Advent is probably my favourite liturgical season. It seems
so much in tune with our human condition, that looking
forward to something that is just beyond our grasp - an
incompleteness, a restlessness that drives and inspires. And
in our Christian tradition we look forward once more to the
message of the angels – to the promise of peace on earth,
good will among us all, and the coming of the Prince of
peace and reconciliation. Advent is the season for yearning,
and perhaps also the season when we call to mind God’s
yearning for us, his longing for his love to grow and
flourish among us, that his kingdom may come upon earth.
Looking around us at our world today, that need for peace
seems greater than ever.
Isaiah paints for us a beautiful picture of a world at
peace, a world where the leopard can lie down with the kid,
and the calf with the lion. But also, using the imagery of
tree-felling, he tells us how this can come about: the old
order has to be cut down so that out of the dead stump can
grow something wonderful; radically changed new life. Isaiah
expresses the hope that what is old and familiar can give
birth to what is totally new and unexpected, and that there
can be some sort of continuity between the two. The kingdom
of God’s love can be renewed among us – in our own lives, in
our church and group of churches, and in our weary world.
And then St. Paul takes us a stage further. Always remember
(he says) – that the Kingdom isn’t just about us. It’s a
pity that the lectionary leaves out the introductory verse
of this morning’s epistle, because it is absolutely crucial
– Christ, Paul says, didn’t please himself: Christ didn’t
please himself. Jesus gave up everything to save us. And if
we are to follow him we have to be prepared to abandon
self-interest, even when it seems to us entirely
justifiable. We have to put the common interest before our
own, otherwise there is no chance of living in harmony, no
way that we can ‘glorify God with one voice’.
The world is becoming increasingly divided along the
fault-lines of wealth, class, race, politics and religion.
What hope for the world if we cannot reconcile our
differences within our own Christian communities? What hope
for the world if as Christians we do nothing to heal the
wounds of division between religious and ethnic groups, or
worse still, rub salt into them? I sometimes regret that we
live in a part of the world that is so monochrome; we just
don’t get a feel for the tensions, and the wonderful
opportunities for reconciliation, that a multi-ethnic and
multi-faith community can bring.
And finally John the Baptist, in case we haven’t quite got
the message, drives it home. The kingdom of heaven is at
hand, he says – so repent!! Repent: stop, think again, turn
around and make a new start. John preached his message at
the river Jordan, which the Children of Israel had to cross
before entering the Promised Land. And John stands there and
says: there is only one way in to God’s new kingdom, and
that is through the waters of repentance. God in Christ
welcomes us to his Kingdom, but it is a kingdom of peace and
justice where hearts and minds, our hearts and minds, are to
be won by him, and for him.
Strangely enough John also uses the imagery of tree-felling,
this time to attack the religious leaders ‘Even now the axe
is laid to the root of the trees’. And why did John have it
in for the Pharisees and the Sadducees? It wasn’t that
they weren’t committed and devout, far from it. No, it was
because they weren’t prepared to change: they knew they were
right. They knew that the status quo, the old religious law,
took precedence over the law of love. When tradition becomes
stubbornly sterile and fruitless, what can you do with the
barren tree but cut it down, lest it take the light from the
fruitful trees around it?
This Advent we are all waiting. Waiting, among other things,
for the appointment of a new parish priest. And we have been
told that she, or he, will be called to further the mission
of all our four churches, including our own. If we are to
grow as a church we have to accept change, and to find in
that change new opportunities for harmony: harmony
among ourselves and with a new incumbent, harmony among our
four churches, and harmony between our churches and the
community in which we live. Perhaps that should be enough
for us right now. As to exactly where God might be leading
us in the future – that is still hidden from us. This Advent
we can only wait on God and offer ourselves to the Prince of
Peace, the Child of Bethlehem, in longing and yearning for
the coming of his Kingdom. And we could use as a
prayer the words of T.S. Eliot, that not so long ago were
printed as a preface in our weekday service book:-
‘I said to my soul, be still and wait without hope, for hope
would be hope for the wrong thing. Wait without love, for
love would be love of the wrong thing. There is yet faith,
but the faith and the love are all in the waiting. Wait
without thought, for you are not ready for thought. So the
darkness will be the light, and the stillness the dancing.’