As with many passages selected for the
Sunday readings, there is much to choose from on which to preach. We
have the prophecy from Isaiah that looks forward to a time when a
young woman will bear a son. We have Matthew co-opting that prophecy
and changing it to say that a virgin will bear a son. We have a
prayer of restoration in the Psalm. We have an introductory
paragraph from Paul. And we have Joseph, not Mary, as the main
character in this version of the Annunciation. So much to choose
from. But every third year on this 4th Sunday of Advent
in Year A, it seems I always go back to one thing: You shall name
him Emmanuel, God is with us.
On this last Sunday of Advent when the
arrival of the Messiah is now imminent, what does it mean for God to
be with us?
On the one hand it offers joy. We are
a week away from Christmas, the happiest time of year, or so the song
says. We can begin to look at the trees, lights, and decorations
with a sense of joy. We can begin to allow ourselves to sing
Christmas songs. We can imagine the joy of a new birth, a new life;
and it's great fun to think of Jesus as one of those YouTube babies
laughing uncontrollably. After all, is there anything better than a
laughing baby? Laughing Emmanuel – God is with us and laughing
with us. That is a lovely image.
But there's another side to all of
this; a less joyful and darker side.
Last week I received a phone call from
a person whose daughter had just found out she had a malignant brain
tumor. I met with a woman wanting to know if this church could help
her acquire some basic needs that most of us take for granted –
like sheets and socks. And I prayed with a dying man and his family,
anointed him with oil, and presided at his final Communion before
cancer took his life.
That was Monday.
But that's life – joy at all the
beauty and hope and wonderfulness butts up against despair brought on
by disease, circumstances, and death. Before ESPN there was the Wide
World of Sports where every episode began with the thrill of victory
and the showing of some exciting athletic feat juxtaposed with the
agony of defeat and that poor ski jumper. The victory montage seemed
to change, but it was ALWAYS that ski jumper. And
that's life.
We live between one extreme and the
other. Most of the time our lives aren't lived on those extreme
edges, but in the boring and often messy middle. There are times,
however, when our lives touch one end or the other. Like Christmas.
Or Monday.
This is why I keep coming back to this
one word, this one sentence in today's gospel. Emmanuel. God is
with us.
Is this a particularly happy and joyful
time for you? Good! Emmanuel! God is with you!
Is this a busy, messy, stressful time
for you? Okay. Emmanuel. God is with you.
Is this a painful, sorrowful,
despairing time for you? I'm sorry; Emmanuel, God is with you.
In all of our joys, through all of our
doubts and uncertainties, in the midst of all our sorrows, God never
promises to wave a magic wand and make everything better. What God
does promise is this: that from this day forward, for better for
worse, for richer for poorer, in sickness and in health, God promises
Emmanuel, God is with us.
On some days that's more than we
expect. Some days it's all we can ask and more than we hope for.
Some days it's all we have to hold onto.
On this 4th Sunday of
Advent, no matter where you are, either joyfully expectant or in the
midst of despair, may you come to hold this name dear – Emmanuel.
God is with you.
Amen.
2 comments:
"That was Monday."
Yikes!
This was a good reminder! I seem to talk to people a lot who have been shafted by the prosperity gospel. This is a point that everyone seems to miss. God is with us. He is not sweeping away the hardships, but is with us through them.
Not only was it Monday, but it was Monday before 10 a.m.
But I couldn't put that in the written version or it would've screwed up my word count. ;)
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