Advent Visions: Public and Personal
| John Wilkinson |
Third Presbyterian Church |
| December 2, 2007 |
Isaiah 2:1-5/Romans 13:11-14 |
The latest Disney offering is called “Enchanted.”
Like many movies of its type – and believe me, we’ve
seen them all! – “Enchanted” is designed to
speak on at least two levels – children and the adults
taking them. It’s a recent trend, with movies like “Shrek”
and “Toy Story.” Enough cuteness and sweetness and
goodness for children, and enough irreverence and clever reference,
oftentimes with soundtracks from the 60’s and 70’s,
for those actually shelling out their hard-earned dollars. And
I must admit that I am a fan. In fact, I would take “Shrek,”
the first one at least, over most movies I’ve seen in
the last decade, plus “Toy Story I and II” and “The
Incredibles.” The list could go on.
You’ve seen the commercials for “Enchanted”
enough times that I am not about to give anything away. “Enchanted”
tells the story of Giselle, and begins in typical fairy-tale
fashion. It is animated, with talking animals, a handsome prince,
and, of course, an evil queen. You know just where this is all
going.
The queen, feeling highly threatened by Giselle as her wedding
approaches, throws her down an enchanted well. When Giselle
arrives on the other end, she is no longer animated, but is
a real live, flesh and blood human. And she is no longer in
the make-believe land of Andalusia, but lands, rather, in Manhattan.
Hilarity follows. Heroism follows. Evil follows. A talking chipmunk
follows. You can guess how it all ends.
But what got me to thinking was that wishing well, and all
that it represents. The theologians and philosophers call them
paradoxes, but we may prefer to call it real life. That is to
say, we live not in one world or the other – not an animated,
fairy tale world or the hardened, cruel world of whatever it
is that represents New York City for us. We live not above the
world or below the world or beyond the world, but in the world.
We live at the point precisely between, between what is and
what is to be, between who we are and who we are becoming, between
the world of this moment – animated or otherwise, and
the world we are drawn into, pushed into, willingly or otherwise.
This is not a fairy tale situation, but a description of life,
yours and mine. And the tensions and paradoxes, and, we hope,
the points of balance we discover along the way. The reality
is that we live in between, in between so many things. Certainty
and doubt. Hope and fear. Sacred and secular. Scarcity and abundance.
Physical and spiritual. Real and ideal. Some 22 and a half days
from now, we will live in the tension between the “joyful
and triumphant” and “how silently, how silently,”
between “sing choirs of angels, sing in exultation”
and “infant holy, infant lowly.”
This is real life, and it would seem that Advent is as good
of a time as any, perhaps the best time, to explore these dynamics,
to seek not so much to reject as to live into these paradoxes,
which are complex and mysterious and always keep us on our toes
and just slightly off-balance.
That is what we will do in this Advent season of preparation
and expectation and anticipation. Visions of continuity and
change, the ways that the story provides a clear and consistent
set of themes and takes us in new directions at the same time.
Visions of surprises and anticipations, what we are to expect
because the story continually tells us to, and what is new and
surprising along the way. Visions of present and not-yet-present,
the already-here and the yet-to-come. These paradoxes, tensions,
balance points, are faithful to human experience and they are
faithful to our experience of faith.
And this one as well, what a teacher of mine once called “spirituality
and social responsibility.”
If you’ve been paying attention at all to the presidential
campaign, and it’s been difficult not to, you’ve
certainly noticed a theme. Religion. But after noting it, we
are not quite sure what to make of it. We seem to want our candidates
religious, but not too religious. We want them to practice their
faith, but we don’t want it to have too much influence.
We’re not quite sure what to do with a Mormon candidate,
a Baptist minister candidate, a Catholic candidate, a candidate
who calls a very progressive congregation on the south side
of Chicago his church home. This has seemingly been the provenance
of the Republicans for so long, but the Democrats are wrestling
to see how religious they can be, or so it seems. This is an
issue about which we – as people of faith – must
be thoughtful, and perhaps even faithful.
For us, though the real question is not how we will judge another’s
faith, even a prospective presidential candidate, but how our
faith will make a difference. The pull, the paradox, the tension
of spirituality and social responsibility, of faith in action
in the world and faith as it speaks to the quiet places of our
hearts. And like every worthy matter, there is no clear answer,
no precise formula, unless the clarity and precision come out
in the living of our days, as we live into the paradox and seek
to embrace some provisional point of balance.
Isaiah, this morning, would have us understand that God is
mightily active in the affairs of the nations, that God cares,
arbitrates, even, in affairs of state. And more so, God’s
agenda is not a neutral one, but rather one of peace. “They
shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into
pruning hooks;” Isaiah famously declares. “Nation
shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn
war any more.”
For those who argue that there is no public, political, social
aspect to faith, I would say that this prophetic word suggests
otherwise, and rather strongly. We may disagree on what that
public faith looks like, but we must agree that public faith
is our mandate and vocation.
I would say that we are out of balance when we are focused
only on the interior, the internal, private life of prayer.
And I would say in the very same breath that we are out of balance
when we are focused only on the exterior, only on public action,
the public face of our faith. Like a garden, the inner life
needs tended to, nurtured, cultivated. In community.
Isaiah’s words resonate with us, but Paul’s do
as well, words about living honorably, about personal ethics,
respect, how we relate one-to-one with all.
This is about life lived on the grand stage of human affairs,
and life lived in the more particular stage of our own hearts,
our own spirits. Never either-or, but always both-and.
We would come to the chapel tomorrow evening for quiet, introspective
prayer. And we would write our U.S. Senator about a political
matter of deep concern or stand on the corner of East Avenue
and Goodman to make our opinion known. All are acts of faith.
And all are needed to make our faith balanced and integrated
and complete.
Walter Brueggemann writes about the vision, the act of imagination,
“that looks beyond present dismay through the eyes of
God, to see what will be that is not yet. That is the function
of promise,” Brueggemann writes, “(and therefore
of Advent), in the life of faith.” (Texts for Preaching,
Year A, page 2)
This promise of Advent is mirrored – strongly and profoundly,
in what we do today – gather around the table and share
bread and cup. The promise of Advent, the paradox and balance
of Advent, the promise of faith, the paradox and balance of
faith, in this very act of gathering and dispersing.
* We are invited and we invite.
* We are guests and we are hosts.
* We give and we receive.
* We feed and we are fed.
We would miss the full impact of the promise if we linger at
the table too long, but we could not embrace an active, peacemaking
faith in the world if we did not receive sustenance here.
George MacLeod, the founder of the Iona Community, wrote that
“Where people are praying for peace the cause of peace
is being strengthened by their very act of prayer, for they
are themselves becoming immersed in the spirit of peace.”
Paradox – yes. Tension – yes. Balance – to
be sure. But no dichotomy – even at Advent, especially
at Advent.
This story that we expect and anticipate touches us, reaches
deep within us, transforms us. But it never fully does so until
that same faith – having taken root – then takes
wing, from our spirits, from our hearts, from this church, even,
into all the world. We seek not an enchanted life, but surely
a faithful one, filled with promise and hope and the fullness
of life. Amen.
