore what they have to tell us about how our story begins.
Last week, we covered Mark in worship… with that strange fellow, John the Baptist, preparing the way for Jesus… calling for mountains and valleys to be leveled out as we make a straight path for God and us to connect once again.
This week, we find ourselves in one of the more traditional Advent and Christmas stories. Matthew’s version that focuses on Joseph, Herod, and the magi.
Except, this isn’t a story full of good cheer, either.
This week’s gospel story and our reading from the prophets remind us that the world is a tough, scary, dangerous place… but the good news is, God is with us. Emmanuel, God with us, has come and is coming into the midst of the struggles of our day.
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In our Advent candle reading this morning, we hear a story from the prophets about how God is with us, even in the worst moments of our lives.
Shadrach, Meshach, and Abednego are being persecuted for their faith, sent to burn in a firey furnace, and yet our God, Immanuel, God with us, is with them.
Their story echoes the reminder of DeVega in the second chapter of the book, “no matter what you are going through, God is in it.” (p.42)
[11:00 candle reading here]
***
God was with Shardrach, Mesach, and Abednego in the furnace.
God was with Joseph when he got the news that his fiancée was pregnant and the baby wasn’t his.
God was with the Magi, guiding them along the way.
God was and is and will be with us no matter what it is we are facing in the world today.
And the world today is not as merry and bright as the Christmas decorations in the store fronts would have us believe.
As DeVega writes: “wars, brokenness, violence, oppression, heartache, grief, and betrayal do not magically disappear [this time of year]. There is too much darkness in this world simply to gloss over it and pretend it is not there, all for the sake of secularized merriment and plastic good cheer.” (p. 32)
And friends, there has been far too much darkness in these past few weeks.
The Paris terrorist attacks.
Suicide bombings in Beiruit.
Lives lost in Baghdad during a funeral.
Marketplace shootings in Nigeria.
Continued conflict between Palestine and Israel.
A shooting rampage that ends with two police officers and a civilian killed in Colorado Springs.
And these are just the disasters on the world stage that garner media attention.
They do not speak to the personal tragedies we have experienced in the loss of loved ones, new diagnoses, or broken relationships.
There is so much darkness, so many reasons to fear and cower and hide.
We are not the first to have experienced pain and loss, threats to our lives and reigns of terror.
As DeVega writes: “there is nothing about our allegiance to God that makes us immune to heartache and disappointment.” (p.33) I would add that our faith sometimes puts us directly in the path of danger when we step out and take risks out of love or compassion or others seek to destroy our faith.
In our gospel reading, Joseph was faced with such a trial. When he found out Mary was pregnant, he could quietly break off the engagement and excuse himself from any shame or blame… OR he could himself be subject to ridicule by staying with her.
Shadrach, Mesach, and Abednego could have renounced their faith when it was challenged and they were threatened with death… OR they could continue to proclaim boldly the name of the Lord and be thrown into the furnace.
And then, the holy family: Mary, Joseph, and Jesus found themselves directly in the line of fire when Herod realized there was a threat to his reign and sought to kill all who might stand in his way. They were forced to leave everything they knew and flee in the middle of the night and seek refuge in a strange land.
We are called to be people of hope.
Yet, where is the hope in these stories?
Where is our hope today?
Hope is not naïve.
Hope is more than wishful thinking.
Hope is paying attention to Immanuel, God with us, and remembering that we are not alone.
Hope is recommitting ourselves every moment to be God’s people… even in the midst of darkness, disappointment, tragedy, and fiery trials.
Hope means that when fear rears its ugly head, we hold fast to the promise that God is with us.
And in these times of trial, Immanuel, God-with-us, whispers in our ear: Do Not Be Afraid.
So Joseph stays with Mary.
Shadrach, Mesach, and Abednego go willingly into the furnace.
Mary and Joseph and the baby Jesus pack up all of their belongings and without fear leave everything they knew to risk a dangerous journey to Egypt.
Yes, sometimes hope means seeking refuge somewhere else, because we have faith that God is with us even far from home and that someday God will bring us back to where we belong.
I have to be honest… that part of the story is the one that gives my heart the biggest pause.
I find it so hard to see the hope in a story where innocent children are being massacred.
It is so hard to see the hope when hundreds of people lose their lives to terror.
And I guess that is the “already but not yet” part of this story.
Because hope is the reminder that in this difficult passage about the slaughter of the infants in Bethlehem, God set in motion a plan to protect the one who would save us all.
We are still waiting for the world to be saved.
We are still waiting for the taking of innocent lives to end.
We are still grieving and mourning and weeping with the mothers of Ramah and the mothers of Paris and Bagdad and Beirut and Yolo and Colorado Springs.
The only reason we have to hope is because we know the end of the story lies in the hands of our God.
God doesn’t promise to snap fingers and fix the problem.
God doesn’t promise it will immediately get better.
God doesn’t offer platitudes.
Our God tells us to stop being afraid.
It is a challenge for our faith.
As DeVega writes, God recognizes “that fear is an understandable response.”
And, friends, I have seen a lot of responses of fear in these past few weeks.
Fear that causes people lash out at those who look different from them.
Fear that causes us to shut our borders to refugees, turning our backs on those who need the most help.
Fear that labels and divides us from our neighbors.
Yet those very words, “Do Not Be Afraid,” are “a call to resistance, and a refusal to let the trauma of external circumstances consume [us] with fear and disillusionment.” (p. 34)
I’ve been pretty passionate and outspoken in the last couple of weeks about our response as a nation to Syrian refugees.
And that is because I firmly believe that hope is refusing to live in fear.
And what troubles me the most about the way we as a state and as a country have responded is that we are purely acting out of an emotional reaction of fear.
We have one of the most stringent processes for accepting refugees in the world… a process that was strengthened after our own country was attacked on 9/11.
It is simply a false choice to have to choose between safety and security and doing the compassionate thing.
As DeVega writes in his book, “the imminent arrival of Jesus” is not an excuse to turn our backs “from the miseries of this world, but to confront them squarely in the face. In fact, Matthew would not only discourage us from finding Jesus apart from our world, or apart from our time; he would invite us to find the presence of Jesus right in the midst of this world, right now.” (p. 37)
And the most vulnerable, the least of these in our day and age are those who have fled from a reign of terror in their own land and are now seeking compassion and welcome in far away places.
Hope is recommitting ourselves every moment to be God’s people… even in the midst of darkness, disappointment, tragedy, and fiery trials.
DeVega believes that the core of Matthew’s entire gospel is this: “If you are waiting for Jesus to come back some day, then stop waiting. You can find him right here on earth, right now, at this very moment. All you have to do is look in the eyes of the marginalized and the oppressed.” (p.38) Today, all we have to do is look in the eyes of a refugee from South Sudan or Syria or Bhutan.
Hope is refusing to be afraid.
Hope is answering the call and recommitting ourselves to being God’s people even when we are afraid.
Hope is reaching out to the least of these in the world… because it is in them, that we find our savior and our salvation.
Amen.