Being Cleared Out for Some New Delight

Readings for the First Sunday of Advent (Year B)

This sermon was preached by Fr. Daniel London at the Episcopal Church of the Redeemer in San Rafael CA on December 3, 2017.

Here we are on the first Sunday of Advent, a season of hope and expectation and reorientation and perhaps some confusion. You might be wondering, “What in the world is going on? What is happening to our church?” If so, good. That is the point. If you are feeling a little bothered or disoriented or apprehensive, I invite you to simply sit with those emotion, hold them with compassion. It’s ok. We are no longer in what the church calls “ordinary time.” We have busted out of ordinary time, which we have been in ever since Pentecost. Remember Pentecost? when we celebrated the birthday of the Christian church with balloons and cake and a bounce house and beautiful fiery streamers? We have been in ordinary time ever since then, ever since June 4^th. It’s been 6 months. Although a lot of special and extraordinary things happened during those six months, it all took place within ordinary time, the longest season on the church calendar, which makes sense because most days of our lives are ordinary days. But not today. Today is the first day of Advent. Are we ready? That’s what Jesus is asking us in this morning’s Gospel. Are we ready? Are we awake? Are we ready to worship in this new configuration? Am I ready? Honestly, I’m not too sure.

I actually had a dream earlier this week about this first Sunday of Advent here at Redeemer. I don’t want to go into too many details because it’s kind of bizarre like a lot of my dreams, but I will say that in my dream the church had become so crowded that my office had become an overflow room; and because we had a full adult choir and children’s choir the procession down the nave took almost 10 minutes. Wouldn’t that be fun? And I remember having a conversation as the procession was beginning with Carol Ann in the narthex about a whale, which was apparently part of one of the Scripture readings (so it must have been Jonah). And then I was late in joining the procession so I had to basically run down the nave after the opening hymn, quickly reverence the altar and then sit down next to Paula (who was the LEM) in the chancel space. And then during the readings, I realized that I didn’t have a sermon prepared. I didn’t have anything to say to all these people. So in my dream, I was not really ready for Advent. But, in my dream, I did remember that I had two poems that I wanted to share. And that brought me some relief, but I woke up before I was able to share them. So let me share one of these poems with you today.

The poem I want to share is by a contemporary of St. Francis. He lived during the 13^th century in what is now Afghanistan. His name is Jalal ad-Din Muhammad Rumi and he was a Sufi poet; Sufism being the mystical branch of Islam. And the poem, translated by Coleman Barks, is called “The Guest House.” He writes,

This being human is a guest house.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they are a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture, still, treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out for some new delight.

The dark thought, the shame, the malice.

Meet them at the door laughing and invite them in.

Be grateful for whatever comes.

because each has been sent as a guide from beyond.

Are we ready? Are we making room for “some new delight”? Are we ready to welcome “a guide from beyond”?

We might be wondering Why did Fr. Daniel move the altar out from behind the rail? Why is our Celtic Cross covered with an abstract painting? What happened to the stations of the cross? Why is the chancel basically empty, except for some scattered creatures? Good questions. What do you think? Are we being cleared out for “some new delight”?

What does God have in store for Redeemer?

Advent is about waiting expectantly for the coming and arrival of the Christ child, which we celebrate joyfully at the Christ Mass. And Advent is also about waiting expectantly for the Second Coming of Christ. In our Gospel today, Jesus is not talking about his first coming as a child. He’s already grown up. He’s talking about his Second Coming. And he doesn’t even know when that will be, but it is coming. And it will probably be uncomfortable. In fact, he says it will be uncomfortable and disorienting. Jesus’s words are the conclusion of his long response to a conversation that began when one of his disciples said to him, “Look, Jesus! Look at how beautiful our temple is! Look at how big it is! We have the best temple, don’t you think?”

How does Jesus respond (Mark 13:2)? Jesus says, “Not one stone will be left here upon another; all will be thrown down.” Wow. He’s talking about the temple, where the presence of God resides, where daily sacrifices are made, where collective memories are forged, where pilgrims gather three times a year. This is the center of the world for the Jews. It would be like a Muslim saying that Mecca will be destroyed and razed to the ground. For Jews, the destruction of the temple would mean the end of the world, which is why this chapter in Mark’s Gospel is called the Apocalyptic Discourse. In fact, the destruction of the temple in the year 70 AD did mean the end of the world for the Jews. We call the Judaism of Jesus’s day Second Temple Judaism, because so much of it revolved around and depended upon the temple worship. So the Judaism of Jesus’s day no longer exists today because there is no temple.

In order for something new to arrive, we have to make room for it. Christianity and Rabbinic Judaism are the result of Jewish people reorienting themselves in the aftermath of the profoundly disorienting experience of the destruction of the temple.

Yesterday, several of us gathered in the chancel here and prayed all 150 Psalms. And all of the Psalms can be classified into three main categories: Psalms of Orientation, Psalms of Disorientation and Psalms of Reorientation. Our Psalm this morning (Psalm 80) is a psalm of disorientation, asking God, “How long? How long must we eat and drink our tears? How long must we be derided by our neighbors and scorned by our enemies? Restore us, O God! Reorient us! Bring us new life and light!”

In order for something new to arrive, we have to make room for it. We may have to let go of what feels most comfortable. We have to be willing to feel uncomfortable and disoriented and be hospitable to those feelings so that we can welcome what God has in store for us. As we prepare our hearts to welcome the Christ child, let us also prepare our hearts for Christ’s Second Coming. Let us be awake and ready for Christ to show up here at Redeemer in ways that we cannot yet imagine.

I want to conclude with a brief story I heard this week. This last Wednesday, I was part of a three-person Interfaith Panel at American River College in Sacramento. I was representing Church of the Redeemer as well as the entire Christian tradition while sitting next to a Jewish and a Muslim scholar. And the theme of our discussion was hospitality, specifically the hospitality of Abraham, whom we all honor as our patriarch. And both the Jewish and Muslim scholars shared essentially the same story of Abraham seeking out his adult son Ishmael, after he had expelled him from his home. This story is not in the Bible. It is Jewish midrash and also part of the Islamic tradition.

In the story, Abraham finds his son Ishmael’s family, but Ishmael is away. So Abraham asks Ishmael’s wife how the family is doing. And Ishmael’s wife is not very welcoming or friendly to him and then she complains about how miserable and difficult their life is in the desert. Abraham then tells Ishmael’s wife, “When your husband returns, please tell him I say hello and please tell him to change the threshold of his gate.” When Ishmael returned, his wife told him that this old and decrepit man came by with a strange message, “Change the threshold of your gate.” Ishmael realized that the man was his father Abraham and that he was telling him to divorce his wife, which he did.

Several years later, after Ishmael remarried, Abraham returned to visit Ishmael’s family and Ishmael was once again away. Abraham spoke with Ishmael’s second wife and asks her how the family was doing. She said, “We are overflowing with abundance here in the desert. Please come into our home. Join us for dinner and stay a couple nights.” Abraham said, “Thank you, but I must be on my way. But please tell your husband I said hello and that he should hold fast to the threshold of his gate.” When Ishmael returned, his wife told him that this wise and dignified man visited and said, “Hold fast to the threshold of your gate.” Ishmael knew that this meant his father Abraham was telling him to cling tightly to his wife because she knew how to be grateful and hospitable to a random stranger. Ishmael’s second wife was named Rala and she became the great grandmother of the prophet Muhammad.

As we celebrate Eucharist together at the threshold of our altar rail, let us be like Ishmael’s wife Rala and practice gratitude and hospitality and even welcome whatever awkward or disorienting feelings we might have. We will form a half-circle around the altar and I will be facing the empty chancel to show that we are all praying and facing God together, open and hospitable to whatever is to come; because, in the words of Rumi,