Homily Advent 1: St. Paul’s
Opening
I have used the prayer Song of Zechariah for a very long time as a part of my daily prayer. I had it memorized by the time I was 30. Maybe I was drawn to it because it was a song by a father. I recognize I have a special place in my heart for fathers. It was sung by John the Baptist’s father, a priest, at the time his parents took John to be circumcised. He had been struck dumb, you may remember, when he scoffed at the notion that they would have a child at their advanced age. When next he opened his mouth to speak, he named the child “John” and praised God in song.
Towards the end of the song we hear:
Benedictus Dominus (Song of Zechariah)
You, my child, shall be called the prophet of the Most High,
for you will go before the Lord to prepare his way,
To give his people knowledge of salvation *
by the forgiveness of their sins.
In the tender compassion of our God *
the dawn from on high shall break upon us,
To shine on those who dwell in darkness and the
shadow of death, *
and to guide our feet into the way of peace.
From a long time ago I heard those words addressed to me. prepare the way of the Lord Seems rather filled with hubris doesn’t it? I think I first thought of this when I came across the suggestion that as representatives of Christ, as Christians in our world, we bear responsibility for what other people think it means to be a Christian.
When they walk away from us, will they have met a representative of Christ? Will they have seen something of a reflection of Christ? Or will it be something else?
It seems to me that we are directed to do the same thing that John’s father said about him. We are meant to prepare the way for those who come after us, that they might be able to see Christ.
It’s Advent
I thought about these things because (surprise, surprise) it’s Advent. Once again we Episcopalians and the other odd-ball Christians who follow a church year begin to Keep Advent. We are for a period of time, or for some part of our week, out of sync with the rest of the world around us. Everyone else is keeping Christmas (at least anticipating it) or they are anticipating the end of the year and all that it brings us.
We, on the other hand, are now beginning a new year. When we gather in church on Sundays we are – as of today – going to hear from the gospel of Mark rather than the gospel of Matthew.
My Mother’s conversion led to our family when I was growing up to keep advent. It meant we didn’t put up Christmas decorations until Christmas eve. It meant that we were accustomed to the 12 days of Christmas when our friends were throwing away Christmas. It meant that we heard a message of prayer and penitence rather than festive celebrations.
Most of our friends didn’t have a clue.
What are we doing? Are we keeping alive traditions because they make us feel better? Because we like the nostalgia that it calls to mind?
I want to suggest today that we are doing a most solemn and important thing by keeping Advent.
Making room for the one who is to come.
Watchword: Make room for the one who is to come – it turns out that we don’t know if it he will come in our lifetime, so it’s all about making room for those who come after
In the most profound way, it seems to me that we are preparing the way for the one who is to come after us. In so many ways.
When I was growing up I encountered the holy in the priests who led our Episcopal summer camp at Evergreen, Colorado. Theyled us in chants and incense. It was where I first encountered the Benedictus Dominus Deus. In college there were all kinds of encounters that led me to have a thirst for the sacred. Music sometimes sent my soul into a reverie that conjurred up God’s very presence, just out of reach. I thought I could study mysticism in English, Philosophy, Religion, Science … just about anywhere.
I was thirsty because others had prepared the way for me to see and feel it.
I once listened to Michael Ramsey teach for a week on glory
Then I finally felt like I had experienced as close as I would get at the 1st Easter Vigil at Nashotah House seminary. But as always, it was fleeting. It quickly faded. I was ordained and tasked with leading others to experience the same.
With hardly any warning, it was I who was expected to prepare the way for others to encounter the Lord.
I read something like what I am talking about in my evening devotions the other day:
THE JOY BEYOND the walls of the world more poignant than grief. Even in church you catch glimpses of it sometimes though church is apt to be the last place because you are looking too hard for it there. It is not apt to be so much in the sermon that you find it or the prayers or the liturgy but often in something quite incidental like the evening the choral society does the Mozart Requiem, and there is your friend Dr. X, who you know thinks the whole business of religion is for the birds, singing the Kyrie like a bird himself — Lord, have mercy, have mercy —as he stands there among the baritones in his wilted shirt and skimpy tux; and his workaday basset-hound face is so alive with if not the God he wouldn’t be caught dead believing in then at least with his twin brother that for a moment nothing in the whole world matters less than what he believes or doesn’t believe — Kyrie eleison, Christe eleison — and as at snow, dreams, certain memories, at fairy tales, the heart leaps, the eyes fill.
the Gospel
"I love the way Mark’s gospel begins. It has no pretenses. It doesn’t have any smooth phrases. It just starts. This is it. The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God…
It’s not a bad way to begin keeping Advent. Just jump right in and who do we meet? John the Baptist. Not baby Jesus. Not angels. But a prophet! Surely this is a figure who is preparing the way.
And lo and behold it has been passed on. From generation to generation, the good news has been handed from one family, one generation, to another Passing it on one of the responsibilities of our Christian faith. And it has come down to us. Now we are responsible to prepare the way.
That is the very definition of tradition. Passing it on.
Tevye singing “Tradition” link
A fiddler on the roof. Sounds crazy, no? But in our little village of Anatevka, you might say every one of us is a fiddler on the roof, trying to scratch out a pleasant, simple tune without breaking his neck. It isn’t easy. You may ask, why do we stay up there if it’s so dangerous? We stay because Anatevka is our home… And how do we keep our balance? That I can tell you in one word… Tradition."
(Chorus)
Tradition, tradition… tradition
Tradition, tradition… tradition
(Tevye)
“Because of our traditions, we’ve kept our balance for many, many years. Here in Anatevka we have traditions for everything… how to eat, how to sleep, even, how to wear clothes. For instance, we always keep our heads covered and always wear a little prayer shawl… This shows our constant devotion to God. You may ask, how did this tradition start? I’ll tell you - I don’t know. But it’s a tradition… Because of our traditions, everyone knows who he is and what God expects him to do.”
Tevye calls it tradition. Today we call it “Keeping Advent.” The window to be able to see the glory of God has been kept open from one generation to generation.
Keeping Advent.
The one we await is coming. We are right to be expectant, anticipating, waiting … as Advent invites us. But when? We can not say. So prepare the way. Pass on the tradition. Keep Advent.
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