God is always coming to us. December 2, 2018 The Rev. David M. Stoddart

Luke 21:25-36

So Jesus came to me the other day on the John Warner Parkway, of all places. It was a crazy day: my schedule was too full, I was already behind and running late, and I hit heavy traffic. And I was not handling it well: I was feeling a lot of stress, but as I drove by a dead deer on the side of the road, without even thinking about it, I began to pray the Jesus prayer. It’s a simple prayer — “Lord Jesus, have mercy” — and I pray it a lot. But on that day it just happened, unbidden, and all of the sudden it was like a weight had been lifted off my shoulders. My whole body relaxed, my breathing deepened and slowed down, and I felt so much better — I mean, literally, in a moment. Externally, nothing had changed: the traffic was still heavy, I was still late, and the deer was still dead. But Jesus came anyway, and that’s the point.

I love Advent. I love the sense of waiting and expectation that fills this season. I love the music, the blue vestments, the wreath (when it doesn’t fall down) and that sense of entering into an ancient tradition which reminds us we are part of something so much greater than ourselves. But I also have some conflicted feelings about Advent. My biggest problem is that it always seems to come right before Christmas — perhaps you’ve noticed this. It’s a crazy time of year, terribly busy, and loaded with stuff. And often I find myself fantasizing about doing Advent without all the stuff. If only I didn’t have to worry about the annual giving campaign and the church budget, if only there weren’t so many concerts and open houses and parties and meetings and seasonal activities to attend, if only I didn’t have to plan Christmas liturgies and write a Christmas sermon and prepare for the Vestry retreat in January, THEN I could really sink into this season and truly do Advent. And that fantasy actually predates my ordination: it goes back decades. If only I didn’t have to worry about college applications, if only I didn’t have to take exams and write term papers, if only I didn’t have to do all the stuff you have to do in December, then, THEN, I could enjoy the perfect Advent.

It’s a lovely fantasy, but it’s just that: a fantasy. And listening to many of you, I know that I am not alone in having such a fantasy. But whether we are talking about Advent in particular or life in general, we can never just eliminate all activities and make everything around us fall into place and everyone around us behave just right so that we can have the perfect God moment. For one thing, we don’t have that kind of control. And the older we get, the more we realize how little control we actually have. Life happens: unexpected crises come up, people get sick, circumstances change, we are pushed and pulled in ways we did not anticipate or plan for. If everything around us had to be perfect for us to encounter the living Christ, then it is safe to say we would never encounter him at all.

So thank God for this strange and disturbing Gospel passage today, because it reminds us that Jesus does not come into a perfect world. Luke writes about signs in the heavens, tumult in the seas, distress among the nations, people filled with fear and foreboding. Is Jesus referring to the end of time? Or the destruction of the Temple in Jerusalem, which would take place in the year 70? Or the turmoil which can be found in the world at any time and in any generation — say, like, right now? The answer is probably yes to all of them. Jesus often speaks on many different levels at once. But in all the scenarios he could be talking about, the central point remains the same: the Son of Man (as Jesus often refers to himself) does not come into a perfect world where everyone is behaving well and having only positive thoughts, a world where nothing bad ever happens and no one ever suffers. No: Christ always comes into the real world, an often broken and distressed place where flawed people live and struggle. And that’s exactly what we need: to have Christ come into our world just the way it is and into our lives just the way we are.

It is traditional at the start of Advent for preachers to admonish their congregations to slow down, make time for prayer and reflection, and not be seduced by the busyness of this season: you don’t have to send out 300 Christmas cards; you don’t have to buy 1,001 presents for everyone you know. And that is certainly good advice and I would urge anyone to heed it. But the real Advent challenge is not external activity: it’s internal disposition. We cannot create a perfect environment around ourselves — we’ll go nuts if we try — but we can be more open and expectant within ourselves. The great words of Advent are verbs like “watch,” “stay awake,” and “expect.” The message of the season is that Jesus is Emmanuel, God-with-us: God is always coming to us. Always. We don’t have to be saints or perfect people. We don’t have to spend eight hours a day in prayer. We don’t have to have stress-free lives with nothing going on. The Good News is that God loves us as we are and comes to us as we are.

So any practice which gently reminds us of that as we go through our busy days is a good practice. Saying simple prayers like the Jesus Prayer, or repeating short passages of Scripture like “Abide in me and I in you” can certainly be beneficial. But there is no one right way to do this: people should feel free to experiment and see what actually helps them to be more watchful and expectant. But Advent is not first and foremost a method: it’s a frame of mind, an openness of spirit, a willingness to trust that God comes into my life just because God loves me. It wouldn’t be Good News otherwise.

I said at the beginning of this sermon that Jesus came to me as I drove on the parkway. But, of course, that is not exactly the case. Christ was with me all along: I just woke up and remembered it, which filled me with renewed peace and strength. I wish many such wakeful moments for each one of you in the next few weeks. You don’t have to make them happen: please just find ways to remind yourself that Christ is coming to you all the time — and wants you to know it.