Sermons

Sun, Nov 27, 2022

Being prepared

Series:Sermons
Duration:12 mins 8 secs

Aedan––

our current Irish Wolfhound, whom many of you have met––

decided…

the day that he turned four months of age…

that he wasn’t going to sleep on a dog bed on the floor anymore…

and that the sofas were now his.

And there was nothing we could do about it.

We tried to convince him not to…

but he would look at us like we were half-witted, or something…

and ignore us…

and just keep on doing it.

 

It was a very different matter with our previous one, Liam.

He was quite tentative about it––

when he first reached a size where he could get up on the sofa––

which gave us the chance to teach him that he wasn’t allowed there.

He took a bit longer to be house-trained…

and we really didn’t want any accidents on the sofas.

That said, however, Liam would sit there with his bottom planted on one of the seats of the sofa…

with his back legs dangling… 

and his front legs on the floor…

and he’d stare out the window.

And that was okay.

But we didn’t really want him lying and sleeping on the sofa.

 

It didn’t take all that long…

however… 

before we realised that when we were out and Liam was home alone…

then the rule about the sofas obviously didn’t apply.

We would come home to find all of the cushions––

which normally lived on the sofa––

scattered across the floor.

It would seem that he didn’t like them and he would push them off;

or, given the distance from the sofa that we sometimes would find them…

he would give them quite a fling.

And, usually, that was the only evidence we had as to what had been going on.

Clearly, after we went out…

he would fling off the cushions…

and lie down on the sofa looking out of the window…

and waiting for us to return…

then scamper off it to come and greet us before we caught him.

But there would be times––

especially as he got older–– 

when he was obviously very tired…

and he would get comfortable on the sofa…

while he watched and waited for us to return…

but time dragged on and, eventually, he fell asleep…

and he was so soundly asleep that he didn’t hear us return…

and there was this awkward moment when we would walk in…

and we’d catch him, sheepishly, still in the act of dismounting;

and Liam would search for a safe place to avert his gaze––

so as not to make eye contact;

and he’d hurriedly make his way to his own bed on the floor…

hoping that we didn’t notice…

and that he wouldn’t get growled at.

 

In a way, that seemed almost a perfect parable on this morning’s reading from Matthew’s Gospel.

In it, Matthew’s Jesus reflects on the end-times…

when, we are told, he will return…

and will fulfil God’s purposes for them and the whole creation.

And he makes the point––

both at the beginning and at the end––

that we don’t know when that will be.

In between are a series of analogies about living in anticipation of this unpredictable event.

And the crux of the message seems to be this:

“Keep awake, therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming”

Keep awake.

Don’t go to sleep––

metaphorically of course.

In other words, be active and alert, engaged in the work of God.

Live a life worthy of Christ…

so that you won’t be embarrassed or ashamed when he returns.

 

Now, for the author, that was probably intended as a word of hope.

Writing a couple of generations after Jesus lived––

at a time when his readers were beginning to face hostility from their community…

because of their beliefs and way of life…

and their apparent abandonment of ancestral religious traditions––

he was trying to reassure them that Christ would return…

and that God would fulfil God’s purposes;

even if God doesn’t operate according to human expectations or definitions of time.

Thus, he urges them to stay strong; 

not to give in to the pressure to conform;

and not to be tempted by selfish living or unfaithfulness.

 

Now, in the early decades of the church, it seems that, if they did celebrate Christmas––

in the sense of celebrating the birth of Jesus––

then it was not in a memorial sense…

but in an anticipatory sense.

They remembered the birth of Jesus in anticipation of his return.

That, for them, was the whole point of Advent.

That’s why Advent became, originally, a season of preparation––

a time of sombre reflection––

not unlike the season of Lent, even if it wasn’t as severe.

These days, when we celebrate the birth of Jesus at Christmas…

it’s probably more as a memorial––

that is, it’s a remembrance of that historic event…

and, perhaps more so, it’s a remembrance of personal and cultural history…

and connectedness.

And Advent…

for us… 

is usually so busy with the preparations for our cultural celebration of Christmas…

that we don’t approach it as a season of reflection––

penitential or not. 

And, if we glean nothing else from this morning’s reading…

perhaps it’s worth being reminded that remembering Jesus’ birth should not be an end in itself.

We remember…

in the sense that we might re-member…

that is, that we engage with the story that it might speak to us anew and afresh…

re-shape who we are…

and remind us how we are called to live.

And while we no longer share the Matthean author’s worldview––

assuming that God is an interventionist deity…

who is going to intercede, directly, in human affairs…

to sort it all out––

perhaps we do have a tendency not to live in response to our anticipation of God’s intended future.

So, perhaps we need to be reminded, as people of faith…

that God’s values––

and God’s intended purposes for creation–– 

ought to shape how we live…

here and now.

 

And yet… 

there’s something slightly disturbing about this morning’s exhortation from Matthew’s Gospel.

There’s a sense of foreboding throughout.

And there’s more than a veiled sense of threat.

Indeed, the whole exhortation is predicated on a sense of fear.

Do the right thing…

or else.

And we have to ask:

Is that not contrary to the whole nature of the Gospel…

and of the God that, otherwise, Jesus makes known to us?

Indeed, is this not the very crux of what has…

traditionally…

been so very wrong with the church?

Has not the church consistently turned the coming of Jesus––

with all of its anticipatory promise––

into a message of fear and threat?

Repent, or else!

Believe, or else!

Do, or else!

And maybe, as we enter another season of Advent…

and we reflect on how and why Jesus came to us––

and still comes to us––

perhaps what we’re called to do to prepare…

is to repent of this need to turn the gospel into a message of guilt and fear.

And perhaps, instead, we’re being invited to open our hearts more fully… 

so that hope, joy, love, and peace…

might be incarnated…

in us…

and through us…

until the creation is, as God intends.

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