How Long Can You Hold
Your Breath? The Rev. Fred G. Garry - December 2, 2001
Texts: Isaiah 2 and Luke 2 Advent is a time rife with ritual.
From gatherings to cards, from eggnog to fruitcake we are surrounded
by a host of annual events that come to the fore after Thanksgiving.
I say Advent instead of Christmas for a simple reason. Christmas
is one day a year. Christmas is when the madness, I mean glory
of the season, comes to an end. Christmas is when the rapping
paper is torn, sweaters of dubious taste are worn to appease
distant family members, the phrase "just for today can you
get along with..." is heard across the country, mostly in
cars parked outside of childhood homes. This is Christmas. Advent
is the season leading up to it. Advent is the true challenge.
Advent begins today. This is the first
Sunday of Advent. Unlike the malls and the mail, our holiday
entrance does not occur the day after Thanksgiving. That is not
to say the planning waits until then. Advent planning is months
in the making, and combed over again and again to insure a minimal
amount of oversight. Each plan though is consistent: to create
a moment wherein the season is encountered again and again. Everything
from the hanging of the greens, to the candlelight service on
Christmas eve is meant to provide such moments, and for good
reason. Advent is an essential part of our culture's rhythm,
of our life of faith.
In our home the most important Advent
ritual is reserved for a Saturday. On a Saturday- as early as
possible if I get my way- we venture out and enter the tree selection
process. Part auction, part closing argument before a court,
and part county code deliberation we sift through a host of trees.
I usually find the most enormous tree on the farm, the one that
has been too big for about a decade, used by small pilots as
a reference point to guide them in the fog; I bow in homage and
offer words of awe and praise to this advent idol of big tree
lovers, mumbling "we could..." as Kathy drags me toward
the more realistic trees. With this act of pilgrimage done we
bid each other up and down, make our case, and usually conclude
with such statements as "you couldn't get that in the door"
or the most dreaded of all arguments, "we don't have enough
ornaments for a tree of that size." These last statement
are meant once again to ground my tree loving aspirations to
the under eight feet variety.
After all is said and done, I cut, Kathy
pays, and the Garry children eat their complimentary candy cane.
The drive is an anxious time; for all watch and in some ways
expect the tree to go sailing off our van as we drive home. Tree
trimming follows. This is a lovely moment of Advent. There is
something about lying on the garage floor screwing and unscrewing
the bolts that are supposed to hold a tree far too big for the
stand. I have to admit on more than one occasion the hubris of
tree size and the over confidence of the tree stand have bedeviled
me for most of an afternoon, nearly depleting all Advent joy.
Once complete though I take my leave
with the youngest and return to see a beautiful tree. By this
time all moments of frustration are forgotten. Advent has the
power to erase bad memories of the cold garage floor. It truly
does. At this moment though the bartering, auctioning, and arguing
Kathy and I went through hours before is resumed. This time though
the interlocutors are our children. The opening statement is
usually direct, "will you put the presents under the tree
now?" A quick "no" is like an umpire yelling,
"play ball." For the pleas and bargains begin in earnest
and do not cease until presents are brought out. Such efforts
are not in vain; they are meant to provide perhaps the most important
of all Advent rituals: the shaking of presents.
Present shaking is an intriguing ritual
to watch. On the surface it seems very straightforward. A child
finds a present with his or her name on it, weighs it with an
instinctive, yet uncanny, scale. There is a pause where the hope
of x-ray vision is prayed for. Such sight not emerging, the present
is then shook. Each child has their particular method of shaking,
but shake they do.
Some may see only the surface meaning
of this ritual. On the surface, the shaking of presents is a
guessing game. Clothes and books are an easy guess. Puzzles and
the ever popular Lego building blocks are without a doubt the
most obvious. From this early elimination all remaining items
must be contextually guessed. Factors to consider are: what was
asked for, prior gifts, and the most important, what is wished
for. There is a difference between what is asked for and what
is wished for. Most children learn to ask for what they believe
is possible, and wish for what they know could only be had if
dreams come true. Such items on the latter list are: the horse,
the car, the big screen surround sound television for their own
room. Big, big things.
I had a history teacher in high school
return after Christmas break one year and restore the faith of
all the jaded teens in the latter list, the list of dreams. Mr.
Houston was his name. On Christmas morning Mr. Houston received
a new car. Now this gift, while large, was not out of the realm
of possibility. The dream aspect came as the donor was revealed.
His brother-in-law, although not a wealthy man by any means,
purchased the truck, saying, "I know you need it."
Mr. Houston, whom I count as one of the few truly great men I
have ever known, got choked up and shed a few tears when he told
us. I have never failed to see the hope and joy of Mr. Houston
in my children as they shake their presents; hoping and wishing
that somehow this one is the dream come true.
I will always remember that story and
Mr. Houston as it reawakened in a strange and persistent way
the power and courage of the Advent dream. I say reawakened for
by that time, by my late teens, the ability to dream big had
been replaced by more realistic visions. Now I still had enough
youthful arrogance to be grandiose, but big dreams didn't come
easily.
In our reading this morning we have big
dreams. "They shall beat their swords into plowshares, and
their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword
against nation, neither shall they learn war any more."
This was the dream of Isaiah, almost 3000 years ago. It is more
than a dream of peace, or a respite from war. Isaiah's dream
is bigger than that. They won't learn war any more. Isaiah's
dream is not for a truce or a ceasefire. This is for a whole
new way of being, a whole new way of living.
Isaiah lived in a time that was not marked
by peace. Coming not long before Jeremiah, Isaiah was prophet
to Israel in times of siege and battle, fear and panic. His time
was marked with turmoil and unrest. During his days he saw Israel's
fortune rise and fall; he saw the darkest days before the Babylonians
when the Assyrian nation came and swept through his country,
destroying and enslaving as they went. By a miracle at the eleventh
hour his nation was saved. The miracle was the death of Sennacherib,
the King of Assyria. Had Sennacherib lived, there would not have
been any more history of Israel. Jerusalem was besieged and nearly
taken when turmoil at home led the invading armies to retreat.
This moment was recorded by Isaiah as a sign of God's favor and
love.
Yet this is not what Isaiah had in mind
when he dreamed. The retreat of the Assyrians was a moment of
glory and filled the beaten land with a much-needed reprieve
of joy. The dream of Isaiah, though, was not that invaders would
be repulsed, or even that they would stay away. His dream was
not the Israel would become so powerful that there would be no
fear of attack. His dream was that the nations would stream to
Israel and they would learn war no more. Notice, it was a vision
of the world, not just Israel. Isaiah was not an idealist or
a kind of academic pacifist who paints castles in the clouds
from armchair lectures. He was a prophet; he was in the mix and
fray of politics, power, and war. And yet, he dreamed beyond
the confines or what may be called realistic. The nations will
stream to Zion; they will find justice; they will no longer learn
war.
Almost a thousand years later we find
Simeon dreaming of salvation, the consolation of Israel. In the
mean time the small nation of Israel was sacked by the Babylonians,
reclaimed by the Egyptians, conquered by the Greeks, and finally
taken by the Romans. If nothing else the history of Israel is
full of highlights. Still is. Simeon would have known this history
better than any Civil War buff can recount the battles of Vicksburg
and Picket's charge, better even than J.R. Collier can recount
sea battles of the Pacific. Well, maybe that one is a stretch.
The point is Simeon would have had greater obstacles than Isaiah
did to dream, to hope beyond hope. Simeon's challenge would have
been greater in that the Romans did not retreat like the Assyrians.
They moved in and set up shop and began remaking his native land.
What is most remarkable though about
Simeon was that he looked at a young child, a newborn, and he
saw the vision, the big dream come true. It would have been one
thing had Simeon seen the miracles of Jesus or heard him teach.
It would have been a different story had he witnessed the power
of Christ displayed. Yet Simeon was a different story. Here was
a man who looked at the child and could see, could see the day
when the nations would not learn war any longer, when they would
find justice, when therer would be salvation. He looked to the
child and said here is a presence, a fight for all people, and
glory for your nation.
Perhaps what comes next is lesson of
centuries. From the time that Isaiah dreamed his big dream to
when Simeon said, MY eyes have seen your salvation, there was
a lot of struggle, a lot of obstacles, many moments to dissuade
people that such a dream was possible. Perhaps it was the reality
of these centuries that caused him to say to Mary, "This
child is destined for the falling and raising of many ... and
a sword will pierce your own soul too." Perhaps it was his
own piercing that caused him to warn Mary, the dream does not
come easy and it comes at a cost.
It would be realistic and possibly somewhat
helpful to see the recent events and challenges of our nation
as the way things really are in the world. Many have called the
terrorist attacks a wake up call, saying we have been slumbering
in our isolation for too long, naively going about our prosperity.
There is some truth to that claim. Now we wake each morning to
headlines of war, we live in a city where there is no way we
can forget this. Some would say it was only a matter of time.
Imagine though if that was what Isaiah
had prophesied, if that had been his vision. What would his words
have been to the people? If not the Assyrians, someone else.
We have it coming. This is the way life is. The world is a complicated
and messy business, wake up and smell the coffee. What if this
had been his message?
It may be hard this year to truly dream
big, big like Isaiah. There are obstacles, things are complicated.
The economy, the war, the Huskies lost so terribly on national
television. Yet, this was when Isaiah dreamed big; this was the
state of things when Simeon could see salvation in a newborn
child. Is this not what Advent is but a time of looking for the
big dream? What if the time to look for the big dream is not
when things are going good, when things are all working out,
but when times are hard, when there is less than fantastic odds?
As a church it is our duty to be this light, this dream right
now. This is our calling: to be the salt, the light, the hope
for those who have none. This is our job.
Get to work. Dream big. Start with your
family and friends, your co-workers and neighbors. Find a way
of sharing this vision with them. It may be an act of hospitality;
it may be a sacrificial gift; it may be a kind word to someone
who has heard many harsh ones. Life has a way of shaking our
confidence, of rattling our cage so the big dreams get broken.
Take time during Advent to listen for those with broken dreams
and lend a hand in the rebuilding process. You may never know
your kindness, your confidence, your peace was the start of some
change, but it may very well be. How many of us have had our
lives changed by incidental kindnesses, where the one who was
kind had no idea how much their love changed our lives? Go out
of your way this Advent to lift up those in need, those around
you.
And one last thing. Shake your presents
and encourage others to do so. Maybe even put this on the box,
"shake before opening." For big dreams can withstand
some shaking. Sometimes they even grow stronger with it. Amen.
|