Watching and waiting
Commentary
Object:
When I was a boy, the father of my best friend accepted a job offer in another country. It
meant that my friend had to move away -- a long distance away -- and that our
opportunities to see each other would be few and far between.
I remember vividly the first day that he and his family were returning for a visit. I was so eager to see him! I was not content to sit in the house and wait for them to arrive. Instead, I started walking up the street. We lived on a cul-de-sac, so I knew from which direction they would have to be coming.
After a few minutes of walking, however, I came to an intersection. At this point, it was no longer certain in my mind whether they would be coming from the left or from the right, so I couldn't go any further. I just had to stand there at that intersection, watching and waiting.
I tell you this: If I had known the exact path that my friend's family was going to take, I would have kept walking that route until we saw each other. That was the nature of my eagerness -- indeed, my impatience -- to see him again. In my boyish reasoning, I thought I could whittle down the wait, you see, by shortening their trip. My endeavor was to meet them part way.
In the big scheme of things, of course, my efforts were silly. They had a journey of so many hundreds of miles, and my endeavor was to shorten it by a few blocks. They had to travel many hours to get to our house; I was impatient to shave off the final two minutes.
In our three lections this week, we will be invited to consider a promised coming. In the Old Testament book of Isaiah, we read of a time that is coming: a most desirable time, marked by rejoicing, healing, great fertility, peace, and gladness. In the gospel story, we see John the Baptist wondering about the long-awaited coming. And in our epistle reading, we are encouraged to be patient for another promised coming: the second coming of Christ.
What is our posture and our practice as we await these promised comings?
Isaiah 35:1-10
It is standard fare in biblical scholarship to divide the book of Isaiah into two or three different sections. The first line of division is generally drawn between chapter 39 and chapter 40. There, we observe, the messages and ministry seem to shift from the threat of impending judgment for eighth-century BC Jerusalem into the good news of restoration and promise for the Jews who were in exile.
Not all of the prophecies of hope and promise, however, are reserved for that latter section and perhaps later time. For here in chapter 35, Isaiah of Jerusalem offers a word from God that is glorious in hope and beautiful in detail.
In order to help them appreciate this oasis of hope, we should offer our congregations a glimpse of the desert of judgment that surrounds it. Chapters 13 through 24 feature almost uninterrupted messages and images of judgment. It is not exclusively judgment on Jerusalem; not at all. So many surrounding nations and empires are in God's sights, and so a global drumbeat of God's righteous judgment pervades those chapters. Then, in chapters 25 through 27, we have an interlude of hope and promise. Chapters 28 through our selected text, chapter 35, include a mixture of gloomy forecasts and bright promises. The poetry and pictures of our text represent the grand culmination of the whole section. But then turn the page, and the Assyrians are at the door. Now the material is neither bad future nor good future; now the report is of a terrible present.
How lovely it is that the fabulous anticipation of chapter 35 should immediately precede the onslaught of chapter 36. For in the face of an intimidating human enemy, the people could cling hopefully to the assurance of God's good will and plan for their future.
God's good will and plan are laid out with characteristic thoroughness. Nature is depicted as fertile and bountiful. That's not simply to say that ordinarily fertile places will be green and lush; no, this is an encouraging image of redemption, for it is "the dry land" and "the desert" that shall "blossom abundantly," for "waters shall break forth in the wilderness."
Furthermore, in addition to those compelling images of beauty and bounty, nature shall also be de-clawed. The "burning sand" and the "thirsty ground" will be relieved, and God's people shall walk without fear or threat of lions or ravenous beasts.
Beyond the images of nature, this passage of promise also paints a picture of human healing. The "weak hands," the "feeble knees," and the "fearful hearts" are all addressed. Furthermore, the blind, the deaf, the lame, and the dumb shall all be healed.
Beyond the physical healing alone, the passage also anticipates a still greater gift from God. "He will come and save you" is the timely promise, followed by images of a people who have been "redeemed" and "ransomed"; a people, freed from sorrow, who will populate Zion with joy and gladness.
And, finally, above and beyond the pictures of nature and of people, the passage offers a glimpse of God. The coming of the Lord is promised, with all his glory and majesty promised, as well as with his rescuing vengeance. It is all extraordinarily good news for a people who, on the next page, will be surrounded by the Assyrians.
James 5:7-10
I remember as a boy hearing a preacher observe how many of the African-American spirituals sang about heaven or going to heaven. "Songs about heaven," he said, "almost always come out of times of trouble. People don't write songs about heaven when they're quite comfortable on earth."
That is a point worth considering for many of us whose parishioners are, frankly, quite comfortable on earth.
The person who is unhappy in his job counts down the minutes until quitting time, the days until the weekend, the weeks until vacation, and the years until retirement. Because the present is unpleasant, the unhappy worker spends a great deal of energy focusing on the future. Likewise, the student who is counting the days until Christmas break or summer vacation. But it's a rare individual, by contrast, who counts down eagerly the days until vacation is over. When the present is comfortable, we don't feel so impatient for the future.
Accordingly, the encouragement from James may not resonate immediately with our people. "Be patient," he says, "until the coming of the Lord." That's fine, except that we weren't feeling impatient.
Comfort with the present is not our only problem. We may also suffer from a diminished understanding of the future.
We instinctively anticipate some future event that we fully expect to be good. The occasion that promises to be fun, exciting, relaxing, or enjoyable -- these are the events for which we feel impatient. We are not impatient for that appointment with the dentist, or the final exam in school, or the unpleasant conversation we must have with some underling or superior at work.
The fact that our people are not, generally speaking, impatient for the coming of the Lord may not only reflect our present comfort, therefore, but also our dim view of the future. For if we were profoundly certain of the goodness of what was to come, then surely it would be natural for us to anticipate it -- to shift our weight impatiently from one foot to the other, wondering how soon it was going to happen, how much longer we'd have to wait.
James frames the wait in terms of a natural process: the farmer waiting "for the precious crop from the earth." One essential difference between the farmer and us, however, is the certainty of the timetable. An experienced farmer knows which week he can expect to see sprouts, and how many weeks later he will be able to bring in a harvest. However, the "season" of the Lord's coming is not so clear.
That said, we recognize with the farmer that there is no virtue in a premature harvest. It might be encouraging to see the corn stalks up over our heads just two weeks after planting, but if the ears aren't fully developed, what's the point?
Likewise, we trust God's timing in the matter of Christ's return.
During these Sundays of Advent, we rightly give thought to the faithful waiting of those earlier generations of God's people, who did not know just when the Messiah would finally appear. We affirm with the apostle Paul, however, that Christ came "in the fullness of time" (Galatians 4:4) at his incarnation. So, too, we trust that the timing will be just right for his return. Therefore, we are patient "until the coming of the Lord."
Matthew 11:2-11
Lay the contents of all four gospels side by side, and you will discover that surprisingly few items are common to all four. We do not find the Christmas story in all four, nor the Transfiguration. The Sermon on the Mount, the Lord's Prayer, and our favorite parables are not universally recorded. Neither is the calling of James and John, the raising of Lazarus, or the doubting of Thomas found in every gospel.
Few things from the thirty-some years of Jesus' life are found in all four canonical gospels. The bulk of the overlap is limited to just one week of his life -- that final, eventful week in Jerusalem.
In light of that select and crucial intersection of the sets, we should be impressed to discover that the ministry of John the Baptist appears in all four gospels.
I don't know that our members -- or, for that matter, our preaching -- accord John such importance, but the gospel writers recognize his importance. And Jesus affirms John's importance in the most dramatic terms: "Among those born of women not one has arisen greater than John the Baptist."
Jesus' high praise for John comes at an interesting moment: doubt. In prison, we catch a glimpse of wavering just a bit from John's characteristic boldness and authoritative certainty. Perhaps when one's own future is so uncertain every other thing seems somewhat less certain, as well. Specifically, John was uncertain whether Jesus was "the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?"
Jesus sends John's messengers back to him with a strong affirmation rooted in Jesus' own powerful deeds -- "the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them." Jesus' response is not a direct quote of the poetry in our Isaiah 35 lection, but the elements are all there. Isaiah anticipates the day when "the eyes of the blind will be opened" -- check! - - "the ears of the deaf unstopped" -- check! -- and "the lame shall leap like a deer" -- check!
It is interesting to note that Jesus, who elsewhere bemoans and denies requests for a sign (see, for example, Matthew 12:38-42; 16:1-4), should point John to signs for the proof of Jesus' identity and the confirmation of John's faith. Of course, Jesus' response might rightly be understood as the fulfillment of prophecy, as we have noted above. And, furthermore, the signs to which Jesus pointed in this episode were performed to bless, heal, and free people; in the cases where doubters (or even challengers) asked for a sign, it would have been an artificial and self-serving use of God's power.
The occasion of the message from John, meanwhile, prompts Jesus to speak to the crowds about him. He speaks playfully with the people as a way of making his point: that John was a prophet, just as the people suspected. But, more than a prophet, John was also a fulfillment of prophecy ("the one about whom it is written").
Finally, the two-part ranking of John that Jesus offers -- greater than anyone born of women, yet less than the least in the kingdom of heaven -- suggests a certain understanding of history. Specifically, John the Baptist seems to be the very hinge of history -- greater than all who had come prior to the kingdom, and proclaiming the coming of that kingdom at hand (see Matthew 3:1-2; Luke 16:16).
Application
While my impatient, childish efforts to hasten my reunion with my boyhood friend were rather silly in the big scheme of things, there's no question that my heart was in the right place. He was coming to visit; and I was excited.
Imagine, by contrast, if I had been blasé about the entire thing. Perhaps I would have been sitting at home watching television, only mildly aware that today was the day of his arrival. I expect that my welcome in that circumstance would have been comparatively weak and inadequate. Imagine that I had forgotten altogether that my friend was coming. Perhaps I would have gone over to another friend's house to play, and I would have missed his arrival altogether.
This season of Advent invites us to consider just what is our posture and our practice in regard to the Lord's coming. The heroes of the season are people like Simeon, whose expectation did not diminish with waiting; the magi, who made every effort they could to greet and worship properly the newborn king; and John the Baptist, who leapt for joy in utero and who "prepared the way of the Lord" in his ministry.
Meanwhile, the terrible and tragic disappointments of the season include the antagonistic Herod, whose fear and paranoia led him to an unimaginable response; the all-head-but- no-heart scribes, who pointed the magi to Bethlehem but did not go themselves; and the too-busy, too-crowded innkeeper, who could not accommodate the Lord's arrival.
Now it is our turn to wait for his coming. As we wait, whose response do our lives most resemble?
To what extent are we at the corner, watching and waiting, straining to see? Are we eager to meet him part way? Are we doing what we can to shave off even two minutes?
Conversely, to what extent are we indifferent and preoccupied? Are we not thinking about him because we are so distracted watching television, playing with our toys, or over at someone else's house altogether? Have we forgotten that this might be the day he comes?
Alternative Applications
James 5:7-10. "Here Comes The Judge." When you see a police car on the road, does it change how you drive? Perhaps you slow down just a bit, or return both hands to the wheel. Perhaps we are less likely to take a sip of coffee, adjust the radio, or make a phone call when a police officer is driving right behind us.
Human behavior is typically altered by the presence of some official. The calisthenics are performed more crisply and energetically when the coach walks down our row. The worker is that much more focused and industrious when the boss is in view. The defender is more careful to avoid any illegal contact when the referee is nearby.
The phenomenon has other layers, too. When our baby girl seemed to be having a medical emergency, we urgently called 9-1-1. We were in a panic; but we were reassured when we heard the sound of the sirens: help was almost to us!
James assured his audience that another "official" was nearby. "See," James wrote, "the judge is standing at the doors!" The one who has the power and authority to make all things right is nearby. How shall we live in response?
If we are slouching or careless, then we should take his proximity as cause to straighten up and fly right. If we are troubled or oppressed, then our hope may rightly be renewed by his arrival. And if we are impatient for everything to be just so, then we will be encouraged to know that "here comes the judge!"
Isaiah 35:1-10; Matthew 11:2-11. "Mr. Fix-It." We have a gentleman in our church -- Joe -- whom we call when something needs fixing. Perhaps you have someone like him, too. There are a lot of us who like to tinker, of course, and we can sometimes get the object in question working properly again. But Joe is amazing. From the copying machine to the furnace -- from the small car to the big tractor to the kid's bicycle -- from the sound system in the sanctuary to the drinking fountain in the hallway - - Joe can fix it all.
It's interesting to observe how people feel about this guy. They cherish him. They depend on him. They count on him to make everything just so.
For all the marvelous breadth of Joe's repertoire, it's still small potatoes. He can't cure the church members who are suffering with cancer. He can't fix broken marriages. He can't relieve a region devastated by drought. He can't forgive sins.
Imagine how so many in this world would feel if only they knew the one who could! Imagine how they would cherish and depend upon the one who truly can fix anything and everything. Not Joe, but Jesus. And not only is he able to fix everything; he comes and he promises to do exactly that, when "he will come and save you."
Invite your members to consider for a few moments the things they own that need to be fixed. Then go the next level: What things in their lives need to be fixed? Then one step further: What things in this world need to be fixed?
For most of the things on that first list, I would recommend Joe, or someone like him. For everything else, however, you and I recommend Jesus Christ. There is no one else like him.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 146:5-10
In this season of waiting there is a prior question that comes to mind. Before the garlands are hung and wreaths are placed, before the Advent suppers and Christmas dinners, there is a question that twenty-first-century Christians sometimes overlook. While we're busy getting ready for the Savior to arrive, does anyone ask if we really want or need a Savior? Do we, in point of fact, need saving? If so, from what do we need saving?
With little fear of contradiction, let it be suggested that indeed we do need saving. If there's any doubt, this psalm offers us a list. We need to be saved from injustice, hunger, and oppression. We need to be saved from blindness and life's overwhelming burdens. The vulnerable among us also need saving. The stranger, the widow, and the orphan ... to mention only a few.
From this and more we need saving. In these days of waiting, it is this confession that may need to come before we decorate the sanctuary. Do we need saving? The answer is a firm, "Yes." Imagine a small group -- a study group or a men's group -- coming together over this psalm to consider the things from which "we" need saving -- as individuals -- as Church Community -- as city or nation? From what can we all agree that we need God's intervention to save us?
Ah yes. God's intervention. Pastors, social workers, and mental health professionals sometimes get called in to do an "intervention." Frequently, such events involve an individual whose life is out of control. Often this loss of control is due to the abuse of alcohol or drugs, but whatever the reason, the slope is slippery and this person is in danger. In an intervention like this, the person's family, friends, and accompanying caregivers gather to intervene. The truth is told, and hopefully the person is pulled out of denial and into a place where help can be offered.
Perhaps this is not a bad model to consider as we look to God's intervention. Are we a people out of control? Is hunger, deprivation, oppression, and violence rampant in our world? Are there other ways we are we out of control? From what do we need saving, and how might God's intervention be just what we need? With these questions considered in prayer and discernment, our season of preparation might just look a little different this year.
I remember vividly the first day that he and his family were returning for a visit. I was so eager to see him! I was not content to sit in the house and wait for them to arrive. Instead, I started walking up the street. We lived on a cul-de-sac, so I knew from which direction they would have to be coming.
After a few minutes of walking, however, I came to an intersection. At this point, it was no longer certain in my mind whether they would be coming from the left or from the right, so I couldn't go any further. I just had to stand there at that intersection, watching and waiting.
I tell you this: If I had known the exact path that my friend's family was going to take, I would have kept walking that route until we saw each other. That was the nature of my eagerness -- indeed, my impatience -- to see him again. In my boyish reasoning, I thought I could whittle down the wait, you see, by shortening their trip. My endeavor was to meet them part way.
In the big scheme of things, of course, my efforts were silly. They had a journey of so many hundreds of miles, and my endeavor was to shorten it by a few blocks. They had to travel many hours to get to our house; I was impatient to shave off the final two minutes.
In our three lections this week, we will be invited to consider a promised coming. In the Old Testament book of Isaiah, we read of a time that is coming: a most desirable time, marked by rejoicing, healing, great fertility, peace, and gladness. In the gospel story, we see John the Baptist wondering about the long-awaited coming. And in our epistle reading, we are encouraged to be patient for another promised coming: the second coming of Christ.
What is our posture and our practice as we await these promised comings?
Isaiah 35:1-10
It is standard fare in biblical scholarship to divide the book of Isaiah into two or three different sections. The first line of division is generally drawn between chapter 39 and chapter 40. There, we observe, the messages and ministry seem to shift from the threat of impending judgment for eighth-century BC Jerusalem into the good news of restoration and promise for the Jews who were in exile.
Not all of the prophecies of hope and promise, however, are reserved for that latter section and perhaps later time. For here in chapter 35, Isaiah of Jerusalem offers a word from God that is glorious in hope and beautiful in detail.
In order to help them appreciate this oasis of hope, we should offer our congregations a glimpse of the desert of judgment that surrounds it. Chapters 13 through 24 feature almost uninterrupted messages and images of judgment. It is not exclusively judgment on Jerusalem; not at all. So many surrounding nations and empires are in God's sights, and so a global drumbeat of God's righteous judgment pervades those chapters. Then, in chapters 25 through 27, we have an interlude of hope and promise. Chapters 28 through our selected text, chapter 35, include a mixture of gloomy forecasts and bright promises. The poetry and pictures of our text represent the grand culmination of the whole section. But then turn the page, and the Assyrians are at the door. Now the material is neither bad future nor good future; now the report is of a terrible present.
How lovely it is that the fabulous anticipation of chapter 35 should immediately precede the onslaught of chapter 36. For in the face of an intimidating human enemy, the people could cling hopefully to the assurance of God's good will and plan for their future.
God's good will and plan are laid out with characteristic thoroughness. Nature is depicted as fertile and bountiful. That's not simply to say that ordinarily fertile places will be green and lush; no, this is an encouraging image of redemption, for it is "the dry land" and "the desert" that shall "blossom abundantly," for "waters shall break forth in the wilderness."
Furthermore, in addition to those compelling images of beauty and bounty, nature shall also be de-clawed. The "burning sand" and the "thirsty ground" will be relieved, and God's people shall walk without fear or threat of lions or ravenous beasts.
Beyond the images of nature, this passage of promise also paints a picture of human healing. The "weak hands," the "feeble knees," and the "fearful hearts" are all addressed. Furthermore, the blind, the deaf, the lame, and the dumb shall all be healed.
Beyond the physical healing alone, the passage also anticipates a still greater gift from God. "He will come and save you" is the timely promise, followed by images of a people who have been "redeemed" and "ransomed"; a people, freed from sorrow, who will populate Zion with joy and gladness.
And, finally, above and beyond the pictures of nature and of people, the passage offers a glimpse of God. The coming of the Lord is promised, with all his glory and majesty promised, as well as with his rescuing vengeance. It is all extraordinarily good news for a people who, on the next page, will be surrounded by the Assyrians.
James 5:7-10
I remember as a boy hearing a preacher observe how many of the African-American spirituals sang about heaven or going to heaven. "Songs about heaven," he said, "almost always come out of times of trouble. People don't write songs about heaven when they're quite comfortable on earth."
That is a point worth considering for many of us whose parishioners are, frankly, quite comfortable on earth.
The person who is unhappy in his job counts down the minutes until quitting time, the days until the weekend, the weeks until vacation, and the years until retirement. Because the present is unpleasant, the unhappy worker spends a great deal of energy focusing on the future. Likewise, the student who is counting the days until Christmas break or summer vacation. But it's a rare individual, by contrast, who counts down eagerly the days until vacation is over. When the present is comfortable, we don't feel so impatient for the future.
Accordingly, the encouragement from James may not resonate immediately with our people. "Be patient," he says, "until the coming of the Lord." That's fine, except that we weren't feeling impatient.
Comfort with the present is not our only problem. We may also suffer from a diminished understanding of the future.
We instinctively anticipate some future event that we fully expect to be good. The occasion that promises to be fun, exciting, relaxing, or enjoyable -- these are the events for which we feel impatient. We are not impatient for that appointment with the dentist, or the final exam in school, or the unpleasant conversation we must have with some underling or superior at work.
The fact that our people are not, generally speaking, impatient for the coming of the Lord may not only reflect our present comfort, therefore, but also our dim view of the future. For if we were profoundly certain of the goodness of what was to come, then surely it would be natural for us to anticipate it -- to shift our weight impatiently from one foot to the other, wondering how soon it was going to happen, how much longer we'd have to wait.
James frames the wait in terms of a natural process: the farmer waiting "for the precious crop from the earth." One essential difference between the farmer and us, however, is the certainty of the timetable. An experienced farmer knows which week he can expect to see sprouts, and how many weeks later he will be able to bring in a harvest. However, the "season" of the Lord's coming is not so clear.
That said, we recognize with the farmer that there is no virtue in a premature harvest. It might be encouraging to see the corn stalks up over our heads just two weeks after planting, but if the ears aren't fully developed, what's the point?
Likewise, we trust God's timing in the matter of Christ's return.
During these Sundays of Advent, we rightly give thought to the faithful waiting of those earlier generations of God's people, who did not know just when the Messiah would finally appear. We affirm with the apostle Paul, however, that Christ came "in the fullness of time" (Galatians 4:4) at his incarnation. So, too, we trust that the timing will be just right for his return. Therefore, we are patient "until the coming of the Lord."
Matthew 11:2-11
Lay the contents of all four gospels side by side, and you will discover that surprisingly few items are common to all four. We do not find the Christmas story in all four, nor the Transfiguration. The Sermon on the Mount, the Lord's Prayer, and our favorite parables are not universally recorded. Neither is the calling of James and John, the raising of Lazarus, or the doubting of Thomas found in every gospel.
Few things from the thirty-some years of Jesus' life are found in all four canonical gospels. The bulk of the overlap is limited to just one week of his life -- that final, eventful week in Jerusalem.
In light of that select and crucial intersection of the sets, we should be impressed to discover that the ministry of John the Baptist appears in all four gospels.
I don't know that our members -- or, for that matter, our preaching -- accord John such importance, but the gospel writers recognize his importance. And Jesus affirms John's importance in the most dramatic terms: "Among those born of women not one has arisen greater than John the Baptist."
Jesus' high praise for John comes at an interesting moment: doubt. In prison, we catch a glimpse of wavering just a bit from John's characteristic boldness and authoritative certainty. Perhaps when one's own future is so uncertain every other thing seems somewhat less certain, as well. Specifically, John was uncertain whether Jesus was "the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?"
Jesus sends John's messengers back to him with a strong affirmation rooted in Jesus' own powerful deeds -- "the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them." Jesus' response is not a direct quote of the poetry in our Isaiah 35 lection, but the elements are all there. Isaiah anticipates the day when "the eyes of the blind will be opened" -- check! - - "the ears of the deaf unstopped" -- check! -- and "the lame shall leap like a deer" -- check!
It is interesting to note that Jesus, who elsewhere bemoans and denies requests for a sign (see, for example, Matthew 12:38-42; 16:1-4), should point John to signs for the proof of Jesus' identity and the confirmation of John's faith. Of course, Jesus' response might rightly be understood as the fulfillment of prophecy, as we have noted above. And, furthermore, the signs to which Jesus pointed in this episode were performed to bless, heal, and free people; in the cases where doubters (or even challengers) asked for a sign, it would have been an artificial and self-serving use of God's power.
The occasion of the message from John, meanwhile, prompts Jesus to speak to the crowds about him. He speaks playfully with the people as a way of making his point: that John was a prophet, just as the people suspected. But, more than a prophet, John was also a fulfillment of prophecy ("the one about whom it is written").
Finally, the two-part ranking of John that Jesus offers -- greater than anyone born of women, yet less than the least in the kingdom of heaven -- suggests a certain understanding of history. Specifically, John the Baptist seems to be the very hinge of history -- greater than all who had come prior to the kingdom, and proclaiming the coming of that kingdom at hand (see Matthew 3:1-2; Luke 16:16).
Application
While my impatient, childish efforts to hasten my reunion with my boyhood friend were rather silly in the big scheme of things, there's no question that my heart was in the right place. He was coming to visit; and I was excited.
Imagine, by contrast, if I had been blasé about the entire thing. Perhaps I would have been sitting at home watching television, only mildly aware that today was the day of his arrival. I expect that my welcome in that circumstance would have been comparatively weak and inadequate. Imagine that I had forgotten altogether that my friend was coming. Perhaps I would have gone over to another friend's house to play, and I would have missed his arrival altogether.
This season of Advent invites us to consider just what is our posture and our practice in regard to the Lord's coming. The heroes of the season are people like Simeon, whose expectation did not diminish with waiting; the magi, who made every effort they could to greet and worship properly the newborn king; and John the Baptist, who leapt for joy in utero and who "prepared the way of the Lord" in his ministry.
Meanwhile, the terrible and tragic disappointments of the season include the antagonistic Herod, whose fear and paranoia led him to an unimaginable response; the all-head-but- no-heart scribes, who pointed the magi to Bethlehem but did not go themselves; and the too-busy, too-crowded innkeeper, who could not accommodate the Lord's arrival.
Now it is our turn to wait for his coming. As we wait, whose response do our lives most resemble?
To what extent are we at the corner, watching and waiting, straining to see? Are we eager to meet him part way? Are we doing what we can to shave off even two minutes?
Conversely, to what extent are we indifferent and preoccupied? Are we not thinking about him because we are so distracted watching television, playing with our toys, or over at someone else's house altogether? Have we forgotten that this might be the day he comes?
Alternative Applications
James 5:7-10. "Here Comes The Judge." When you see a police car on the road, does it change how you drive? Perhaps you slow down just a bit, or return both hands to the wheel. Perhaps we are less likely to take a sip of coffee, adjust the radio, or make a phone call when a police officer is driving right behind us.
Human behavior is typically altered by the presence of some official. The calisthenics are performed more crisply and energetically when the coach walks down our row. The worker is that much more focused and industrious when the boss is in view. The defender is more careful to avoid any illegal contact when the referee is nearby.
The phenomenon has other layers, too. When our baby girl seemed to be having a medical emergency, we urgently called 9-1-1. We were in a panic; but we were reassured when we heard the sound of the sirens: help was almost to us!
James assured his audience that another "official" was nearby. "See," James wrote, "the judge is standing at the doors!" The one who has the power and authority to make all things right is nearby. How shall we live in response?
If we are slouching or careless, then we should take his proximity as cause to straighten up and fly right. If we are troubled or oppressed, then our hope may rightly be renewed by his arrival. And if we are impatient for everything to be just so, then we will be encouraged to know that "here comes the judge!"
Isaiah 35:1-10; Matthew 11:2-11. "Mr. Fix-It." We have a gentleman in our church -- Joe -- whom we call when something needs fixing. Perhaps you have someone like him, too. There are a lot of us who like to tinker, of course, and we can sometimes get the object in question working properly again. But Joe is amazing. From the copying machine to the furnace -- from the small car to the big tractor to the kid's bicycle -- from the sound system in the sanctuary to the drinking fountain in the hallway - - Joe can fix it all.
It's interesting to observe how people feel about this guy. They cherish him. They depend on him. They count on him to make everything just so.
For all the marvelous breadth of Joe's repertoire, it's still small potatoes. He can't cure the church members who are suffering with cancer. He can't fix broken marriages. He can't relieve a region devastated by drought. He can't forgive sins.
Imagine how so many in this world would feel if only they knew the one who could! Imagine how they would cherish and depend upon the one who truly can fix anything and everything. Not Joe, but Jesus. And not only is he able to fix everything; he comes and he promises to do exactly that, when "he will come and save you."
Invite your members to consider for a few moments the things they own that need to be fixed. Then go the next level: What things in their lives need to be fixed? Then one step further: What things in this world need to be fixed?
For most of the things on that first list, I would recommend Joe, or someone like him. For everything else, however, you and I recommend Jesus Christ. There is no one else like him.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 146:5-10
In this season of waiting there is a prior question that comes to mind. Before the garlands are hung and wreaths are placed, before the Advent suppers and Christmas dinners, there is a question that twenty-first-century Christians sometimes overlook. While we're busy getting ready for the Savior to arrive, does anyone ask if we really want or need a Savior? Do we, in point of fact, need saving? If so, from what do we need saving?
With little fear of contradiction, let it be suggested that indeed we do need saving. If there's any doubt, this psalm offers us a list. We need to be saved from injustice, hunger, and oppression. We need to be saved from blindness and life's overwhelming burdens. The vulnerable among us also need saving. The stranger, the widow, and the orphan ... to mention only a few.
From this and more we need saving. In these days of waiting, it is this confession that may need to come before we decorate the sanctuary. Do we need saving? The answer is a firm, "Yes." Imagine a small group -- a study group or a men's group -- coming together over this psalm to consider the things from which "we" need saving -- as individuals -- as Church Community -- as city or nation? From what can we all agree that we need God's intervention to save us?
Ah yes. God's intervention. Pastors, social workers, and mental health professionals sometimes get called in to do an "intervention." Frequently, such events involve an individual whose life is out of control. Often this loss of control is due to the abuse of alcohol or drugs, but whatever the reason, the slope is slippery and this person is in danger. In an intervention like this, the person's family, friends, and accompanying caregivers gather to intervene. The truth is told, and hopefully the person is pulled out of denial and into a place where help can be offered.
Perhaps this is not a bad model to consider as we look to God's intervention. Are we a people out of control? Is hunger, deprivation, oppression, and violence rampant in our world? Are there other ways we are we out of control? From what do we need saving, and how might God's intervention be just what we need? With these questions considered in prayer and discernment, our season of preparation might just look a little different this year.
