Peering In

The Rev. Whitworth Ferguson III
Manassas Presbyterian Church
Manassas, Virginia
November 30, 2008: First Sunday of Advent

Peering In
Isaiah 64:1-9
Mark 13:24-37

Here we stand on this last day of November -
Thanksgiving behind us,
December starts tomorrow.
It seems that we’d barely got through our turkey and stuffing
on Thursday before the retailers demanded our attention:
“Come to our stores!
Shop! Spend! Buy!”
Stores opened on Friday at 6:00 am; 5:00 am,
some even at the stroke of midnight,
as Thursday dissolved into Friday,
merchants eager, maybe even desperate
for their own variation of “silver bells”.

Stand here on this last day of November
and peer into December,
look as if you are looking into a room,
a room called December,
a room we are about to enter,
a room whose threshold we stand on.

It is such a wonderfully familiar room,
a space that is inviting, that draws us in.
It is a room filled with joy and laughter,
food and festivities.
It is room filled with family, friends,
colorful decorations,
packages wrapped in bright paper,
lights sparkling and twinkling.

It is a room that evokes memories,
so many memories,
from Christmases past,
especially those Christmases that hold special places in our hearts:
Perhaps it was your first Christmas together as husband and wife;
Or your first-born’s first Christmas;
Perhaps your memory goes all the way back to that year
when Santa recognized at long last
just how good you’d been all year long
and rewarded you with almost everything on your list!

The room called December
can be filled with stress, too, of course,
as we try to juggle all the activities we pack into a few short weeks:
There are too many things to do
over the next three-and-a-half weeks.
Add to the normal December stress
the reality that this year Christmas budgets are leaner,
and lists much shorter,
the hunt for bargains that much more fervent.
Do you play the waiting game,
hoping that if you hold off another week
prices will come down another ten percent?
Or do you risk disappointment in waiting,
with the possibility that the items you want are sold out?

The room called December can evoke deep emotion, as well,
especially for those who have suffered a loss this past year.
The break-up of a marriage;
A fracturing of any relationship.
Or perhaps a loved-one whose smile and laughter
graced the room in Decembers past is gone,
the room so much darker as a result.
There is something about December
that makes the presence of absence
so much more palpable and painful.

The sounds that fill the room can provide a healing balm, though.
Is there a better sound than
the giggles of children filled with excitement
as they prepare their lists for Santa?
They are so excited that the only thing that silences them
are those occasional moments when
they feel a brief wave of panic
that something they’ve just done or said
might have caused the word “naughty”
to flash across computer monitors at the North Pole.
Happily, grace abounds in December
and those moments pass quickly
as laughter and giggles resume.

Another healing sound that fills the room
is the sound of music,
glorious music, magnificent music:
from great compositions for orchestra, organ and choir,
to favorite carols we sing on Christmas Eve.
And we can’t overlook all those fun songs:
the ones about Rudolf and Frosty,
and one of my favorites,
the one that tells us we’d better not pout or cry.

The room called December is filled with tradition,
traditions that many of us carry from childhood.
Traditions about what kind of Christmas tree to have –
Scotch pine, Balsam, Douglas fir?
What kind of lights to use:
white or multi-colored,
steady glow, or twinkling?
What goes on top of the tree:
A star? An angel?
Even more traditions can be found in the kitchen
with recipes handed down
for stuffing, egg nog,
pecan pie, or plum pudding.

Peering into the room called December is
like looking at the pages of a wonderful album,
an old-fashioned photo album,
with pictures glued to each page.
Electronics may be the most popular gift under the tree,
but there is nothing digital about December.

There is a feeling of joy that seems to radiate
throughout the room, drawing us in,
a feeling of deep and abounding joy.
Joy even in the face of a bad economy;
Joy even in the face of a leaner Christmas;
Joy even in the face of the presence of absence of a loved one.
It is this sense of joy that fills us with peace,
a joy that fills us with assurance,
that everything is okay,
even if the previous eleven months were a struggle.

It is a sense of joy grounded in hope,
hope even for those who are so reluctant to step
over the threshold from November into December
because we know where the joy comes from.
It is not something that can be purchased at any store,
for any price.
It is joy that is truly priceless,
for it is joy that comes from a part of the room
that we pay very little attention to for most of the month,
a part of the room, a corner really,
dimly lit, with no twinkling lights,
hushed, silent, with no carols
not even the laughter of children.
We have to look closely and carefully to see,
to comprehend.

Peer into the room, and it’s there,
not just over to the side,
but pushed aside really,
by everything else that fills the room.
It’s so simple, so spare, it seems so out of place
with the rest of the room,
but there it is, that scene we know so well:
a beaming father
a radiant mother,
both gazing down at their newborn son,
their looks so suffused with warmth
they could chase away even the coldest wind.
Candlelight and starglow
light the scene, forcing us to look carefully,
intentionally, to make it out.

And though this scene is over to the side,
so dimly lit,
almost an afterthought,
we know, don’t we,
that this is the heart of the room,
the very life of the room,
the room we call December.
Every sparkling light,
every burst of laughter,
every fragrant wisp of pine,
every crackle of paper being unwrapped
everything that fills the rest of the room
all comes from this corner, this scene.

It is in this corner that we find the hope,
the joy,
the promise that is Emmanuel,
that wonderful Hebrew word that means
“God with us”.
Emmanuel, which is probably a more appropriate word
for what we mark in December than “Christmas”.
God with us, Christ with us.
The hopelessness felt by the Israelites of Isaiah’s day,
600 years earlier, gone… gone forever,
for God would no longer hide himself from his children,
never again.
God would be with his children,
present with them,
present with us,
to live with us,
to live as we live, to know our lives,
all so that we can know, really know,
God’s love and God’s grace.

This is the presence in the room that matters,
presence with a “ce”, rather than a “ts”;
the presence of God in Jesus Christ,
a baby born for us, given us.
All we have to do is look and we will see,
see in that room
the Christ who was born for us,
born to give us life.

And as we look we remember that
we look upon the Christ who will come again,
for that’s what Advent reminds us:
that we wait, wait not to celebrate the birth of Christ,
as much as we wait for that glorious day
when Christ will come again to make all things new.

When will that day come?
As our Lord teaches us,
only our Father in Heaven knows.
Our call is to make ourselves ready,
to be alert, to be awake.
And we make ourselves ready
by stepping over the threshold into
the room called December
not because we are eager for presents and lights,
carols and plum pudding,
but because we want to join
with the shepherds and the Wise men,
to come before the Lord,
come on bended knee.
to know his presence.

It is Advent,
this wonderful, magical, marvelous
season of expectation and anticipation.
It is Advent, a time for preparation,
preparation to celebrate with great joy
the birth of our Lord and Savior,
and to look forward to the day when he will come again,
come again in glory.

We need no longer peer into the room,
the room called December,
for we are invited in by the Lord our God,
invited into his presence,
invited to rejoice,
rejoice,
For unto us a child is born!
Glory to God!
Glory to God in highest heaven!
AMEN