Yet, We Come

1 Corinthians 1:1-9; Isaiah 64:1-9

First Sunday in Advent 2014

              When is the right time to come before our Lord for salvation?   For holy rescue and freedom from the sinful thoughts, words and deeds so terribly toxic to who God created us to be?    The symbolic cleansing offered through the sacrament of baptism is the right time.   So too the day we become members of a church family.   And we certainly concentrate on our sin during the pre-Easter, pensive early springtime period of Lent.   The Bible, through such passages as Psalm 27:14, also reminds us to seek and depend on this work of our Lord every single day.   

             But what about now?  In this church season of Advent?   We all can get so caught up in this bustling December season of busy preparations, bright lights and big spending.  Yet, we come.   We come here to church to focus on what it means to wait for the blessed arrival of our Emmanuel, of our Savior Jesus Christ.

            In the next to last episode of an HBO series about ancient Rome, there’s an emotionally powerful scene that I find says a whole lot about why humanity needs salvation.  There were many horribly violent and amoral reminders of this throughout the series.  It’s truly rated R (as in ancient Rome!).  But this scene is something else.   It’s intimate and poignant.   It’s an intense conversation shared between two lead characters -- a very beleaguered Marc Antony and his trusted Centurion guard named Lucius Vorenus.  

            The once great Roman military General and politician had by this time succumbed to the passionate charms and power plays of Egypt’s Queen Cleopatra.   When this conversation takes place, Antony and Cleopatra’s attempt to create a world superpower was about to be crushed by the Roman Emperor Caesar Augustus.   You know, the same ruler Luke’s Gospel reports called for the census that led Joseph and a pregnant Mary from Nazareth to be registered in Bethlehem.  

            Standing in the Egyptian royal palace, in the wake of a visit by Antony’s legal wife and her mother, a visit whereby he did not grant them an audience, Vorenus is commanded to verify that the women had been sent on their way back to Rome. 

            Flashes of disgust at the out of control, manipulative traitor Antony had become cross the Centurion’s face as he offers the confirmation.   Then, as Antony turns to walk away, Vorenus says, “Sir, your wife instructed me to tell you something.  She instructed me to tell you that you are cowardly scum.”  

            Antony quietly responds, “She did, did she?  And what is your opinion of that?” 

            Vorenus properly replies, “It’s not my place to have an opinion, sir.” 

            But Antony is not dissuaded, and speaking to the old friend this Centurion had become, he asks to be told anyway.  

            “Is that an order?” “Yes, that’s an order.”   

            Vorenus, whose character throughout the series had displayed great integrity, then seems clearly ready to unleash what he really thinks.   Placing himself directly in front of Marc Antony’s face, he matter-of-factly states, “You’re no coward.  But you do have a strong disease in your soul.  A disease that will eat away at you until you die.”  

            Calmly, Antony inquires, “Really.  And what is this disease?”  

            The intense, intimate conversation carries on with Vorenus admitting he doesn’t know because he isn’t a doctor.    How can he be so sure of his diagnosis, then, asked Antony.    Lucius Vorenus next stares Antony in the eyes and utters the line that to me strikes a profound call for salvation.  He confesses, “Because I recognize your symptoms.  I have the same sickness.”

            None of us needs to be a doctor or play one on television to accurately diagnose this disease.   We can recognize the soul sickness all too well.  We’ve seen deadly cells of it within ourselves and in the lives of others we know and don’t know.  News headlines are like macabre medical reports of it.   In our biblical faith tradition, we know it as the soul sickness of sin.

            We’ve all spiritually inherited this from our very first parents.   Ever since Adam and Eve’s initial rebellion, sin has been insatiably eating away at our willingness to trust and obey our loving God.   We both suffer and contribute to its manifold symptoms.  These include but certainly aren’t limited to -- a deep down and usually desperate desire to be master of one’s own destiny; an unrelenting churning of selfish pride and ambition; a terrible tendency to self-justify our judgments; a slow growing gut full of gluttony and greed; and a truly toxic stream of violent thoughts and actions running through our heads and hearts.    
            Throughout the Hebrew Bible, what we call the Old Testament, God called upon prophets to point out the destructive sickness of sin in people’s lives and communities.   I find Lucius Vorenus symbolically represents such a prophetic voice.   The real world prophets of the Hebrew Bible didn’t forecast the future so much as bluntly warn of the inevitable, dire consequences if obedience to God continued to be so wretchedly diseased.   They strongly and plainly gave voice to God’s sorrow and anger for the ongoing rebellions of humankind.    They also, however, spoke clearly about the need to faithfully wait upon God’s promise of salvation.  They spoke of doing so by first and foremost turning away from their soul sick symptoms and expectantly turning towards the arrival of holy hope and healing.  The greatest promise they spoke of was that God would one day send a Savior like no other to cast out the dark disease of sin in this whole world.

            During the December weeks to come, we do have the desire to get lost in the festive brightness, family time, colorful decorations, joyous singing, and evergreen glories of this holiday season.  We do find ourselves warmly welcoming fresh thoughts about God coming to us so personally, so intimately, so incredibly wrapped in the flesh of a human child.    One part of me would prefer to stand here today and only happily promise the Light.    But more of me knows that if any of us is to have a hope of keeping Christ in Christmas, we must first pause long enough to acknowledge why He came to us.  

            This is not just about critiquing consumerism.  It’s about very honestly confessing sin and all its tragic trials, trails and tales.    Those in our personal lives and witnessed in daily news headlines.    We need to fully see and confess

            the soul sickness within us all that time and again keeps us from loving our neighbors as ourselves;

            the soul sickness eating away at American communities such as Ferguson, Missouri;

            the soul sickness that both oppressively and murderously terrorizes good people in every corner of the world;

            the soul sickness that absolutizes one world view by demonizing all others;

            the soul sickness that worships every kind of false god and forges divisions;

            the soul sickness that seeks to constantly confuse real love and healthy self-images;

            the soul sickness that steadily erodes human hope with unrelenting grief, dangerous depression, and uncontrollable addictions.

            In the midst of all such real world sorrows, we hear the ancient yet always relevant words of the mighty prophet Isaiah urging and pleading with us to remember the Advent proclamation that God comes to those who confess themselves as unclean, are willing to be freshly molded in God’s image and to faithfully wait for divine intervention to come in powerfully unexpected ways.  

            In its important historical context, Isaiah’s urging and pleading was originally spoken to the Israelites when they happily returned home to Jerusalem from forced exile by the Babylonian Empire.   They had hoped this homecoming would be their salvation, the end of their shameful, ugly, evil rebellion against their God.   Yet the soul sickness continued to greatly afflict the nation.   Release from foreign bondage only cast them straight back into their own.   It’s kind of like the feeling of coming home to God at Christmas and Easter, yet soon after soberly realizing the soul sickness will be with and within us until Christ comes again in glory.   And so we listen to Isaiah’s Advent proclamation, to yet again come faithfully and expectantly before God as we wait anew for salvation.

            In the midst of all our continued real world sorrows, we also hear the ancient yet always relevant words of the Apostle Paul.       The words we just heard were written to the first century church in Corinth, Greece, which was one part of the world dominant Roman Empire.  These words are a prayerful reminder that salvation indeed comes through Jesus Christ and that Christians should feel confident and reassured of this in every situation.   The remainder of the letter makes it clear that some specific conflicted situation had arisen in that community.   As a result, many folks were anxious and confused about the coming again of Christ.   Paul reminds them all of God’s steadfast faithfulness and tells them that as they wait upon the Lord they will all be strengthened ‘til the end.  And while waiting and being strengthened, Paul further preached they were to value one another as vital members of the church and be unified in their life of faith and trust.

            So, welcome to this year’s waiting.  To this year’s Advent journey.  To the true heart of this season.  Purple, you’ll notice is the liturgical color of Advent.   It’s not just pretty … it’s the traditional color of penitence, of showing sorrow for wrong doing against God and neighbor.   Purple reminds us to pause together, to faithfully admit the sin sickness inside ourselves and everywhere in this world, to acknowledge the darkness as we await the eternal Light of a sacred silent night.   Amen.