Raised in a predominately Pentecostal environment, Advent was foreign to me until I became the pastor of a small Presbyterian church on the North Shore of Quebec. Little did I know Advent would rescue Christmas for me from the clutches of the commercial Empire. What follows in the next four weeks are four reflections on the themes of Advent: namely, Hope, Love, Joy, and Peace.
Let's start at the beginning. We read in Genesis 3 that the eyes of first man and first woman “were opened.” Was this the consequence of egregious disobedience? or a ubiquitous rite of passage? it is unclear. What we know is that every parent works to prolong the innocence of their offspring as long as necessary. The world outside the safety of home is both beautiful and violent. “Don’t talk to strangers. Play inside the yard.” Good parents know a thing or two about sheltering their children and the need to gradually equip them with the tools necessary to venture outside of their “Eden” at the appropriate time.
“Don’t eat of the Tree of Knowledge, don’t open the gate, I, God am with you. Here in Eden you have all that you need,” was the spoken promise to our young first couple. Was Adam and Eve’s subsequent downfall the result of eating from the tree of life prematurely? Were they destined to remain in the safety of the garden for as long as they had life? Again few answers but we do know they were not yet fit for the tree and what came with it? And we know the rest of the story, throwing caution to the wind, they ate of the Tree of Knowledge and in an instant their “eyes were opened.“ They did not choose to open their eyes to the new world, their eyes were opened. [1] And they were ill prepared for what they saw. They were naked. In a twinkling they saw beauty and discomfort. Any previous cloak of innocence was removed. And almost immediately they were confronted by the worldly companions of anxiety and shame. Anxiety in forever now having to choose wisely between the good and the destructive and the accompanying shame in forever second guessing that they made the right choice.[2].
And it would now be against this background of “enlightened anxious” knowledge that the first couple had their own children. Did they plant their own restricted Tree of Knowledge next to their home? And when one of their offspring chose to later kill his brother, did they in turn wonder what they could have done differently in raising their children to prevent such an heinous act? Did they wish for the good old days of innocence? Did they suffer shame as an act of imagination of what was and what could have been?
The Prophet Joel famously declared that in the last days young men will see visions and old men will dream dreams. (Joel 2:28) This same passage is picked up in Acts 2 as Peter announces the beginnings of a new reality. At a first reading we might assume that the mention of dreams and visions along with the corresponding old and young men are a literary tautology - two ways of emphasizing the same reality. But now that I occupy that later crowd of old men, perhaps my eyes have been opened to understanding this prophecy differently. Old men and women are apt to dream, because they have experienced both the beauty and the beast of creation. From our perch on the edge of time we are left to dream what a renewed creation could look like, even if it is not likely we will have full access to it. We can dream because our eyes have seen on more than one occasion the twinkle of God's favour and glory working amidst us. But our dreaming is not in vain. It can be a gift, an audacious act of the imagination that can fuel this-worldly visions by younger women and men for a hope filled future.
The late modern crusader Martin Luther King in the midst of racial social unrest dreamed,
... that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of its creed: We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.
I have a dream that one day on the red hills of Georgia, the sons of former slaves and the sons of former slave owners will be able to sit down together at the table of brotherhood.
I have a dream that one day even the state of Mississippi, a state sweltering with the heat of injustice, sweltering with the heat of oppression will be transformed into an oasis of freedom and justice.
I have a dream that my four little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin but by the content of their character. I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day down in Alabama with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of interposition and nullification, one day right down in Alabama little Black boys and Black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.
I have a dream today.
I have a dream that one day every valley shall be exalted, every hill and mountain shall be made low, the rough places will be made plain, and the crooked places will be made straight, and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together.
Then on 3 April 1968 a day before, his life was tragically cut short, Martin Luther King perhaps prophetically announced, “I’ve been to the mountaintop … I’ve seen the Promised Land. I may not get there with you. But I want you to know tonight, that we, as a people, will get to the Promised Land.” Did he know, or understand the seeds of hope his dream planted that fateful eve.
Near the end of Jesus’ journey on this earth, in one of his recorded resurrection appearances Jesus catches up with two strangers, Cleopas and a companion who are walking away from Jerusalem, away from the chaos of the last week in Jerusalem. They are bereft of hope, their scaffold of faith has collapsed, and they are in free-fall. Jesus, whom they do not recognize asks them, "what are you discussing?” In unbelief, our two companions exclaim, “Are you the only one visiting Jerusalem, who does not know the things that have happened there in these days? About Jesus of Nazareth, we had hoped that he was the one who was going to redeem Israel, but he was crucified and now he is gone.”
For our two friends on the road to Emmaus, a road to nowhere, hope had passed them by. They had settled with the Jesus they knew before the cross. He was a miracle worker, teacher, prophet, larger than life. But their eyes were closed to his ultimate mission. And now he was gone. They like most people could not see the way of the cross, the way of vulnerability, the way of Jesus’ open table of hospitality, until of course Jesus sat down with them himself and shared yet another meal. Suddenly, their eyes “were opened” but not opened to anxiety and shame, but to a new transformative hope. It was a hope now with eyes wide open.
O holy Child of Bethlehem
Descend to us, we pray
Cast out our sin and enter in
Be born in us today
I wish I knew what they dreamt that night. Did they dream of a promised land? Did they dream of valleys being exalted, and hills and mountains being made low, of crooked places being made straight, and the glory of the Lord being revealed, to all flesh. Did they sing with Zechariah, the priest and father of John the Baptist when his mouth was opened, “Blessed be the Lord God of Israel for he has looked favorable on his people and redeemed them. He has raised up a mighty savior for us…” (Luke 1:68,69). Could they now, relate to Mary's own song “My soul magnifies the Lord…He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.” Did their new sight quiet the anxious "seeing" of Adam and Eve and we, their descendants.
Postscript: As we wind down the year 2022, the idea of hope is likely not the first thing to comes to mind. Covid-19, RSV, erratic Stockmarket, inflation, Global Warming, war in Ukraine, Residential schools, racism, crowd out attention. However, the enemy, of a renewed sight of hope is not despair. Indeed, it is often in the hour of despair that hope finds its most fertile soil to grow. The enemy of a hope that can make the heart sing is “settledness” – the status quo. “Nothing really changes,” whispers the Satan, “you are what we are until the day you die.” A carnal person might say that is true. It is what the regal powers, the Empire wants its citizens to believe. Because hope, real hope, Jesus the hope of the world is disarmingly subversive to the wants of the Empire if we have eyes open to see it.
"People wish to be settled; only as far as they are unsettled is there any hope for them. I hate this idea, but I believe this to be as true as gravity and grace.” Anne Lamott
Oh little town of Bethlehem, how still we see thee lie
Above thy deep and dreamless sleep the silent stars go by
Yet in thy dark streets shineth, the everlasting light
The hopes and fears of all the years are met in thee tonight.
[1] Who among us do not remember a time when our eyes were opened? For Charles Marsh a Professor of Religious Studies his eyes were opened to the ubiquitous nature of racism when as a child in grade school living in the southern Bible Belt of the United States it was announced over the intercom system that Martin Luther King was assassinated. As he remembers it the teacher smiled, and the class applauded. For the many in that class there was nothing abnormal about such a reaction, for Marsh even as a young child his eyes "were opened" to the presence of an evil even if he could not fully articulate it at that time. Evangelical Anxiety: A Memoir (Harper One, 2022). [2] The incomparable theologian Stanley Hauerwas loves to tell people, "in marriage you always choose the wrong mate." Of course, he says so in tongue and cheek to quelch any notion that there is a perfect mate to be found. Because if there is one prefect mate, the chances are greater that you will miss that person. And even if you find that perfect mate there will be those anxious moments when you question whether you should have turned left instead of right. But I digress.
, the tears stream down my face, and I raise my hands to the sky, in an act of worship or grief? “en Su Nombre”, I pray. Which in Spanish is “in your name”, I cry to God to let it be, for God’s reign to be realized in our fallen world. Amen and amen. World without end. Maranatha!