Second Advent, 2003 Susan J. Barnes
Luke 3:1-4 St. Matthew’s, Austin
Come Holy Spirit.
What would you do if you heard that the person you admire most in the whole world was coming to visit you? It might be an author, an athlete, a performer, the pope, a president. And what if you weren’t exactly sure of the time or the place, but you knew for certain that she or he was coming just to see you, to be with you alone. What would you do? That is, after you had called your best friends and shared the news: what would you do?
I suspect that, like me, you would get ready in a lot of ways. I would clear my calendar for the whole time we might be together. I would clean up my house and my office, and prepare a special place where we could sit and visit. And I would prepare myself in other ways, re-reading the things that the person had written, or listening to their music, or reviewing their shows on video or DVD—so I could remind myself of all the questions I had thought of over the years, so that I would be ready to make the most of the time we had together.
You know where I’m going with this. What if it were God himself/herself that were coming? What if it were Jesus? As you know, dear friends, it is.
In Advent we ask ourselves: How do we prepare to receive, to welcome, our own Savior, the Christ? Prepare the way! That’s the theme that rings through today’s collect and today’s scriptures. The Old Testament lesson first uses the metaphor of clothing: “Take off the garment of sorrow and affliction, and put on forever the beauty of the glory of God—the robe of righteousness, as well as the diadem of God’s glory. Splendid visuals, radiant with God’s glorious light. That same lesson ends with the image of the great highway made through the world: mountains are laid low and valleys are lifted up to make the way level and smooth. That grand idea, also found in Isaiah, is repeated by John the Baptist in Luke’s gospel passage today.
These sweeping, magnificent, and glorious images lift our hearts.
But how does each one of us, in our little lives, really prepare for the most important encounter we will ever have? And how do we live out that most important relationship, not just in the season of Advent and Christmas, but our whole life through? Advent is the time when we’re invited to remind ourselves of that need, and refocus our intention, to recommit to the relationship.
Because, of course, Christ does not just come on December 25th. God is present, by God I mean the Trinity--God the Creator, God the Christ, God the Holy Spirit. God is present in every moment of every day of our lives.
It is we who are absent—detached from the light of the world by our own preoccupation, our own busyness.
How do we change that? How do we welcome God into our lives and dwell with God day in and day out, night in and night out.
Let me suggest a metaphor of my own, which comes from my recent experience in Japan. I went there on vacation and was struck by many things. Ones was their deep hospitality in welcoming the stranger. In that place, where space is so limited, so precious, the Japanese make space for the other. So here’s my metaphor for welcoming God: let us make space.
Let us make space for God in our homes. It can be a physical space, an area reserved for worship. That is lovely and it is significant because even when we aren’t actively worshipping there we see it, and we think about God’s presence. It’s also a commitment—though when you think about it, it’s not extravagant to set aside a corner for our creator. Doesn’t God deserve at least as much space as the T.V., as the computer? God is also flexible enough to use shared space. One family I know has a little communal study where they say Compline from the Book of Common Prayer together every night—just one possibility. The space can change with the season. Here, for instance, we have placed the Advent Wreath.
But say that for some reason it’s not practical to have a dedicated space. No problem. Space is symbolic. The real point is making space in our lives at home. Making time in every day, at home, to be with God, to talk to God, and even more important to listen to God.
That means making space for God on our calendar. Make time, make a regular date: wouldn’t you do that for the most important person in your life? How else can you build and sustain any relationship? It’s all about time, isn’t it? And since God isn’t going to call us up and insist on a date—sorry, that’s part of the free-will deal we made with God a long time ago—since God isn’t going to call us up and insist, it’s up to you and me. We have to make the date, and we have to keep it. My prayer time is first thing in the morning. If it doesn’t happen then, it’s not going to happen. And if it doesn’t happen, the whole day is not as good. We also need regularly—at least once or twice a year—to go away on retreat. Remember today’s gospel: the word of God came to John the Baptist when he was in the desert. Then he brought it back into the world.
How about making space for God in church? Now you may think that the whole space is dedicated to God, and—in principle—it is. But when we gather here we have to leave room, be careful not to crowd God out. Spending a few minutes in silence before the service really helps us and those around us to prepare to receive the miracle and the mystery of God’s presence among us. We share in the mystery of that presence at the altar, during the Eucharistic feast--which is a glimmering foretaste of the eternal peace and unity among all God’s people in the kingdom to come. But to prepare for that miracle, we need to make space to receive God beforehand and during the service. We need, for instance, the space that the liturgy provides to ask and receive forgiveness for our sins.
The liturgy also creates the space for us to share God’s peace. Now I love the joy that fills this place at the Peace. Sometimes I wonder, though, whether our zeal to greet our friends might overshadow two sacred purposes. As you know, the peace isn’t a break in the service for a chat. It’s a weekly chance to reach out to share the peace of Christ: to welcome stranger or to reconcile with the estranged, to extend our hand across a chasm that may have opened if we’ve had a disagreement with someone else here. …
What if we made space for God in all of our gatherings with friends and family. The blessing before a meal is just such a space. Even if we find ourselves in a group that doesn’t say a blessing, we can, in our hearts. Or we can say—outloud--Annie Lamott’s great prayer: “Thank you, Thank you, Thank you!” Nobody can object to that.
Remember, that when he took the cup in the Last Supper, Jesus said “whenever you drink it, do this in remembrance of me”. Every week when I hear or say those words, I realize that Jesus meant for his presence to be constant, for us to think about him, to remember him and somehow to make him a living part of every meal.
Space at home, in the church, in our gatherings: it comes down to making space for God in ourselves, sacred space for God’s presence that we carry around with us wherever we go. Making space in our heads and in our hearts. That means being intentional, of course. Intentional about building in silence as a regular part of our lives. If the person you admired most in the world was visiting you, would you have the television on in the room? Would you be multi-tasking—reading your mail and talking on the phone? God does speak in a still, small voice. God doesn’t shout over the competition—at least not in my experience, and I’d rather God didn’t have to! In the silence we can find wonder.
And how, finally, do we furnish those spaces—those spaces in our heads and hearts—so that they are most welcoming to God? Well, there’s the Attitude of Gratitude for which St. Matthew’s is famous: that’s a great start. Eva Archer-Smith, who spoke at the women’s retreat just before Thanksgiving, had a terrific idea to help remind us to be grateful in every minute. Each night before you go to bed, she said, thank God for five specific things you’re grateful for in the day. No fair saying the same thing every night, either. I’ve been doing this and she is right: it changes your life. Because once you’ve thanked God for your friends and family and pets, then you start being aware of the things for which you are grateful as you go through the day. So furnish those spaces with gratitude.
And, most generously of all, furnish those spaces with love. Our savoir Jesus Christ enthroned Love as the greatest virtue, in the great commandments: love of God, love of neighbor, love of self. A heart filled with love, a head filled with love, will be a haven for God’s blessing, a place where God not only visits but naturally dwells.
I wrote this sermon early in the week and decided to practice what I preached. “Make space” is the metaphor I choose, and it became a kind of mantra as I went about my life. You might find a different metaphor suits you better. But my metaphor, my mantra, has helped me to recall the intention to welcome God at many different times and places this week—driving, working at my desk, visiting with friends and parishioners, sitting in meetings. I must confess that I haven’t reached perfect unity with God yet. And it probably won’t happen next week, either. Spiritual formation is a life-long work. It’s a blessing, indeed, that the God who loves us unconditionally has infinite patience with works in progress.
