A sermon by Alison Sampson
Texts: Isaiah 25: 6-9; Isaiah 40: 1-11; Psalm 85: 1-2, 8-13; 2 Peter 3: 8-15a & Mark 1:1-8

I suspect that most of us have grown up with a pretty straightforward approach to Advent. In this approach, our Advent preparations are all about Christmas. We focus on one event, that once and for all birth of a special baby, now celebrated on an annual day. And so whether we’re singing carols all December, or planning festive meals with family and friends, or buying presents and filling stockings, everything focusses on this one day, this celebration of an historic event. Then the day is done, and we drift into January, and life goes on.

In this light, tonight’s Advent readings are curious for what they leave out. We began by looking back, way back, to the prophet Isaiah. His voice has echoed throughout history, calling the faithful to make straight paths for the Lord. Then we turned to another ancient text, the Psalm, which assured us that God will speak peace to those who have turned to God in their hearts; that justice and peace will one day kiss; and that justice will make a path for his steps. Third, we looked ahead to 2 Peter, a letter written to the early church after the death of Christ. From this we heard that preparing for the Lord’s coming is about repentance, or a change of heart; and preparing for a new heaven and a new earth where justice is at home. Finally, we looked to John the Baptiser, who lived and worked in the wilderness while Jesus was an adult. From this gospel, we hear that we must prepare for the coming of the Lord by making the paths straight; and by changing our hearts and turning to God.

So what is missing here? What would you expect to hear about in a conventional Advent service which focusses on Christmas Day?

Nowhere in tonight’s readings do we find a baby in a manger!

For those of us who have grown up with a conventional understanding of Advent, and as privileged people, it is very easy to focus on the story of Christmas Day. We are enchanted by images of oxen and donkeys, pregnant women and wise men; and it is easy to ignore the call of the prophets.

But tonight’s readings suggest that Advent is not about preparing for the birth of a baby, that singular historical event. Instead, it is about preparing for the coming of the Lord, that already and not-yet event in human history; something for which people have lived and worked and prayed for millennia.

The question of whether we focus on the baby in a manger or the broader prophetic call is significant, because it can change how we prepare the way. If we focus on the once-off event of Christmas, or the birth of Jesus, then we are more likely to focus on the single, the once-off, and the individual in our preparations. If we understand the birth of Christ as part of a sweeping historical narrative, heralded by the ancient prophets and still relevant today, then we may take a broader approach.

We can see these different approaches in response to the shooting of Michael Brown in Ferguson, Missouri: people in different social locations have been asking different questions about the meaning of justice.

For the most part, privileged Americans have focussed on the single incident: the shooting of one boy by one police officer on one terrible day. And so the central issue becomes the behaviour of the police officer, and whether or not he acted appropriately. And while this is a good question to ask, it is not the only question, nor is it the only approach to justice and to making straight paths.

Because if we listen to people on the underside of American history, we hear different questions being asked. The focus for many African-Americans, for example, has not been the shooting of a single boy by a single police officer on a single day. Instead, the focus has been on the terrible violence which is visited on African-Americans, particularly young African-American men, day in day out. Data suggest that a black teenage man is more than 20 times more likely to be shot dead by a police officer than a white teenage man. Michael Brown’s death is only one in a long list of young men, mostly black, who have been on the receiving end of police violence.

And so many Americans take a longer, prophetic approach. They look back in time and forward into the future. Instead of interrogating the behaviour of a single police officer on a single day, they ask bigger questions: Why does this event keep happening? How do we change this pattern? How do we prepare for a new heaven and a new earth, where justice is right at home? How do we make the paths straight?

In our Australian context, similar questions might be raised.

When an indigenous man dies in custody, do we focus on that one tragic event, or do we ask bigger questions: Why do indigenous men and woman, who make up only two per cent of the Australian population, account for a quarter of the prison population? Why has there been a spike in their incarceration rates and deaths in custody in the last five years? The Royal Commission into Aboriginal Deaths in Custody made hundreds of recommendations; why were so few of them implemented? How can we close the gap between indigenous and non-indigenous poverty, health, work, education, and everything else that affects rates of substance abuse, violence and custody? How can we make the paths straight?

When an asylum seeker dies in offshore detention, do we focus on that one tragic event, or do we ask bigger questions: What triggers people to seek asylum? Why are boat arrivals sent to offshore detention centres? What are the safeguards for their protection? Who is accountable? How else could we house them while their visa applications are processed? How can love make a way? How can we make the paths straight?

These are big, big questions, without easy answers. This is why they have been asked for thousands of years; this is why we keep asking them, and will keep scrabbling for answers, year in year out. This is not to say that we should never investigate any single event, or the actions of one police officer or one prison guard or one victim of violence. We should, and we do. But if we are serious about preparing the way of the Lord, and making the paths straight, then we also need to hold onto the broad focus which reaches back in time and stretches into the future, which searches for structures which underpin injustice, which is guided by the concerns of the prophets.

A few weeks ago, someone who reads my sermons asked me why I have to shake things up every time. Why can’t I just say that God loves us, and leave it at that?

It’s a good question, and one I continue to grapple with. My answer tonight is that it is precisely because God loves the whole world, and not just our little corner of it, that we have been entrusted with the broad, prophetic view. The prophets, and John the Baptiser, and the early church are all signs of God’s love, both for us, and for the world. And it is because we love God that we take their visions seriously and explore how we, too, can prepare for the coming of the Lord.

Archbishop Desmond Tutu said: “Compassion is not just feeling with someone, but seeking to change the situation. Frequently people think compassion and love are merely sentimental. No! They are very demanding. If you are going to be compassionate, be prepared for action!”

Christmas without the prophetic challenge of Advent is merely sentimental: a chubby baby sleeping peacefully in soft straw. It’s birth without blood; life without death; straw without prickles. It is lovely, but it is not love. And our call is to love. A love forged by the one who first loved us into being; a love which is clear-eyed and difficult. A love described by ancient prophets and singing peasants and people on the underside of history. A love which reaches back into the depths of time, and looks forward into the future. A love which promises a new heaven and a new earth, where all young men find work and dignity and meaning, and grow into comfortable old age. When this love rules the earth, peace and justice will surely kiss; and justice will feel right at home.

This Advent, I’m preparing to have lunch with my family. It’s something I look forward to. It is lovely. But even more, I look forward to a bigger feast: the feast of love. It is a feast for all peoples, not just our people; a feast of rich food, a banquet of well-aged wines. Advent reminds us that one day God will destroy the shroud that is cast over all peoples, the sheet that covers all nations; God will swallow up death forever. Then the Lord will wipe away the tears from all faces, and take away the disgrace of the people from all the earth, for the Lord has spoken. On that day they will say, “This is our God, the one in whom we trusted, the one who saved us. This is the Lord for whom we waited. Let us rejoice, and be glad.”

Even more than Christmas lunch, this is something worth preparing for. Through Christ, the vision has already been realised and continues to be realised among us, in small, imperfect, fragile ways. In gratitude, then, let us keep the feast.

But in love and longing for the day when the vision is perfectly realised, when death and sorrow will be no more, when the Lord will wipe away the tears from all faces, when the disgrace of injustice is taken away from the nations, when all people are seated comfortably around the table, let us prepare the way. Ω

(This sermon was partly inspired by http://biteintheapple.com/voices-in-the-wilderness/.
Desmond Tutu was interviewed by Psychology Today:
http://www.psychologytoday.com/articles/200504/desmond-tutu-compassion.)