Dare We Expect?
Commentary
Alone for his first cruise ship voyage, a young man felt a stranger among crowds of aging patrons. But one youngish woman kept sidling up to him in the most unlikely of spots. She seemed to recognize him, at least by the knowing look in her eyes. Finally, he apologized for not having a clue who she was.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to stare at you, but you look so much like my first husband.”
Taken aback, he stammered a halting condolence, and asked hesitantly what had happened to her husband. “Oh,” she replied cheerfully, “I haven’t been married… yet!”
That is hope and expectation! Such we need in these days of northern hemisphere winter. And such Advent brings to us in the visions of David, the exhortations of Paul, and the amazing drama unfolding in Mary’s life.
2 Samuel 7:1-11, 16
David was an unlikely king, set on a track to power during Israel’s trial run at monarchy under the roller-coaster leadership of King Saul. Although he tried not to compete with the one he knew had also been selected for high office by Yahweh, David increasingly found himself on a trajectory that put him on Israel’s throne. Yet he wanted, even there, to affirm that this nation’s truest political structure was a theocracy. The God of the Exodus and the Sinai Covenant was Israel’s primary ruler.
For this reason, David brought the Ark of the Covenant, Yahweh’s portable throne on earth, to Jerusalem, the new capital city of the nation (2 Samuel 6). Moreover, he wished for the building that would house the ark to be a splendid palace, worthy of the nation’s great king. To this task he set his purposes and resources, affirmed, at first, by his advisor, the prophet Nathan (verse 3).
Yet that night Nathan received a new word from the Lord. Although David’s desires were laudable, he was too much a man of battle to build a palace of peace. David should gather the resources and make the plans, and then pass along to his son the mandate of temple building.
But the prophetic word went further. Because David had tried to do the right thing, God wanted to honor him in a unique way. Although David was not permitted to build a house for God at this time, God would build a house for David. God made a pledge, a promise, a non-conditioned royal grant covenant to David. For all the years to come (as Randy Travis would sing: “Forever and ever. Amen!”), into perpetuity, David would have a descendent on the throne of the nation that was called God’s chosen people.
This was an amazing commitment, and it came back in big ways as Israel’s history unfolded. Even when Solomon’s stupid son Rehoboam should have lost the throne entirely, a remnant of the nation stuck with him as king. Their faithfulness to God’s commitments proved accurate, for later the large portion of the nation that split off under Rehoboam’s rival Jeroboam was destroyed by the Assyrian empire in 722 B.C. Through the shenanigans of Queen Athaliah and King Ahaz, or the turncoat despotism of King Manasseh, or the selfish panderings of Kings Jehoiakin and Zedekiah, Yahweh remained faithful to the divine promise, and the nation survived international threats that beat down many more powerful neighboring kingdoms. In fact, Judah was never really destroyed. While the Assyrians obliterated the northern kingdom, and Judah was made subject to Babylon for a while, a good portion of the nation survived intact as exiles. Eventually they returned to their patrimony and began hoping anew for the return of the Davidic monarchy and national restoration.
That’s when good ancestral records became vitally important. Every family connected to the royal line would remember this promise of Yahweh and hope and pray that from their household the next great ruler would arise. So it was, that to an otherwise unimportant couple in Nazareth, about a thousand years after Yahweh made this pledge to David, a miraculous birth happened for two people who were both members of the royal family. On the basis of 2 Samuel 7, Jesus was born a king. While there was much that needed proof and confirmation about his character and his potential, once these things were seen by those around Jesus, the pieces quickly fell into place. That is why, when Jesus entered Jerusalem a week before his crucifixion, the crowds could shout with certainty and conviction, “Hosanna to the Son of David!” King Jesus had arrived.
For Israel, through the centuries of her sometimes much scarred existence, the promise of an eternal reign for David’s great sons was like Christmas gifts bought early in November or December and packaged prettily for display under a tree until Christmas. One even has my name on it; all in the family know that it will bring me wonder and joy and blessing, but its exact content remains a mystery until the wrappings are ripped away. So too with God’s long-planned activity of salvation. The package was clearly set before the world in the national identity of Israel; but until the specifics of the gift were revealed through the person of Jesus, it remained a “mystery.” Even the prophets were somewhat in the dark about the exact contours of the great gift that was to be revealed. But now the wrappings are off, and the proclamation of Jesus is the hope of the world.
Romans 16:25-27
There appears to have been some tension between the Jewish and Gentile communities in the early Roman church. Paul had not yet visited there himself (see Romans 1:11-13, 15:23-29), but as he brought to a conclusion his third mission journey (Acts 18-19), he spent the winter months in Corinth with his good friend Gaius (Romans 16:23), and while there learned that Phoebe from the Corinthian port suburb of Cenchrea (Romans 16:1-2) was headed for Rome, so he sent this missal along with her.
The difficulties between Jew and Gentile pop up at times in Paul’s letter. First, he acknowledges the dual groups that make up the congregation in his summary statement that opens the letter (Romans 1:14-17). Next, he identifies the guilt that both groups bear for sin and evil in the societies of the world (Romans 2:9-10). Then he undermines the religious benefits of Jewish identity (Romans 2:17-29). Almost immediately he reinstates the privileged position of the Jews in the chronological unfolding of the divine plan of salvation (Romans 3:1-20). Following that he preaches a sermon on the relationship between grace and works within the life of the great Jewish ancestor Abraham (Romans 3:21-4:25). Finally, he wrestles with the problem of the divine election of the Israelite nation and then its seeming loss of special favor, arguing that the Jews misunderstood the former, and that the latter is only a perception useful for evangelizing the Gentiles (Romans 9-11).
All of these hints and ideas and theological arguments suggest that the Jewish and Gentile participants in the Roman congregation were not always on the same page when it came to doctrine or hospitality. While Paul has attempted throughout his letter to clarify the issues of theology that speak to these matters, in these final paragraphs he moves on to a strong ethical exhortation that makes a case for the differing racial groups to find a deeper commonality in Christ.
The unity of the Christian community, according to Paul, is modeled by Jesus, who gave up his rights and privileges as a favored Son of God in order to become a servant among us. And in this incarnation, the Jewish community is uniquely blessed to have been the caretakers of the redemptive plans; this does not, however, mean that Jews are thus sociologically elevated above the Gentiles. Instead, the Gentiles praise God for the work of salvation brought through Jesus, and they thank the Jews for being willing and able to process the divine incursion into the human race.
Paul lifts the great mission of Jesus, recently revealed as central to life itself. All the nations of the world were weary with strife, and looked with longing for a leader who would take them to a new and different promised land. In these last times Jesus has been revealed, the true son of David and the mighty heir to all the best of the prophetic promises.
So it is that even in Rome, where Caligula (37-41 A.D.), Claudius (41-54 A.D.), and Nero (54-68 A.D.), were taking successive stabs at world domination during those very times, an even great king was provided a model of hope and justice. He had emerged from the Jewish community, but he was the hope of the nations.
This is a great message for the Fourth Sunday in Advent. In some ways the Christian church has taken over the role held in Paul’s mind by the Jewish community. The church carries the heritage of God’s work for the salvation of the human race. The church plays out the drama of redemption from week to week. The church preaches and displays an eschatological ethical morality that is shaped by the teachings of heaven. But the church, like the Jewish community of Paul’s day, is merely a tool in the larger plans of God to win back the entire human race to divine grace.
If the church celebrates Advent as a private family party, it misses the missiological emphasis of Paul in Romans. It is precisely because the church can enjoy the special favor of a relationship with God as provided by Jesus that it then becomes a partner with the rest of the world. It must breathe the word of incarnation as a respirator into the dysfunctional lungs of all societies, giving them a cleansing inhalation that provides the hope of healing and life.
Luke 1:26-38
Mary is a marvelous figure. Although reformers rightly reacted against the excesses of “Mariolatry,” she deserves a lot more honor than many Protestants have accorded. So, it would seem that today’s gospel reading ought to raise Mary’s name and identity as a key component in our Advent preaching. But that is not necessarily the case. Although the story is largely about Mary, the message is not. True, she is “highly favored.” But when Gabriel explains why, the focus is on Jesus, not Mary. She will conceive and bear a son, but the son’s name is already declared (mother Mary has no choice in the matter). Her son (not her) will be great. In fact, he will be identified with God, not Mary. And all the promises made to great King David in 2 Samuel 7 will come true in this person she will carry for nine months.
Even when Mary questions how such marvelous tales could become reality, she is again set in the background. “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you.” Mary will be acted upon, and almost consumed under the weight of glory that crushes her. The only thing people will remark about, as these things unfold, is that “the Holy One to be born will be called the Son of God.”
Why does Luke tell us the story this way? He reminds us, at the beginning (Luke 1:1-4), that there are other reflections on the life and teachings of Jesus in circulation. Mark, in his gospel, did not think it appropriate even to talk about the weakness of Jesus when he was just a baby; so his tale begins as the full-grown Jesus strides decisively through the hills and valleys of Galilee, healing and teaching and proclaiming the Kingdom of God in sanctified frenzy. Later in the century John, too, will follow this path, speaking of Jesus’ initial coming only in the metaphors of philosophy and liturgical symbolism. And Matthew’s approach included a few notes about Jesus’ miraculous birth but tied them quickly to stories of other great deliverers who were born to save Israel.
Luke’s purpose is more clearly seen when the gospel as a whole is read with care. Among the many things that mark Luke’s literary passions and style is his desire to locate the story and message of Jesus within its historical context. These are the days of Caesar Augustus, and Quirinius, and Pontius Pilate, and Claudius. And the way that Luke relates the events and actions of Jesus’ life reflect on incidents that others in the larger Greco-Roman world would appreciate quickly. Everyone knew, for example, that Cyrus the Great of the Persians, who had conquered the Babylonians and sent the Jewish exiles home, was miraculously born. His mother claimed that on the night of his conception a bolt of lightning had flamed from heaven and pierced her womb. That is why her son became powerful, a ruler of nations.
So too with the next “Great” ruler of recent history. Alexander, born to Philip of Macedon (supposedly a direct descendent of the god Heracles) and his wife Olympias, was reputed to have come along only when one of the gods visited each of them in dreams and declared the divine qualities of their future son. Not only that, but the Temple of Artemis (or Dianna) in Ephesus caught fire the night Alexander was born. Rumor had it that the gods were so busy midwifing this birth that they neglected their usual care of that honored site.
Then there was the case of Caesar Augustus himself. An astrologer had foretold incredible things about him when he was born. Although his early years as Gaius Octavius, Jr., did not betray great promise, by the time he was twelve he gave a funeral oration for his grandmother that stunned the crowds with its insight, passion and brilliance. He was on his way to become a truly divinely appointed ruler.
While Luke would not wish to merely place Jesus among that crowd as a product of myth and superstition, he does understand that the exceptionally great leaders among the nations are prepared and equipped by God. Thus, at the start of Jesus’ life-story, it is important to Luke that the great divine plans be highlighted. Only in this way will the full impact of Jesus’ ministry be understood.
Application
The accent of all three passages for today is on hope. One great illustration of such hope is found in the last minutes of the movie The Shawshank Redemption. Based on a short story by Stephen King, The Shawshank Redemption tells a sordid tale of a man wrongly accused of murder imprisoned in an unjust system and made the pawn of self-righteous and sadistic warden. While he is not a person who appears to have much strength or bargaining collateral, the prisoner proves surprisingly resourceful, and wins the begrudging respect of both his fellow inmates and the guards of Shawshank prison.
Unknown to all, he is taking his revenge by staging a masterful escape and bringing down the corrupt officials who used the prison as their personal gold mine. After he disappears, he sends a carefully worded postcard to his closest convict friend, who later gains parole. But life on the outside is threatening and lonely, and the friend nearly succumbs to his despair, toying with suicidal thoughts that caused the death of an earlier releasee. The postcard beckons the former convict to find some hidden resources and plan a journey into the unknown which carries the promise of a new life.
In the final scenes of the movie, hope has transformed the beaten and degraded man into an energized and thoughtful soul. As he rides the bus toward his destination, he slowly tells of his hope. His hope of a friend who will meet him. His hope to see the vast blueness of the Pacific Ocean. His hope that there is still meaning to life. “I hope…” he says.
So do we, on this Sunday of Advent. For all who have been imprisoned by fears, impoverished by wants, imperiled by wrongs, impersonalized by society, and immobilized by threats, Advent calls out with the hope of eschatological promise. Jesus came. Jesus died. Jesus rose again. Jesus ascended. Jesus is coming again. I know. And so “I hope....”
Alternative Application (Luke 1:26-38)
So we need to honor Mary. But we must be careful not to take any of the attention off of her son. Mary’s role in the birth of the Messiah was truly unique. Yet it was only a portion of the long and heaven-directed planning by which God took up residence on earth for the salvation of all nations. This is Luke’s emphasis, as he rehearses the exciting days leading to Jesus’ birth. The balances of power on earth are about to be tipped through this new king, born in the most unlikely of circumstances.
So how do we measure power? Alan Redpath tells of a prominent businessman in South Africa who was duly impressed with the luxury of Rolls Royce automobiles. He ordered one for himself and marveled at its speed and handling. He looked through the manual but found no test results listed indicating the horsepower of the engine. So, he went to the dealer.
“I’m sorry,” the dealer told him. “The company never states the horsepower of their engines.”
But the man was not to be put off. And he was too powerful a person to be ignored. So, the dealer sent a cable to Derby, England, asking the head office for an answer in the matter.
Within a short time, there was a reply. It was brief and to the point, a response of only a single word. How much horsepower does the Rolls Royce engine develop? “ADEQUATE.” That’s all. That’s enough.
So it is in the birth story of Jesus. The power of God will come down and engender this powerful life. How powerful will the baby be? He will be king. With how much authority? Enough. Adequate. To rule all nations on earth. And everything within them will change.
“I’m sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to stare at you, but you look so much like my first husband.”
Taken aback, he stammered a halting condolence, and asked hesitantly what had happened to her husband. “Oh,” she replied cheerfully, “I haven’t been married… yet!”
That is hope and expectation! Such we need in these days of northern hemisphere winter. And such Advent brings to us in the visions of David, the exhortations of Paul, and the amazing drama unfolding in Mary’s life.
2 Samuel 7:1-11, 16
David was an unlikely king, set on a track to power during Israel’s trial run at monarchy under the roller-coaster leadership of King Saul. Although he tried not to compete with the one he knew had also been selected for high office by Yahweh, David increasingly found himself on a trajectory that put him on Israel’s throne. Yet he wanted, even there, to affirm that this nation’s truest political structure was a theocracy. The God of the Exodus and the Sinai Covenant was Israel’s primary ruler.
For this reason, David brought the Ark of the Covenant, Yahweh’s portable throne on earth, to Jerusalem, the new capital city of the nation (2 Samuel 6). Moreover, he wished for the building that would house the ark to be a splendid palace, worthy of the nation’s great king. To this task he set his purposes and resources, affirmed, at first, by his advisor, the prophet Nathan (verse 3).
Yet that night Nathan received a new word from the Lord. Although David’s desires were laudable, he was too much a man of battle to build a palace of peace. David should gather the resources and make the plans, and then pass along to his son the mandate of temple building.
But the prophetic word went further. Because David had tried to do the right thing, God wanted to honor him in a unique way. Although David was not permitted to build a house for God at this time, God would build a house for David. God made a pledge, a promise, a non-conditioned royal grant covenant to David. For all the years to come (as Randy Travis would sing: “Forever and ever. Amen!”), into perpetuity, David would have a descendent on the throne of the nation that was called God’s chosen people.
This was an amazing commitment, and it came back in big ways as Israel’s history unfolded. Even when Solomon’s stupid son Rehoboam should have lost the throne entirely, a remnant of the nation stuck with him as king. Their faithfulness to God’s commitments proved accurate, for later the large portion of the nation that split off under Rehoboam’s rival Jeroboam was destroyed by the Assyrian empire in 722 B.C. Through the shenanigans of Queen Athaliah and King Ahaz, or the turncoat despotism of King Manasseh, or the selfish panderings of Kings Jehoiakin and Zedekiah, Yahweh remained faithful to the divine promise, and the nation survived international threats that beat down many more powerful neighboring kingdoms. In fact, Judah was never really destroyed. While the Assyrians obliterated the northern kingdom, and Judah was made subject to Babylon for a while, a good portion of the nation survived intact as exiles. Eventually they returned to their patrimony and began hoping anew for the return of the Davidic monarchy and national restoration.
That’s when good ancestral records became vitally important. Every family connected to the royal line would remember this promise of Yahweh and hope and pray that from their household the next great ruler would arise. So it was, that to an otherwise unimportant couple in Nazareth, about a thousand years after Yahweh made this pledge to David, a miraculous birth happened for two people who were both members of the royal family. On the basis of 2 Samuel 7, Jesus was born a king. While there was much that needed proof and confirmation about his character and his potential, once these things were seen by those around Jesus, the pieces quickly fell into place. That is why, when Jesus entered Jerusalem a week before his crucifixion, the crowds could shout with certainty and conviction, “Hosanna to the Son of David!” King Jesus had arrived.
For Israel, through the centuries of her sometimes much scarred existence, the promise of an eternal reign for David’s great sons was like Christmas gifts bought early in November or December and packaged prettily for display under a tree until Christmas. One even has my name on it; all in the family know that it will bring me wonder and joy and blessing, but its exact content remains a mystery until the wrappings are ripped away. So too with God’s long-planned activity of salvation. The package was clearly set before the world in the national identity of Israel; but until the specifics of the gift were revealed through the person of Jesus, it remained a “mystery.” Even the prophets were somewhat in the dark about the exact contours of the great gift that was to be revealed. But now the wrappings are off, and the proclamation of Jesus is the hope of the world.
Romans 16:25-27
There appears to have been some tension between the Jewish and Gentile communities in the early Roman church. Paul had not yet visited there himself (see Romans 1:11-13, 15:23-29), but as he brought to a conclusion his third mission journey (Acts 18-19), he spent the winter months in Corinth with his good friend Gaius (Romans 16:23), and while there learned that Phoebe from the Corinthian port suburb of Cenchrea (Romans 16:1-2) was headed for Rome, so he sent this missal along with her.
The difficulties between Jew and Gentile pop up at times in Paul’s letter. First, he acknowledges the dual groups that make up the congregation in his summary statement that opens the letter (Romans 1:14-17). Next, he identifies the guilt that both groups bear for sin and evil in the societies of the world (Romans 2:9-10). Then he undermines the religious benefits of Jewish identity (Romans 2:17-29). Almost immediately he reinstates the privileged position of the Jews in the chronological unfolding of the divine plan of salvation (Romans 3:1-20). Following that he preaches a sermon on the relationship between grace and works within the life of the great Jewish ancestor Abraham (Romans 3:21-4:25). Finally, he wrestles with the problem of the divine election of the Israelite nation and then its seeming loss of special favor, arguing that the Jews misunderstood the former, and that the latter is only a perception useful for evangelizing the Gentiles (Romans 9-11).
All of these hints and ideas and theological arguments suggest that the Jewish and Gentile participants in the Roman congregation were not always on the same page when it came to doctrine or hospitality. While Paul has attempted throughout his letter to clarify the issues of theology that speak to these matters, in these final paragraphs he moves on to a strong ethical exhortation that makes a case for the differing racial groups to find a deeper commonality in Christ.
The unity of the Christian community, according to Paul, is modeled by Jesus, who gave up his rights and privileges as a favored Son of God in order to become a servant among us. And in this incarnation, the Jewish community is uniquely blessed to have been the caretakers of the redemptive plans; this does not, however, mean that Jews are thus sociologically elevated above the Gentiles. Instead, the Gentiles praise God for the work of salvation brought through Jesus, and they thank the Jews for being willing and able to process the divine incursion into the human race.
Paul lifts the great mission of Jesus, recently revealed as central to life itself. All the nations of the world were weary with strife, and looked with longing for a leader who would take them to a new and different promised land. In these last times Jesus has been revealed, the true son of David and the mighty heir to all the best of the prophetic promises.
So it is that even in Rome, where Caligula (37-41 A.D.), Claudius (41-54 A.D.), and Nero (54-68 A.D.), were taking successive stabs at world domination during those very times, an even great king was provided a model of hope and justice. He had emerged from the Jewish community, but he was the hope of the nations.
This is a great message for the Fourth Sunday in Advent. In some ways the Christian church has taken over the role held in Paul’s mind by the Jewish community. The church carries the heritage of God’s work for the salvation of the human race. The church plays out the drama of redemption from week to week. The church preaches and displays an eschatological ethical morality that is shaped by the teachings of heaven. But the church, like the Jewish community of Paul’s day, is merely a tool in the larger plans of God to win back the entire human race to divine grace.
If the church celebrates Advent as a private family party, it misses the missiological emphasis of Paul in Romans. It is precisely because the church can enjoy the special favor of a relationship with God as provided by Jesus that it then becomes a partner with the rest of the world. It must breathe the word of incarnation as a respirator into the dysfunctional lungs of all societies, giving them a cleansing inhalation that provides the hope of healing and life.
Luke 1:26-38
Mary is a marvelous figure. Although reformers rightly reacted against the excesses of “Mariolatry,” she deserves a lot more honor than many Protestants have accorded. So, it would seem that today’s gospel reading ought to raise Mary’s name and identity as a key component in our Advent preaching. But that is not necessarily the case. Although the story is largely about Mary, the message is not. True, she is “highly favored.” But when Gabriel explains why, the focus is on Jesus, not Mary. She will conceive and bear a son, but the son’s name is already declared (mother Mary has no choice in the matter). Her son (not her) will be great. In fact, he will be identified with God, not Mary. And all the promises made to great King David in 2 Samuel 7 will come true in this person she will carry for nine months.
Even when Mary questions how such marvelous tales could become reality, she is again set in the background. “The Holy Spirit will come upon you, and the power of the Most High will overshadow you.” Mary will be acted upon, and almost consumed under the weight of glory that crushes her. The only thing people will remark about, as these things unfold, is that “the Holy One to be born will be called the Son of God.”
Why does Luke tell us the story this way? He reminds us, at the beginning (Luke 1:1-4), that there are other reflections on the life and teachings of Jesus in circulation. Mark, in his gospel, did not think it appropriate even to talk about the weakness of Jesus when he was just a baby; so his tale begins as the full-grown Jesus strides decisively through the hills and valleys of Galilee, healing and teaching and proclaiming the Kingdom of God in sanctified frenzy. Later in the century John, too, will follow this path, speaking of Jesus’ initial coming only in the metaphors of philosophy and liturgical symbolism. And Matthew’s approach included a few notes about Jesus’ miraculous birth but tied them quickly to stories of other great deliverers who were born to save Israel.
Luke’s purpose is more clearly seen when the gospel as a whole is read with care. Among the many things that mark Luke’s literary passions and style is his desire to locate the story and message of Jesus within its historical context. These are the days of Caesar Augustus, and Quirinius, and Pontius Pilate, and Claudius. And the way that Luke relates the events and actions of Jesus’ life reflect on incidents that others in the larger Greco-Roman world would appreciate quickly. Everyone knew, for example, that Cyrus the Great of the Persians, who had conquered the Babylonians and sent the Jewish exiles home, was miraculously born. His mother claimed that on the night of his conception a bolt of lightning had flamed from heaven and pierced her womb. That is why her son became powerful, a ruler of nations.
So too with the next “Great” ruler of recent history. Alexander, born to Philip of Macedon (supposedly a direct descendent of the god Heracles) and his wife Olympias, was reputed to have come along only when one of the gods visited each of them in dreams and declared the divine qualities of their future son. Not only that, but the Temple of Artemis (or Dianna) in Ephesus caught fire the night Alexander was born. Rumor had it that the gods were so busy midwifing this birth that they neglected their usual care of that honored site.
Then there was the case of Caesar Augustus himself. An astrologer had foretold incredible things about him when he was born. Although his early years as Gaius Octavius, Jr., did not betray great promise, by the time he was twelve he gave a funeral oration for his grandmother that stunned the crowds with its insight, passion and brilliance. He was on his way to become a truly divinely appointed ruler.
While Luke would not wish to merely place Jesus among that crowd as a product of myth and superstition, he does understand that the exceptionally great leaders among the nations are prepared and equipped by God. Thus, at the start of Jesus’ life-story, it is important to Luke that the great divine plans be highlighted. Only in this way will the full impact of Jesus’ ministry be understood.
Application
The accent of all three passages for today is on hope. One great illustration of such hope is found in the last minutes of the movie The Shawshank Redemption. Based on a short story by Stephen King, The Shawshank Redemption tells a sordid tale of a man wrongly accused of murder imprisoned in an unjust system and made the pawn of self-righteous and sadistic warden. While he is not a person who appears to have much strength or bargaining collateral, the prisoner proves surprisingly resourceful, and wins the begrudging respect of both his fellow inmates and the guards of Shawshank prison.
Unknown to all, he is taking his revenge by staging a masterful escape and bringing down the corrupt officials who used the prison as their personal gold mine. After he disappears, he sends a carefully worded postcard to his closest convict friend, who later gains parole. But life on the outside is threatening and lonely, and the friend nearly succumbs to his despair, toying with suicidal thoughts that caused the death of an earlier releasee. The postcard beckons the former convict to find some hidden resources and plan a journey into the unknown which carries the promise of a new life.
In the final scenes of the movie, hope has transformed the beaten and degraded man into an energized and thoughtful soul. As he rides the bus toward his destination, he slowly tells of his hope. His hope of a friend who will meet him. His hope to see the vast blueness of the Pacific Ocean. His hope that there is still meaning to life. “I hope…” he says.
So do we, on this Sunday of Advent. For all who have been imprisoned by fears, impoverished by wants, imperiled by wrongs, impersonalized by society, and immobilized by threats, Advent calls out with the hope of eschatological promise. Jesus came. Jesus died. Jesus rose again. Jesus ascended. Jesus is coming again. I know. And so “I hope....”
Alternative Application (Luke 1:26-38)
So we need to honor Mary. But we must be careful not to take any of the attention off of her son. Mary’s role in the birth of the Messiah was truly unique. Yet it was only a portion of the long and heaven-directed planning by which God took up residence on earth for the salvation of all nations. This is Luke’s emphasis, as he rehearses the exciting days leading to Jesus’ birth. The balances of power on earth are about to be tipped through this new king, born in the most unlikely of circumstances.
So how do we measure power? Alan Redpath tells of a prominent businessman in South Africa who was duly impressed with the luxury of Rolls Royce automobiles. He ordered one for himself and marveled at its speed and handling. He looked through the manual but found no test results listed indicating the horsepower of the engine. So, he went to the dealer.
“I’m sorry,” the dealer told him. “The company never states the horsepower of their engines.”
But the man was not to be put off. And he was too powerful a person to be ignored. So, the dealer sent a cable to Derby, England, asking the head office for an answer in the matter.
Within a short time, there was a reply. It was brief and to the point, a response of only a single word. How much horsepower does the Rolls Royce engine develop? “ADEQUATE.” That’s all. That’s enough.
So it is in the birth story of Jesus. The power of God will come down and engender this powerful life. How powerful will the baby be? He will be king. With how much authority? Enough. Adequate. To rule all nations on earth. And everything within them will change.
