“The Calm Before the Welcoming”

Sermon by the Rev. Caela Simmons Wood

First Congregational UCC of Manhattan, KS

First Sunday of Advent, Dec.3, 2017

Isaiah 64:1-9

Earlier this week I was reading a chapter in a Robert Fulghum book about welcoming a child into a family. He begins the chapter like this, “When a child is born, the drama lasts a few days carried on by its own energy.” [1]

I thought back to the birth of my own children and laughed out loud. In my experience the “drama” surrounding the welcoming of a new child lasts quite a big longer than a “few days.” There have been no other experiences in my life as completely life-altering as welcoming a baby.

Welcoming another person into our life forces us to stay awake and alive….in all of the good ways and in all of the hard ways. Fulghum says later how astounding it is that a six pound bundle can turn an adult’s life completely upside down. He says of that first night with a newborn, “If you weren’t an adult already, you will be by the morning. This is why they said children make babies and babies make adults.” [2].                     

Of course, it’s not just babies. Welcoming anyone into a family will shift things. Foster kids. A new partner or spouse. An aging parent who comes to live in a guest room. An exchange student from another country. Gosh, even a puppy can cause quite a stir.

I have a dear friend, Ashley, whose wife just gave birth on Friday. I’ve enjoyed watching her preparations from afar via the magic of Facebook. Beautiful photos of the couple with a bulging belly. Bookshelves lovingly prepared and stocked to welcome their daughter.

Anyone who has ever prepared for a shift like this probably remembers moments of chaos - realizing you have no idea how to install the car seat, realizing your mom isn’t going to be able to climb those stairs unless you install a new handrail. And we probably all remember moments of quiet calm - walking into a silent nursery or guest room, realizing it will be filled with a new human in a short period of time. I think of this as the “calm before the welcoming.”

That’s the season we’re in right now as the Church - the Calm Before the Welcoming.

This season of Advent is meant to be a space where we can quiet our souls and be about the work of holy waiting as we prepare to welcome the Christ Child once again. Sure, there might be moments of frantic preparation - decking the halls, memorizing lines for the Christmas pageant - but there should also be those holy moments of silence as we prepare a manger in our hearts, lovingly creating space for the awareness that God comes to us once again this year, just as she comes to us each and every day….if only we could have eyes to sense God’s presence.

Father Richard Rohr says that, in our culture, we suffer from a “glut” of words, experiences, books, and ideas. [3] I would add that in December we also suffer from a glut of event invitations, anxiety, consumerism run amok, and ridiculous expectations for what a “perfect” Christmas should be. We can and should be firm about our boundaries during this season. It’s okay to say no to the false idol of perfection. It’s okay to look at our budget and think realistically gift-giving and then say, “You know what? It’s enough. It’s more than enough.” If we make it to December 25th and are exhausted, we’re not doing it quite right.

Father Rohr says that we humans “need spiritual disciplines to help us know know how to see and what is worth seeing, and what we don’t need to see.” [4] Because, as it turns out, God is actual Emmanuel - God-with-us - each and every day. Not just in the quiet candlelight of Christmas Eve. What shifts and changes in the magic of that Silent Night is not God’s presence but our awareness of it.

If Advent is to be a time of deepening growth, we need to each pause and ponder how we can create space and stillness this year. We need to be aware that every “yes” means saying “no” to something else. We need to be intentional about the way we use our energy. Otherwise we run the risk of missing out on the gifts of this holy season.

The author of Isaiah knew about the gifts that come through holy waiting. Today’s passage is a desperate prayer for God’s abiding presence. We know that this prayer was written during a tumultuous time of political instability. The people of Israel were returning to their homeland after generations in exile, but they continued to live under the rule of a kinder-but-still-occupying force. Times of rapid political change are ripe for desperate prayers like this one: “O, God, that you would tear open the heavens and come down!”

This is the prayer of a person who craves God’s action….and who is frustrated and impatient with waiting. “Come on, God! Can’t you see what a mess the world is right now? Why won’t you DO SOMETHING ABOUT IT??

But it is also the prayer of someone who is trying to learn how to wait. In quiet confidence the author says, “From ages past no one has heard, no ear has perceived, no eye has seen any God besides you, who works for those who wait for him.”

“Those who wait for him.” That’s us. Waiting. Watching. Begging. Pleading. Caught in the tension of already and not yet. Desperately holding on in the chaos and stillness. Seeking new and fresh ways to prepare our hearts and minds. Resting in the Calm Before the Welcoming.

I think it’s probably safe to say that we are, generally-speaking, a group of folks who like to DO. We feed the hungry, care for the poor, fight for justice, welcome the stranger, dutifully call our members of congress. Some of us even get on planes and go to D.C. to get arrested in the name of making a Just World for All. Thank God for those who act.

And there is another piece that lives alongside action: contemplation. Father Rohr heads up an organization called the Center for Contemplation and Action. He says that the most important word in their title isn’t “contemplation” or “action.” The most important word is “and.” [5] For it is in the holding together of the two that we truly learn to walk in the ways of the One we follow.

Rohr notes that Jesus balanced his time between the city and desert. [6]  In the city it was loud. Jesus’s assumptions were challenged. His boundaries were expanded. Hard questions were asked. Miracles abounded.

But after spending time in the chaos of the city, Jesus always took time and went to the desert. Rohr notes that deserts are places where we are voluntarily under-stimulated. No new data. Quiet. Space. Emptiness. [7]

It’s not that the desert is better or worse. It’s not that the city is wrong or right. It’s that we need BOTH in order to be fully human. We need quiet solitude and energetic movement. We need to pray and act. We need to take time to do nothing but breathe and we need to raise our voices in boardrooms and the streets. We need contemplation and action if we are serious about walking in the ways of Jesus.

This Advent, the words of the Prophet remind us that God is the potter and we are the clay. We are all of us the work of God’s hands. And in God’s loving hands we seek and find that balance between contemplation and action. We prepare our spirits for the Advent of Christ in the quietness of candlelight and in the exuberant “Amen!” that rises up in our souls as the organ swells.

The time has come for the Calm Before the Welcoming. Let us find our balance this Advent as we prepare to welcome Jesus once again. Amen.

[1] Robert Fulghum. From Beginning to End: The Rituals of Our Lives, Chapter 9.

[2] Ibid.

[3] Rohr, Richard. Everything Belongs: The Gift of Contemplative Prayer, 39.

[4] Ibid.

[5] Rohr, 92.

[6] Rohr, 170

[7] Rohr, 77.