Advent is an unconventional
season, at least in the world’s eyes. Culture encourages us to be busy, busy,
busy, baking up myriad cookies, cakes and pies, shopping from morning ‘til
night in search of that perfect present for that friend or loved one (or even
just something that will do for Uncle Erasmus who is never pleased with
anything), writing witty and interesting notes in Christmas cards to people
with whom we only exchange greetings once a year, and so on. Advent encourages
us to do just the opposite: to slow down rather than speed up and to reflect
more than spend. Advent asks us to think about why we are celebrating this season and that which follows it. What
is important in life? More “stuff”? A reputation as a perfect hostess for the
perfect Christmas party? A beautifully decorated house redolent with the scents
of spices and warm baked goods in profusion? No, Advent’s unconventional nature
tries to teach us to look to the manger not as a nice little display in the
front of the church or even on the mantelpiece or table by the window but as
the coming of a light into the world that can, if tended carefully, can set the
world on fire in the best possible way. Being unconventional can be very
liberating – and very challenging.
In Acts 17:23, Paul recounts walking through Athens and finding an altar marked “To An Unknown God” among the many altars and temples dedicated to specific gods. His comment was “You are ignorant of the very thing which you worship” (17:23c). In a way that still can apply to us today, even those who claim to know and love God. But do we really know God? We certainly know attributes of God: loving, judgmental, protective, punishing, omnipotent, allowing bad things to happen, etc. I can describe my late brother as Caucasian male, 78 years of age at time of death, approximately six feet tall, weighing….” but can I do that with God? No, I can’t. To that extent, God is unknown, just as it was to the Athenians. We knew God as a being beyond our comprehension, we could envision God as a pillar of fire or acting as a mother hen over her chicks but God is neither cloud nor hen. Jesus came along and suddenly we had a glimpse of God we hadn’t had before. Who could imagine the creator of universes lying in a bed of straw, a helpless newborn infant? Jesus later taught, “If you know me, you will know* my Father also. From now on you do know him and have seen him.’” (John 14:7). We many not know God completely, but God is no longer as unknown because we have seen Jesus who was God’s son and also a persona, an aspect of God.
There’s a line in the carol “Hark, the Herald Angels Sing”
that speaks to the mystery of Advent, “Veiled in flesh the Godhead see; Hail
the incarnate Deity” (Hymnal 1982, #87). The prophets had foretold the coming
of a messiah, but the one they seemed to be looking for was a military and
civic leader, a king who would lead the people into righteousness and on a
Godly path, who would follow the ways of peace rather than war and acquisition,
and who would put the welfare of the people above his own desires. Then along
comes this newborn infant, born in a stable instead of a palace, with probably
a cow or two, perhaps a sheep or two, maybe even a cat or two as witnesses to
the birth. No royal fanfare outside a palace and a grand announcement, but
there were angels in the sky befuddling some sleepy shepherds, men who were
among the poorest of the poor, with news of the birth of a savior, a messiah.
That quiet birth, even with its rather spectacular announcement was the unveiling of God in the flesh.
We speak of unity,
one-ness, as a goal to be achieved, but what exactly is that goal? For some it
is the unity of the church, everybody believing one set of concrete beliefs and
following one set of concrete practices. For others it is a singleness of
purpose, such as world peace or eradication of malaria or elimination of
poverty and want. We want unity, but we want it on our terms, it seems. Advent
invites us to consider unity as a means to begin to heal the world and to
welcome the Christ child into that healing. Think of our Jewish and Muslim
brothers and sisters who volunteer to work on Christmas so that Christians can
take that day off and the Christians who do the same for Jewish and Islamic
brothers and sisters on their holy days. None have changed their beliefs, but
they make their actions speak for those beliefs, just the way they’re supposed
to. Perhaps it’s time to stop trying to convert one another and start just
working together. After all, God has many names—including Ha Shem, Allah, and
probably many others we don’t know or use ourselves. Unity is like a potluck
dinner; everybody brings their own gifts to the table to share with others.
Everybody gets fed, nobody goes hungry, and everybody eats together. Think of a
whole world like that. I think that’s the unity God is looking for, and Advent
is a good time to begin working toward it.
The more I think about Advent, the more I wish we could
celebrate it all year long.
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