"What Are We Waiting For?"
Isaiah 64:1-9, Psalm 80, Mark 13:24-37
Karis Hastings
December 1, 2002
I have a bone to pick with whoever came up with the Revised Common Lectionary. That's the name of the system that PCUSA uses to select the Bible texts that we use each week. It has a three-year cycle of readings (we call them year A, year B and year C), and it's used not just by Presbyterians, but also by most other Protestant denominations.
Now, I like Advent, but I have certain expectations about it. When I come to church during Advent, I expect to hear readings about angelic visitations, shepherds and stars. I want to hear about a voice crying in the wilderness, and light coming forth out of darkness.
And I come to Advent this year very concerned about where we are going as a nation. As weapons inspections start in Iraq, we seem to have our finger very firmly on the trigger - in a seemingly irrevocable determination to go to war out of what seems to me to be a wrong-headed, desperate hope that by striking out against the people of Iraq we can somehow protect our own people. And in this atmosphere, I was really looking forward to Advent, when I certainly would hear hopeful messages about the coming of the Prince of Peace, about swords being fashioned into plowshares and the lion lying down with the lamb. But that’s not what’s in the lectionary - I think that's year A, so we have to wait two more years.
Now, there have been times when the lectionary just seems to really line up for me - when the texts for the week just seem really appropriate for whatever has been going on in the world. But when I read the lectionary for this week, I concluded that this isn't one of those times. In fact, I had to ask, whose idea was it to have us read these texts in Advent?
The readings this week are focused on visions of the apocalypse, full of the language of violence, not of peace. The passage Carrie read from Isaiah has the people asking God to "tear open the heavens and come down." God's coming will cause the mountains to quake and the nations to tremble, and God's adversaries will know the name of God. This sounds to me like a people who are not waiting and hoping for justice and peace, but instead are anticipating that God will come as an angry presence, seeking revenge instead of justice.
Along with this image of God as the avenger is a suggestion that the sinfulness of the people is somehow God's fault. The text acknowledges the great deeds of the Lord, and the fact that God honors those who do right. But it goes on to say "you were angry and we sinned. Because you hid yourself we transgressed." "You have hidden your face from us, and delivered us into the hand of our iniquity." The message is clear. The people are saying, we know you're a God who can do great things - you've proved it in the past. But what have you done for us lately? We haven't seen you do anything recently to show your great power. And since you haven't been showing yourself, it's only natural that we would fall into sin. What did you expect?
This passage from Isaiah also contains the line with that great imagery, "we are the clay, and you are our potter, we are all the work of your hand." In the past, I've always thought of that line in the text of the old hymn: "Have thine own way, Lord, have thine own way. Thou art the potter, I am the clay. Shape me and mold me after thy will, while I am waiting, yielded and still." In the hymn, the imagery is a representation of submission to God’s will, of putting oneself humbly in God's hands. But when I was reading the line in the context of the whole passage from Isaiah, the imagery struck me very differently. There's nothing in the rest of this reading to suggest submission. Instead, it seemed like just one more way of blaming God for the people's sins - saying after all, God, you made us, so you know how weak we are. If a pot breaks under strain because it's poorly made, that’s the potter's fault, not the pot's.
Then we have the reading from Psalm 80. The call to worship we read today has a couple of lines from the Psalm. I didn't use the rest because most of it is just too depressing. The Psalmist asks, "How long will you be angry with your people's prayers? You have fed them with the bread of tears, and given them tears to drink in full measure. You make us the scorn of our neighbors; our enemies laugh among themselves." Now I ask you, is this what you want to hear at the start of Advent?
Even the gospel reading starts with some pretty gloomy imagery: "after that suffering, the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will be falling from heaven, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken." Then the passage goes on to talk about the coming of the Son of Man, and the signs that will foretell that coming. One illustration that Mark uses is the example of a master who goes away, leaving the slaves in charge. The doorkeeper needs to stay alert because no one knows when the Master will be coming back. So we are warned to stay awake, lest we be sleeping when the Master returns. I don't particularly like this illustration either. Of course, it doesn't say what would happen if the doorkeeper fell asleep and was caught unawares by the Master's arrival. But the implication seems to be pretty obvious. A slave who neglected his or her duties would have to be punished, right?
These readings got me thinking about waiting, and the kinds of expectations we have. The people described in the passage from Isaiah seem to be hoping for God to come down wielding lightning bolts or some equally dramatic special effects and to punish all the evildoers. They were waiting in anticipation of seeing God’s avenging power demonstrated.
Or there is the example from Mark of the slaves waiting for the return of the Master, fearful of being caught off guard and having to suffer the consequences, afraid of being discovered goofing off at the critical moment. This is uneasy, nervous waiting, scared of being judged and found wanting.
It's easy to identify with the negative feelings described in these passages. There is so much violence all around us. We're still reeling from the aftermath of the September 11 attack, our area has been terrorized more recently by the random sniper killings, and every day we read about a new suicide bombing or terrorist threat. And of course there are natural disasters as well as the human-created kind, droughts, floods, earthquakes. Millions die from hunger. The AIDS epidemic deprives children of their parents and seems to spread unchecked. It's certainly easy to feel that God has turned away, to think that we've been abandoned. It's easy to feel helpless in the face of so much suffering in our area and around the world and to blame God for making us so weak, so powerless to make even the smallest dent in the pain we see around us.
How natural it is that we should want God to come down and fix everything, to come into our world with mighty power and deliver us from our enemies. Of course we would love to see God make the mountains shake and the nations tremble, to witness the full scope of God’s authority and strength. Like the people described in the Isaiah passage, we long to see persuasive evidence of God's presence, proof that God is still active in our world and has not given up on us.
It's also natural that we should feel some trepidation about the idea of God's coming. Which of us is completely comfortable with the idea of God’s judgment, of the possibility that when we least expect it God will come and hold us to account for the way we have fulfilled our responsibilities.
So we wait, wanting to experience God's presence but also afraid of God's judgment.
But what finally really struck me about these passages from the lectionary was the strong contrast between what the people were waiting for and what they got. The folks described in the Isaiah passage wanted God to tear open the heavens and come down, but they obviously anticipated that God would come to earth wielding power. It sounds like at the least they were expecting God to show up as a mighty warrior, maybe something like Rambo.
But what did they get? A baby, born to parents of no particular distinction, under quite unauspicious circumstances. A baby that grew into a man who had none of the trappings of earthly power - no wealth, no high position in society. He never became a military leader or acquired political influence. Although he gained a certain popularity with the masses, he never really got much out of it, none of the perks of fame.
And yet this was the way God chose to fulfill the prophesies, to answer the people's call that God tear open the heavens and come down. By sending the people not an avenger, but a reconciler; not a general, but a shepherd. It made me wonder whether those folks from Isaiah's time would have been disappointed at the sort of Messiah that God sent. All that waiting for God to deliver them from their suffering and get revenge against their enemies, and what do they get? No special effects, no lightning bolts. Just a regular human, born to a couple of young newlyweds. He wasn't particularly strong and frankly he didn't do anything bad to the many enemies of Israel. He didn't fix everything, all he did was set an example for his followers. And what an example! Telling them to turn the other cheek and love their enemies. Jesus had to be a pretty big letdown to anyone who was expecting Rambo.
There was an upside, however. God may not have come down with the power and might that the folks from Isaiah's time were wishing for. But on the other hand, there was no harsh judgment, no punishing of any slaves who happened to be sleeping at the big moment. That must have been a relief to anyone who was waiting in fearful uncertainty, trembling at the thought of the day of reckoning.
Maybe God did not give the people the strong avenger they wanted, but God also did not give them the harsh judge they may have deserved. God's gift turns our expectations on their heads. God sends us strength in a helpless baby and mercy when we are expecting a harsh Master.
As we begin our Advent journey together, let's be mindful of the kinds of preconceptions and expectations that we bring to our waiting. Let's think about the demands we place on God's bounty and the ways we set ourselves up for disappointment by believing that we know what we need from God. Let's try to be open for God’s presence, even when the circumstances don't fit into the narrow confines of our limited perception of the limitless power of God. Instead of assuming that big, dramatic flourishes are necessary to give us concrete proof of God's dominion, let's look for evidence of God's presence in the simple and mundane.
As we gather at the communion table this morning, let's consider what we are expecting as we come forward to receive the bread and the cup. This is no elaborate feast, with unusual delicacies served to us by tuxedoed servants. Nothing flashy or fancy. Instead, it is simple bread and juice, received from the hands of our friends and neighbors. It may not be the elaborate, over-the-top feast we might crave. Yet what a fitting symbol it is of the Savior whose birth we are preparing for during Advent and whose sacrifice we remember through this sacrament. God gives us gifts of bread and wine, simple but nurturing, as a concrete embodiment of God’s spirit among us.
I think I've finally come to terms with the lectionary. I'm thankful for the reminder that we are far from the first people to berate God for the suffering we see around us, to be convinced that God has turned away, to blame God for our own shortcomings. Nor are we the first to be fearful of the final judgment, to be concerned about how our lives and actions will be evaluated. More than anything, I am thankful for the reminder that God's grace is mysterious and magnificent, that God rewards our waiting, maybe not with the big fancy present we think we want, still less with the coal in our stocking that we probably deserve. No, God gives us a simple gift that turns out to be just what we need. Thanks be to God.
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