Advent 1B

 Advent 1B, 2020

 

I remember scrubbing so hard at the paper with my eraser that I would tear a hole. Smudged, dirty,ripped.

 

And, then crumpled. A new paper needed.

 

The old discarded.

 

Imperfect.

 

Marred by my own heavy handedness and insistence upon perfection.

 

I’d messed up. I’d done it wrong.

 

And, in my frustration. Tears and tears.

 

My own mini-apocalypse as I looked down upon my creation and deemed it imperfect.

 

Strike through. Delete that.

 

It’s not right.

 

It’s not good.

 

It is broken and discarded.

 

Cast away from my hands and hidden in the darkness.

 

And, leaving me there. Disappointed and frustrated. And, afraid. Afraid to try again.

 

Afraid that I would make a mistake and be seen as imperfect.

 

As broken.

 

As useless.

 

Afraid, that I too would be thrown away, cast away as a failure.

 

Do you understand apocalypse? Do you understand fear? Do you understand the anxiety as we stand in the midst of brokenness and destruction?

 

It pains me, but I suspect you do. You do understand, understand far too well, the pain and yearning of our ancestors who begged for God to, “tear open the heavens and come down!”

 

As we continue to journey through the wilderness of this pandemic. As we continue to assess the risk of every step towards those we love. As we consider the winter that has come. 

 

How much longer can we bear this, can we bear all of this?

 

Those who would have first heard the words of Isaiah were survivors of exile. For years, they lived as outsiders longing for a return to the life they’d known, to the life they’d been promised. I suspect that they too wondered how long they could bear this life. 

 

We speak of pandemic fatigue. They spoke of exile fatigue, the relinquishment of beloved customs and their tribal identity for the easier path of assimilation. Isaiah’s words challenged them to keep the faith, to persevere through the time of exile and to find meaning in all that has become of them. And so, when they finally get to return…

 

They didn’t find the city on the hill which they’d lost and for which they longed for, they found the desolation of an occupied land. A land laid to waste. Jerusalem had become a “desolation”.

 

And, isn’t that some of what terrifies us now? That the post-pandemic landscape will be a desolation? 

 

That our schools, our churches, our hospitals, our post offices, our government—that they, and we, will not recover from the desolation. That the social inequities, inequities that  have made us all more susceptible to the virus, will destroy us. It’s a terrifying thought. 

 

Is it any wonder that there are people in our own community who’ve asked, is this the apocalypse?

 

No, I do not believe this is THE apocalypse (nor do I believe that the hellfire and damnation version popularized by our own desires has any sort of biblical justification). But it is A apocalypse. 

 

Now, before you panic. The word apocalypse means revealing. It means being exposed and laid bare. It means having to confront that which we wish we could deny. It means that the status quo cannot stand or as Yeats put it, “the center cannot hold.”

 

But, what this season helps us to recognize is that apocalypse is a precursor to new life. When we are able to see evil for what it is, we can actually do something about it! When we can name the forces of evil that corrupt and destroy the creatures of God we can renounce them. When we see what is broken, we can fix it. 

 

And, if it cannot be fixed, we can create something totally new. A new creation, born of water and the spirit and the love of God that cannot be destroyed. 

 

In the early weeks of the pandemic, St. Clement’s distributed lawn signs to our families with children and youth that proclaimed, “Cling to what is good” from Romans 12:9. These signs of hope were meant to be a reminder that there is goodness in the midst of the pandemic. That there is goodness in the midst of our exile. That there is goodness. And, just as we are all too aware of the desolation, we must become attuned to what is good. 

 

What is good in this world of ours. 

 

This world. This world where we are called to participate in a apocalypse. Not an apocalypse of despair, but one of hope. Not an apocalypse of revenge or hate, but of reconciliation and love.  

 

This is Advent hope. This is all things new. This is the truth. That new life WILL come to pass and out of desolation shall come the hope of all creation. 

 

Christ will be born.

 

And all things shall be made new. 

 

I want to end with a book, a book that I wish had been there when I was a child weeping over my mistakes and destroying my own creation. “Beautiful Oops” by artist and illustrator Barney Saltzberg,

 

“A torn piece of paper is just the beginning.

 

Every spill

 

Has lots

 

Of possibilities

 

Bent paper

 

Is something to celebrate!

 

A little drip of paint…

 

Lets your imagination run wild.

 

A scrap of paper

 

Can be fun to play with.

 

A smudge and a smear

 

Can make magic appear

 

A stain has potential if you play with its shape.

 

Holes in your paper are worth exploring.

 

See! When you think you have made a mistake,

 

Think of it

 

As an opportunity to make something

 

Beautiful.”

 

Dear ones, we have the opportunity to make something beautiful. Amen.