Let Earth Receive Her King

We light this morning the candle of Hope.  In the midst of a world of darkness, we may find ourselves wondering if the light will ever overcome the darkness.  The people of Israel did.  Psalm 80 is a psalm of communal lament.  The people feel abandoned by God.  “Restore us, O God; let your face shine, that we may be saved.”  They have experienced defeat.  Their prayers have not yielded the hoped for response.  They have been fed the bread of tears.  They have been made to drink tears by the bowlful.  God’s help and salvation seem distant and unsure.  But, even in the midst of the darkness that surrounds them, they know there is only one source of light, God’s face.

“Restore us, O God; let your face shine, that we may be saved.”  Let earth receive her king.  We read in Mark, “The sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will be falling from heaven,” all artificial sources of light will extinguish as the true light comes.  God will come in the darkness.

The darkness is real.  One picture of Ferguson, Missouri, captured the juxtaposition of police preparing to fend off protestors under a lighted garland proclaiming, “Season’s Greetings” as the fires raged in the night sky in the background.  The darkness is real.  Ferguson.  Ukraine.  Gaza.  Iraq.  Syria.  Ebola.  Unaccompanied children crossing the U.S. border. Power.  Authority.  Violence.  Illness.  The darkness is real.

God laments too.  The prophet Hosea records God’s cry as a parent crying for his child.  God laments, “When Israel was only a child, I loved him.  I called out, ‘My son!’ – called him out of Egypt.  But when others called him, he ran off and left me.  He worshiped the popular false gods, he played at religion with idols.  Still, I stuck with him.  I rescued him from bondage, but he never acknowledged my help, never admitted that I was the one pulling his wagon, that I was the one holding the back of his bicycle, that I lifted him like a baby to my cheek and bent down to feed him.  Now he wants to go BACK to Egypt  – anything but return to me!  That’s why his cities are unsafe – the murder rate skyrockets and every plan to improve things falls to pieces.  My people are determined to leave me.  They pray to false gods for help, but there’s no help there.  But how can I give up on you?  How can I turn you loose?  How can I leave you to be ruined?  I can’t bear to even think such thoughts.  My insides churn in protest.  And so I’m not going to act on my anger.  Why?  Because I am God and not a human.  I’m The Holy One and I’m here – in your very midst.  I’ll move you back home.”

Rev. Dr. Robert Johnson is a Presbyterian pastor who was getting his Ph.D. at Union while I was in seminary.  He wrote about this passage from Hosea, “Advent doesn’t mean the coming of gifts and presents…Advent isn’t about the baby in the manger, or even the angel choirs.  What Hosea reminds us is that Jesus wasn’t sent to people – then or now – because we needed an excuse to party, or because we were, or are, such [a great race] great people.  The son is called out of Egypt because we need a Savior – and in the worst way.”

As he prayed in the Garden of Gethsemane on the Mount of Olives, our Lord begged that the cup might pass from him.  But he was more committed to the divine will than his human will.  Just days before, they were in the same place, there on the Mount of Olives, and he spoke the words we read in Mark’s Gospel this morning.  “It is like a man going on a journey, when he leaves home and puts his servants in charge, each with his work, and commands the doorkeeper to keep watch.  Therefore, keep awake – for you do not know when the master is coming – or else he may find you asleep when he comes suddenly.”  Ironically, in the same place, just days later, the disciples can’t stay awake and keep watch as Jesus prays.

When we open our eyes and can’t see our hand in front of our face in the darkness, we have work to do.  The master has left us in charge, each with our own work.  And the same command is spoken to the disciples and to us, “Keep watch.”

Hope breaks on the horizon as we keep watch.  Here is the paradox – it is at the very moment that the powers of darkness appear to have triumphed, beginning with the moment of Jesus’ death on the cross, the power of God breaks through, shattering the darkness and beginning to unravel the reign of the powers of darkness.

Keep watch.  We do not know when the end will come.  Advent is a time of preparation.  We celebrate that in Jesus God is with us, and we anticipate his return.  For Christ is coming, and we keep watch for the glints of light on the horizon, the in-breaking of the light of day in a world of darkness.

This week, I saw the light of hope glinting in the tears streaming down the face of a young African-American boy hugging a white police officer at the barricade for a protest, and in the posting and reposting as the picture was shared bringing light and hope.

I saw the light breaking in the story of a friend who has been fostering a baby, the mother had chosen my friend and her husband to be the adoptive parents while she was pregnant, and she then disappeared again into her darkness.  When he was born in September, the birth mother allowed my friends to temporarily care for him while she prepared to be able to parent him.  Two weeks ago, on Tuesday, my friend had just finished feeding him and noticed that he was staring at the angel wings on the wall in his nursery.  She painted the wings for him as she prayed Psalm 91, for angels to protect him in the months before he was born.  All of a sudden, she said, Jeremiah 29:11 came to her mind, as if God responded to her struggle to understand why she had been given this baby to care for but he couldn’t be her baby.  “What are you doing here God?” had been her constant question for months.  And God said, “I know the plans I have for him.  And they are good plans.  Trust my plans.  Trust me.”  Then her phone rang, and it was their case worker.  It was urgent that they have a phone conversation with the lady who runs the agency that afternoon.  Of course, her mind went the worst place it could go, but she kept hearing what God had said to her.  Late that afternoon, they got the news that the birth mom had called and asked to come in Thursday to sign over her rights.  Thursday came and at 11 am, their case worker began texting them the play by play.  She’s on her way.  She’s still not here.  She’s just got here and is reading over the papers.  She’s signed them.  It’s done!  And at that moment, a friend captured a picture of my friend getting the news that the baby she was holding was her son.  Light breaking into a world of darkness.

I see light breaking through as I read Leslie Woods’ reflections on ten years of ecumenical work, serving to bring God’s light to bear on issues of justice through the PC(USA)’s Office of Public Witness.  She has worked on antipoverty programs, the federal budget and tax code, justice for workers, economic inequality, health care reform, environmental justice, climate disruption, clean energy, food justice, violence against women and children, public education, and immigration.  While there have been struggles, there have been true victories for justice.

Last Sunday we collected 38 Operation Christmas Child shoe boxes.   38 shafts of light breaking through as a child, who has never opened a gift, who has never had anything that belonged only to him or her, who has never had a toy, receives a gift offered with hope.  Hope for a brighter future.  Hope for a better world.  Hope for a child to know that people he doesn’t even know, people who know nothing about her, cares.

Jesus said, “Learn the lesson the fig-tree offers you.  As soon as you see its branches become tender, and it puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is happening.”  Watch for signs that the light is coming.  Watch and wait.  Let earth receive her King.  No one knows when, not the day or the hour, except the Father.

As you prepare room in your heart to receive the Christ child, I invite you to watch for light breaking into a world of darkness and share where you see it.  You could even take a picture and text it to me, or post it on the Farmington Facebook page.  Or if you don’t do smart phones and Facebook, jot me a note.

We have hope because Christ is coming.  Christ is always coming, where light chases away the darkness.  Let every heart prepare him room so that earth may receive her King.  Amen.