Sunday,
November 30, 2014
First
Congregational United Church of Christ – Sermon by Rev. Caela Simmons Wood
It is the first Sunday of a new year for Christians. Our liturgical
year begins again with each Advent. It is always a bit of a shock to me to open
up the Bible this first week of the year and discover we are beginning at the
end. The end of the world, that is. How odd that we begin this season of
waiting for the birth of snuggly little baby Jesus with portents of doom. But
we do. We begin at the end. Every year, in fact. The Revised Common Lectionary,
which is what we follow for our scripture readings each week, is a three year
cycle. And each year the first Sunday of Advent has a gospel passage about the
end times.
The sun and the moon are darkened. The world quakes. We await the Son
of Man. And Mark’s Jesus admonishes us, “Therefore, keep
awake--for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the
evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn.”
Rabbi Marc Gellman has written a
wonderful collection of modern midrash titled Does God Have Big Toe? Stories About Stories in the Bible. The art
of writing midrash is an ancient Jewish practice. Scholars, rabbis, and
everyday Jews listen to their sacred texts, ask questions, and then imagine new
versions of the stories. God is still speaking through midrash, and Rabbi
Gellman’s stories are no exception.
One of the stories in this collection is
“The First New Year.” In this story, Adam is surprised by the setting of the
sun in the Garden of Eden on that first day. The garden is suddenly dark, cold,
and scary and the animals crowd around Adam for reassurance. Adam eventually
falls asleep and is awakened by the warmth of the sun on his neck that next
morning. He jumps up and rejoices with the animals. He assures them that the
sun must be here to stay this time…..but eventually the sun begins to sink and
they frantically try to build a barrier to keep the sun from setting. It
doesn’t work, of course, and the animals and Adam are plunged once again into
darkness and fear.
But this time God takes Adam aside and
explains that everything is okay. This is just “time,” God says. The sun will
do this over and over again and it will divide time into days and nights. There
will also be weeks and months. Reassured, Adam starts keeping track of the
passing of time – one day, two days, three days, a week, three weeks, a month,
three months, and so on. All is well, until….
One day Adam notices he has marked off
11 months, 3 weeks, and 6 days. He becomes worried. “I’ve used up all the
time!” he exclaims. “Tonight the sun will sink and it will never rise again
because this is the end of time. I am going to have to wander around in the
dark and it will be cold and I will trip over things. O, Lord, what will I do
now?” Adam gathers together the animals and explains that he’s not sure if
there will be a tomorrow. They huddle together for warmth and cry as they watch
the sun set for the final time.
But then….the sun begins to peek up over
the edge of the garden. Just as it always has. Just as it always will. And Adam
hears God counting, “Ten years is one decade….ten decades is one century….ten
centuries is one millennium….ten millennia….” And Adam falls asleep to the
sound of God’s voice and the birds chirping.
Every time I read this story – every
single time, gosh darn it – I cry with Adam and the animals as the sun sets.
How silly is that? But there is something so powerful about that image of
huddling with those you love at the end of the world. Especially because we
know what’s coming next, right?
It’s Noah and the animals shut up tight
in the ark, wondering if the rain will ever end. It’s Queen Esther standing afraid
and brave outside the King’s door, preparing to go in and plead her case. It’s
the Psalmist singing that we are all like grass, here for only a short while
before the world changes again. And it’s Jesus’s disciples huddled together on
the night of Good Friday, weeping - for the world as they know it has ended.
And it’s the women who went to the tomb on Easter morning, only to discover
that the ground has shifted right under their feet.
It’s death and it’s Resurection and it’s
hopelessness and a sliver of hope. It’s broken and it’s being made whole. It’s
the end and the beginning and it’s messy and it’s beautiful and it’s all
wrapped up together.
I think that’s why we begin at the end
every Advent. The temptation of Advent, for me at least, is to get really
excited about a snuggly little baby all wrapped up in the hay. Because, really,
who doesn’t love a baby? Who doesn’t love the hope that exists in that moment
when you first hold new life? Eternity stretches out before you and everything
is possible. This baby is perfect and it is all too easy to lure yourself into
thinking the sun will stay high in the sky forever. But then you make it
through the first sleepless night, the first high fever, the first time you
can’t get the baby to stop crying and you don’t have any idea what to do. And
you begin to realize…..the sun will set, the sun will rise. There will be
endings, there will be beginnings. And they’ll all be messy and wrapped up
together.
And just like those real babies in our lives,
the Christ Child comes in a mixture of hope and hopelessness, peace and unrest,
joy and despair, fear and love. This tiny infant is heralded with the songs of
friends, family, and strangers. Zechariah, Mary, Simeon….they all know that
this baby has not come simply to coo and grin. This baby is here because
humanity has reached a point of ending and beginning.
Zechariah, John’s father, holds his newborn
baby boy and sings out, “Praise the Lord, the God of
Israel….Because of God’s tender mercy, the morning light from heaven is about
to break upon us, to give light
to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death and
to guide us to the path of peace.”
Mary. Mary may be young, but she
understands the magnitude of what she has been asked to do. As she contemplates
the life within she sings, “God has scattered the proud and haughty. God
has brought down princes from their thrones and
exalted the humble. God has filled
the hungry with good things and sent the
rich away with empty hands.”
And there is perhaps no more poignant
image of the ending and beginning all wrapped up together than Simeon, old
Simeon, who was present at the Temple when Mary and Joseph brought their baby
son. Simeon held the infant Jesus and said, “Lord, now let your servant depart
in peace…I have seen your salvation, which you have prepared for all people. He
is a light to reveal God to the nations, and he is the glory of your people
Israel!”
In these songs I hear the voices of
people who understand: it’s never as simple as “once upon a time” or “the end”
as you close the book and put it back on the shelf. We are always beginning and
ending….all at the same time. When you came in this morning, you should have
received a piece of purple yarn. If you didn’t, please give a wave and the
ushers will make sure you get one.
I’d
like you to hold on to this piece of yarn. It’s has a beginning and an ending,
yes? Now, take the yarn and bring the beginning and ending together. Tie it
into a circle. This yarn is yours to carry throughout Advent. You may want to
stick it in a pocket or bag. You may want to wear it on your wrist. But when
you look at this piece of yarn, I hope you’ll remember that we begin at the
end. Contemplate the places in your life or in your world where there is an
ending. Relationships end, loved ones depart, priorities change, our bodies
slow down, dreams die. In the wider world, we see shifts in leadership, we
notice the rhythms of the world are altered.
Many
of us gathered in this sanctuary earlier this week and prayed that the unrest
in Ferguson would be a beginning and an ending. We heard the powerful words of
UCC pastor and poet, the Rev. Maren Tirabassi:
I have a dream that Trayvon Martin
and Michael Brown’s names
will be remembered
the third Monday of every January
by our grandchildren
as the last to die,
and that their loss will be honored
as the reason our country
finally turned around.[1]
We
pray and hope for an end. We understand that the evil of racism will be with us
until we have a hard and firm ending. We plead with Isaiah, “O that you would tear
open the heavens and come down, so that the mountains would quake at your
presence…” Bring us an ending, O God, for we have had enough. “We have all
become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous deeds are like a filthy
cloth.”
And
yet, we hope for new beginnings. Like Isaiah, we remember, “Yet, O God, you are
our Holy Parent; we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work
of your hand.” An ending is never just an ending. It is always a beginning,
too. As you look at your yarn in the coming weeks, I hope you will see the
beginnings happening all around you. New life, new loves, new dreams, new
opportunities, new ways of being in the world.
Martin
Luther King, Jr. wrote and spoke, oh, millions of words during his
all-too-short life. Why is it, do you suppose, that the ones we hear most
frequently are about his dream? I think it’s because he was pointing towards
all of the beginnings he saw in the world around him. He painted a vibrant
picture of what the world could be. People were hungry for that. People are hungry for that. Our ability to see
and name the beginnings we see – I do believe that is one of our most powerful
weapons in fighting the great sin of racism….and every other systemic sin, too.
In order to shake off the shackles of the past, we have to move toward a new
beginning together. So when you look at your yarn, I hope you will honor the
endings and beginnings, and remember that they are always tied up together.
On
Monday night this past week, I was walking to my car on the way home from work.
The moon was high in the sky and it was a tiny sliver. I was rushing home to
hear the results of the grand jury investigation in Ferguson. I looked up at
the moon, so tiny in the sky, barely a speck of light, and I thought, “I wonder
if the moon is waxing or waning right now? Will there be more or less light
tomorrow?”
It
has been a dark week – a week of pain and anguish. I have sat with my friends
who are Black and heard them say things like, “If I had a son, I’d get him a
gun and teach him to shoot to kill,” and “We just all need to leave this
country. We are systematically hated here,” and “I’ve decided I can’t have
children. I can’t bring any more Black children into this world that devalues
their lives.” These are not just random people on the Internet. These are some
of my dearest friends. I have wept countless tears this week. I have prayed
that God would tear open the heavens and shake this country to its very
foundations.
As
Advent begins, it seems we are praying for an ending. We are praying for a
beginning. God, help us to remember that the endings and beginnings are always
messy and tied up together.
