It’s hard to believe it is almost December. March and April seemed to last for 5 years, but the rest of this year disappeared in the blink of an eye. Usually, right after Thanksgiving, I am overwhelmed with the realization that there is so much to be done in a short amount of time. Even though I prepare and plan every year, there is always a moment when I realize there’s more to be done than there are hours left in the day. Because of this, I tend to approach Advent with a dull roar of stress and anxiety, even though I also so look forward to everything this season has to offer. I don’t know if any of you have ever felt that way – torn between the busyness and the wonder of it all. 

As I was studying the Scriptures for this week, I started looking through some old papers I wrote for my seminary classes. I came across something I wrote on our passage from Matthew – words I wrote 14 years ago, but could’ve written nearly every year since. I wrote, “As the time left until Christmas gets shorter, it seems that our ‘to-do’ lists are getting longer and longer. The hustle and bustle of last minute planning and over-crowded department store aisles have left many of us gasping for air.” 

As I read these words over again, it felt like they came from another world altogether – a world of busyness, endless parties and deadlines, crowded stores, and high expectations. For so long, I had blamed the struggle and tension of the holiday season on the busyness of commercial Christmas. But, this year? The year when so many things have been canceled or stripped away? If anything has stood in the way of entering into the spirit of Advent, it has been the emptiness of missed experiences, the concern for friends and family struggling with their health, and the grief of losing loved ones. If anything is keeping me from experiencing the wonder of Advent, it is not the busyness of the season, it is being unable to be with all of you. How can we reconcile such sorrow with the hope of the Advent season?

“Sing aloud, O daughter Zion; shout, O Israel! Rejoice and exult with all your heart, O daughter Jerusalem! The Lord has taken away the judgments against you, he has turned away your enemies. The king of Israel, the Lord, is in your midst; you shall fear disaster no more.” The book of Zephaniah is only 3 chapters long, but the bulk of the book is about destruction, judgment, and devastation. Zephaniah writes about the day of the Lord as a day of judgment and catastrophe. And that’s what we often think about when we think about the day of the Lord. When we think about the end of time, we focus on the destruction, the devastation, and the terrifying. 

At least for some of us, it makes us wonder if there will ever truly be an end to the fear and the violence on this earth. If even the end, the time when our Lord returns, is something to fear, how long will it be and how much will we have to endure before we can be with our Lord again? But, did you hear how Zephaniah described the day of the Lord in our passage for this morning? “The Lord has taken away the judgments against you, he has turned away your enemies. The king of Israel, the Lord, is in your midst; you shall fear disaster no more.”

No more fear of disaster. The king, the Lord, will be in our midst. The day of the Lord isn’t something we need to be afraid of. Right now we live in between the two comings of Christ. We live in that tense place, in that time of waiting and longing and suffering and struggle. We recognize little bits of God’s kingdom shining through right now, but we are also acutely aware of the pain and suffering of this life. We have hope right now in our lives, but our hope is incomplete. To paraphrase Lew Smedes, “Joy is possible when pleasure turns to ashes.” And I believe the same is true of hope. Even from the ash heap of brokenness and grief, hope is still possible. 

Zephaniah continues to describe the day of the Lord when he writes, “He will rejoice over you with gladness, he will renew you in his love; he will exult over you with loud singing as on a day of festival. I will remove disaster from you, so that you will not bear reproach for it.” On this first week of Advent, we gather in anticipation of Christmas. We sing songs of praise and joy and remember how God reached into human history to make a way to save us. But, as we also face tragedy, we are reminded that we are longing for our Lord to return once again. This world is not all that there is, and during this season of Advent, we cling to hope as we wait for the coming of our risen Lord.

God promises us: “At that time I will bring you home, at the time when I will gather you.” This is the hope we have. This is the promise that we will not have to suffer forever. And though it may seem like a contradiction, it is fitting for us to hold our griefs in our hands and look forward with hope at the same time during the season of Advent. Advent is big enough for both.

Madeleine L’Engle’s poem “First Coming” says this so well:

He did not wait till the world was ready,

till men and nations were at peace.

He came when the Heavens were unsteady,

and prisoners cried out for release.

He did not wait for the perfect time.

He came when the need was deep and great.

He dined with sinners in all their grime,

turned water into wine.

He did not wait till hearts were pure.

In joy he came to a tarnished world of sin and doubt.

To a world like ours, of anguished shame

he came, and his Light would not go out.

He came to a world which did not mesh,

to heal its tangles, shield its scorn.

In the mystery of the Word made Flesh

the Maker of the stars was born.

We cannot wait till the world is sane

to raise our songs with joyful voice,

for to share our grief, to touch our pain,

He came with Love: Rejoice! Rejoice!
For the last nine months, we have been reminded nearly daily of all of the brokenness and heartache in this world. We have had a front row seat as pain and division and fear became the soundtrack of our daily lives. These difficult stories have become such a part of our lives that I find them on my mind and my heart even when I’m not intending to think about them. It can be exhausting. But this week, as I heard the story of the birth of Jesus again, I paused on Matthew 1:23: “‘Look, the virgin shall conceive and bear a son, and they shall name him Emmanuel’, which means, ‘God is with us.’”

God is with us.

Now.

Not when things are perfect. Not when I learn to have a better attitude about everything. Not once we get our act together.

God is with us now.

This is the hope of Jesus Christ: not that our faith will spare us from whatever it is that is in front of us, but that God promises to be with us in the midst of it all. What would happen if I allowed this amazing news to become the soundtrack of my life? What would happen if I pulled up a front row seat and allowed the message to truly sink in. Is it possible that this story – the best story there is – could become so much a part of who I am that it is always in my mind and in my heart, even when I’m not intending to think about it?

Friends, we do not have to wait until the world is perfect, or until we’ve gotten ourselves together, to receive the hope of the good news of Jesus. Right now, no matter whether you are filled with hope, or struggling through a tough situation, God is with us. 

I once heard a story about a little girl that attended a funeral with her mother. During the service, the girl felt sad. It was the first time she had lost someone she knew. As the girl and her mother walked down the steps and out of the church, the girl’s Sunday School teacher walked by, dressed in black, with a black veil covering her face. “Hello, Gloria,” the veiled woman said. The little girl looked up with surprise and whispered, “Hello” back. Later that night, the little girl said, “Momma, I saw God today at the church.” Her mother was taken aback and she asked, “How did you know it was God?” The little girl answered, “The Bible says that no one can see God’s face, but God knows your name.” 

God knows whatever it is we are facing, and God is with us here, now. As we begin this Advent journey, let us go forward with the assurance that we do not walk this road alone. Let’s keep our eyes fixed on the hope we have – Jesus, the author and perfecter of our faith. Amen.