Sermon from Beth El
Mennonite November 27, 2022 Advent 1, Narrative Lectionary: Habakkuk 1:1-7;
2:1-4; 3[3b-6], 17-19
It was the Friday before Thanksgiving and at about 6 am my
kids excitedly woke up to a snow-covered yard. They rushed into my room and
asked “is it a snow day?” I broke the news to them that it would be a full
school day as usual and then endured the whining and lamenting that followed.
Normally we walk to school, but it was about 10 degrees out and they were
already whining so I decided to drive them. We slid our way onto Circle and
slowly drove by cars struggling to get their tires to move in the snow. I had
lots of places to go that day and my husband took the car that is better in
snow to an overnight work retreat in the mountains which left me slipping
around in a car I am not used to driving all day. I regretted everything on my
calendar that day and found myself gripping my steering wheel and carefully making
turns with my jaw clenched and shoulders high and tight. Each time I returned
home I had no time to relax as I played a fun game of “find where the dog threw
up.” Finally, I got to bed but only after sliding in an unexpected pile of
remaining regurgitated gifts from the dog as I brushed my teeth. Every inch of
my body was tired but I slept poorly and woke with a headache, my body too
strained from bracing itself all day.
While we may think of “brace yourself” as something one
says before a crash landing, the truth is we do it all the time. I often will
find my cheeks clenched or forehead crinkled or shoulders pulled forward during
the day for no discernable reason. Often we find ourselves going about our day
as if we are about to have a crash landing- stressing about what is to come,
imagining worst case scenarios, agonizing over unwanted tasks and dreading bad
news.
I can imagine this is a bit how Habakkuk lived his life. He
was living in stressful times to say the least. The Babylonians ruled and they
are described in this book as “fierce, restless people … [who] spread fear and
terror … Their armies advance in violent conquest, and everyone is terrified as
they approach. Their captives are as numerous as grains of sand … these men
whose power is their god.” And so
Habakkuk cries out to God saying, “O Lord, how long must I call for help before
you listen, before you save us from violence? Why do you make me see such
trouble? …Destruction and violence are all around me, and there is fighting and
quarreling everywhere … justice is never done.”
But this was such a long time ago and so far away … how
could we relate to these desperate words coming from one seeking peace and
solace in the midst of violence and unjust tragedy? Of course we can.
With only a few slight revisions, our prayer might me:
Oh God we are surrounded
by fierce and restless people who spread fear and terror. They advance into
safe spaces of love and peace with instantaneous death, terror and violence and
everyone is terrified as they approach. The bodies of those killed by violence
in our own country are as numerous as grains of sand … and it seems that more
and more look to power to be their god. O Lord, how long must we call for help
before change comes, before we can raise our children in a world safe from
random violence and threats to their safety? Brokenness and violence are all
around me and there is fighting and quarreling everywhere as we label and shout
at each other over differences rather than uniting for peace. Justice is never
done and we are tired from bracing ourselves … waiting for the next mass
shooting, waiting for the next cries for help, hoping they won’t be ours,
waiting for the next tears to be shed, for the next traumatized generation to
come into adulthood. How long Lord?
Yes, Habakkuk’s time was long ago and far away, but the
cries for peace, the cries for justice the cries to our God sound painfully
similar as we attend candlelight vigils and gaze upon make shift memorials.
So, we walk around with our jaws clenched, our cell phones
held close and our shoulders pulled forward. We look over our shoulders and
have second thoughts before we leave the house. We worry and we fear and we
shake our heads in despair and frustration. And our bodies are sore from the
tension, our souls are weary from the longing. Our eyes are burning from the
images and our ears are ringing from the cries.
This is how we begin a new church year. This is how we
enter Advent, our voices shaking with emotion as we sing “O Come, O Come
Emmanuel.” We wipe away tears as we pull out the Christmas decorations and we put
colorful lights on our houses because we need a light in the darkness.
I have to confess that I have never been a fan of many of
the Advent lectionary stories, they seem a little intense and scary during a
time of innocent joy and cartoon Christmas movies. Like today’s Gospel about
two people randomly going about their day and one being “taken away”
unexpectedly while another is “left behind.” It can sound a bit more like a
spooky Halloween reading rather than something one reads in the light of a
glowing Christmas tree.
Or maybe not, maybe that’s how I read it when my jaw is
clenched and my shoulders tight, when my phone is in my hand with the latest
news and my forehead is crinkled in concern. Maybe I read it as scary because I
am living in a world that is scary, preparing for the worst … dreading what may
come. And so two people walking in a field and then one suddenly taken away
while the other is left standing alone sounds like the next bad thing to fear.
But what if we take a deep breath, roll back our shoulders,
loosen our jaw and unfurrow our brow? How might it look then? If we can stop
bracing ourselves for the next bad thing, we might clear our vision just enough
to see the hope. And our minds and souls will remember the rest of the story.
The good part. The end. The part when God takes on flesh to be with us, to take
on our pains and sorrows and redeem them. The part when Jesus shows us that
love is real and pervasive, that love is what lasts and that peace is what we
have to look forward to.
The words of Habakkuk are all too real for us today. The
agony, the pain, the fear, the frustration, the absence of justice, the
despair, the death, the tears, the loss, it’s enough to make you want to just
skip over the short three chapters of this small, lesser known book of the
Bible. But if you take a deep breath, unclench your jaw, roll back your
shoulders, slow down your gait and let yourself read it to the end, you get to
something really beautiful. You get to the hope:
“Even though the fig trees have no fruit and no grapes grow on the vines, even
though the olive crop fails and the fields produce no grain, even though the
sheep all die and the cattle stalls are empty, I will still be joyful and glad,
because the Lord God is my savior. The Sovereign Lord gives me strength. He
makes me sure-footed as a deer and keeps me safe on the mountains.”
Surprising and unexpected
words from someone living in such terrible times. But Habakkuk wasn’t alone in
those difficult times and relied on words of hope from God. In chapter two God
tells Habakkuk to wait, even though it may seem slow in coming, wait because
justice and peace will come.
And isn’t this what we hear in Advent, this call to wait,
this call to hold on, keep awake and don’t lose heart. Because God is coming
and it isn’t something to brace ourselves for because it is good news, it is
love, it is peace, it is joy. But sometimes it will feel like it is slow in
coming and sometimes we just can’t see it through the tears. But that doesn’t
make it untrue. God’s peace is real and so we can live as a people with hope, a
people with peace, a people with love, a people who can rest in the eternal
peace of God.
When we are living in a constant state of fear, when we are
bracing ourselves all day, it is hard to see the hope. And it can be
overwhelming, it can leave us too exhausted to do anything, too frustrated to
care anymore, too hurt to see possibility. And if that’s where you are, that
makes sense. But don’t forget to take a breath, roll your shoulders, unclench
your jaw and know that the Holy Spirit has not left you. There is hope. We know
the rest of the Advent story, we know the rest of the Easter story … God comes,
God is with us, Emmanuel. Amen
