St. Andrew's-Wesley United Church

Rev. Gary Paterson

November 30, 2008

Just for a moment I would like to pretend that I am an American … and no, it’s not because Barak Obama is more exciting than Steven Harper (although that’s true)… no, it’s that I would like to be able to celebrate American Thanksgiving. I don’t know why they chose the end of November for their big day …maybe the harvest really does come in a month or two later than up here. But what I like about the date… at least this year… is that I can’t think of a more fitting way to wrap up our Stewardship Programme than with a great Thanksgiving celebration.

I remember conversations last spring with Alan Lowe, wondering if he might consider participating in a much needed stewardship campaign. He looked at me with a bemused expression. We both thought about it; I suggested that perhaps he might think about it as a call. He responded by pointing out that he was clear that I was calling, but he wasn’t so sure that God was on the same wavelength. More thinking time; and prayer. And then… "Yes!"

I remember the June meeting of the Board, where Alan presented his thoughts, and a proposal, which were met with a collective deep breath, full of excitement mixed with apprehension, because Alan was clear that a stewardship programme was a congregational effort, and that the members of the Board were the leadership team for such an undertaking. More prayer, and some strong, encouraging words from Tom Miles … and then another "Yes!"… though with some nervousness.

I remember Alan quickly putting together a Stewardship Team, and receiving only one refusal from the individuals he asked… and that person wasn’t going to be around during the actual campaign. I remember the dreaming, the planning, the organizing. Then came the Team Leaders, and the visitors. Then the Launch on November 2nd, with some forty people standing at the front of the church, being commissioned to go out into the congregation, and start the conversations, so full of affirmations, promises, dreams, questions and finances.

And today… the celebration. Oh, we haven’t quite finished the final wrap-up, and we don’t have "numbers"… but that doesn’t matter. This campaign, Living Our Promises, is about much more than the number of pledges received, the talent and skill sheets turned in, more than the financial bottom line. No, it’s really about what all these represent, which is already so clear… and so worth the celebrating. It’s about the excitement, the energy of this community; it’s about our collective sense of gratitude and faithfulness; an experience of the Spirit inviting this congregation into a future filled with hope. It feels a bit like walking into the living room on Christmas morning, after all the work and worry, after Christmas Eve worship… and there it is…. the tree, the presents, the crèche, the wonder of the day, of the world, of God. I think that what we are celebrating today is a harvest of hope. And I feel like bursting into a classic Thanksgiving hymn:

Come ye thankful people come, raise the song of harvest-home!

All is safely gathered in, safe before the storms begin;

God, our maker, does provide, for our needs to be supplied:

Come to God’s own temple, come, raise the song of harvest-home.

A harvest of hope; living our promises; moving into a new future.

So excited am I about Living Our Promises, that I was almost chagrined to realize that today is also the first Sunday of Advent. If you can believe it, I wondered about delaying Advent celebrations until next Sunday, so that today could be all about Stewardship. I thought, who would notice? I mean, it’s still November, and no one really thinks about Christmas until December hits. Surely only church geeks would miss the full four Sunday Advent preparation that helps us get ready for Christmas?

Advent and stewardship seem to carry such different energy – how can you do justice to both of them on the same Sunday? Stewardship implies a muscular faith, a roll-up-your-sleeves, and get to work kind of attitude. Raise the funds, feed the hungry, house the homeless, evangelize, grow the church, march for peace, change the world. All so very important! And so typical of the United Church. The other day a friend shared a great joke…. a teacher asked her students to bring symbols of their faith, to share with the class. A young boy, David, stood up and said, "I’m Jewish – and a symbol of my faith is the Star of David." A little girl got up, Mary, and she said, "I’m Catholic – and a symbol of my faith is the rosary." And then Peter went to the front of the room, and said, "I’m United Church – and the symbol of my faith is a casserole." Well… yes; that’s us, isn’t it?!

Yet perhaps the joining together of Stewardship and Advent is a gift of the Spirit, a reminder in the midst of our celebrations that all of our hard work is half of the story; our response to what God has done and continues to do in our lives, our world. Advent is a time to ponder this deep truth. It is a time of not-doing, of stillness and prayer, a season of waiting, attending God. No matter how purpose-driven our lives and our church may be, we are invited to pause, and find heart-space… room at the very centre of our being for Holiness.

The first Sunday of Advent marks the beginning of the Church year. As followers of the Christ we remember that we live with a different sense of time. Sure, we are caught up with the schedules of our culture… the school year; the fiscal year; the regular calendar year that has landed on the first of January as the date to mark a new beginning. For us, here in the church, we speak of Advent as that moment when we begin a new rhythm, recognizing that our preparation for the birth of Jesus reminds us of the essential rhythms of our lives, that we centre ourselves around this story and the presence of God that is embodied in Christ; this is what gives us meaning and life.

I like the fact that our year begins when the days are still shrinking. This is pre-solstice time, when the light is disappearing. Here in Vancouver the trees are bare, the temperature is slowly dropping, the sky is forever grey, and the rain falls as drizzle, shower, downpour… endlessly it seems. And yes, the light is disappearing. But what we seem to be saying by choosing to celebrate a new beginning on this Sunday, is that God is the God of darkness as well as light. So often Christianity gets associated with good times, happy times… success and blessing. Sometimes we forget that God is also with us when the light seems to be disappearing. Indeed, the traditional reading for the first Sunday of Advent is always taken from what is called the "mini-apocalypse"… that section of Matthew, Mark or Luke that presents Jesus, near the end of his ministry, in those final few days in Jerusalem, talking about the "end-times." Just before the verses that we heard this morning, Jesus had been talking about war and destruction, overwhelming suffering. And then, just to make sure that we get the point, his words expand to embrace a cosmic collapse… global warming on a grand scale? "The sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will be falling from heaven…." I invite you to not get caught up in any literal reading, or even worse, be distracted by setting dates for the end of the world. No… move into metaphor, and hear the powerful proclamation that the God of Christmas is also the God of terrible times.

And surely we know about terrible times. Just talk to the citizens of Mumbai; or, if you have a daughter working in Bangkok (as I do), worry about the violence that is now accompanying the ongoing political protest in that city; listen to the fears of so many people as savings and jobs are swept away in the economic meltdown, and weep as you watch what is not happening in Ottawa. Or make it more personal….during the past few weeks I have talked with six members of our congregation who are living with cancer… a couple who are in the midst of treatment, hoping for good results; some who are on the knife-edge of waiting to hear what the doctors will recommend for treatment; some who are recognizing the shortness of their lives. Dark times; falling apart times.

But here is the Advent promise: -- when it feels as if the darkness is overwhelming you; when it seems that, almost literally, all hell is breaking loose, and your life, the world is falling apart – then look up, and you "will see ‘the Son of Man coming in clouds’ with great power and glory." There is nothing, friends, that can separate any of us from the love of God. Be reassured – God is still in our midst, and is promising life even in the midst of chaos. Our task is to wait upon the Lord who will renew our strength, when we shall rise up like eagles; as Paul said in his letter to the Corinthians, "[we shall not be] lacking in any spiritual gift as you wait…[Christ] will… strengthen you to the end…God is faithful…."

Our task is to wait… but to do so fully awake and alert. How and when God will be present in our lives is not clear --"… about that day or hour no one knows… beware, keep alert, for you do not know when the time will come." Perhaps we might call this a winter spirituality, when we are not hard at work, but living on the harvest of hope, waiting patiently and faithfully. I discovered that some ancient authorities slipped another word into that short litany of "Beware, keep alert!" … they added the verb, "pray". I can imagine Jesus saying that… prayer is a powerful and faithful way to keep alert.

Jesus uses the metaphor of making the house ready – not a bad image for Advent. The Master has gone, it would seem, leaving us in charge, each of us with our work, with our stewardship. But the promise is clear – he will return. In our waiting, we must prepare. "[We] do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow or at dawn…" But, says Jesus, don’t let him find you asleep. "And what I say to you [the disciples] I say to all: ‘Keep awake.’"

Who knows how and when God will come to us. Our calling is to be alert, awake… don’t fall asleep. The theologian Frederick Beuchner suggests that Advent is like that moment at the theatre before the curtain goes up. The lights grow dim; the endless chattering is stilled; and everyone is focused, ready, full of anticipation. They know that something wonderful is about to happen. What would it be like to live our lives with that sense of anticipation; alert, wake… and ready?

Like the great blue heron, standing in the waters, waiting, not moving – and then suddenly, a flash of silver in the water…the moment has arrived, and the heron explodes into swift, focused action. Or maybe, to reverse the roles -- listen to this poem by Kathleen O’Toole, which she has entitled "Statio"… a Latin word that speaks of one of the elements of Benedictine spiritual discipline… the practice of pausing between activities to become conscious of the moment, of the presence of God.

For once, silence –

genuine calm. Forty minutes

on a tidal bight with a great blue

heron. …

not frozen,

but still.

In a half hour, she barely turns

a full 360 degrees.

Time to notice

the dark wingtip markings,

light not-blue-but-gray breast feathers,

the cobalt dash between the long beak

and dark-eyed crown.

Expectation

gives way to awe, as each degree

thins her to a reed among reeds.

By sunset, barely an apostrophe

against the green marsh;

what’s left of colour

bleeding into water,

into this resolve:

to pause,

to practice, to attend.

The heron waits; and we wait… and we notice; and in that simple action we make room for God. We are alert, awake… knowing that even in the simplest moments of our living revelation is possible; grace abounds.

But let me offer a more prosaic image. I live in apartment block, with two elevators – which are in the process of being upgraded and renovated. One of them is now under repair. We had been warned that wait times would be longer; I can live with that. However, it seems that the ongoing work has also affected the second elevator. You push the button, tired at the end of the day. You wait. The elevator now seems to enjoy hanging out on the seventh floor; it descends… into the basement, and in so doing eliminates your signal. You push the button again. Aha… it arrives; you enter, but no, you don’t go up. You descend to the basement; the door opens; no one is there; you return to the first floor; the door opens; no one is there. But hey, it starts to go up; you stop at floor number 6 and seven; the door opens and closes; you stop at the eighth floor… the door does not open; instead, the elevator begins to shake and rumble; you pray; you push the button to open the door – it does so; you wonder whether to get out; it’s only six more floors up. But you offer a prayer; which works. And eventually you arrive home… a ten minute journey.

Which may not seem to be all that significant. But I am a busy man, with a full schedule. People to see, places to go. I do not want to wait; I am singularly annoyed and frustrated. This waiting stuff is just fine as long as it stays in the Bible, but in the morning when I am already late for work, trying to balance my coffee and briefcase… and we do a reverse journey of what I have described… well, I lose my cool.

But we are entering into our second week of repairs. I am learning patience. Perhaps the elevators will become my Advent reminder. I am reminded to be very thankful for elevators that work… so easy to take them for granted. Many of us in the building are discovering the gift of exercise. Which is not a bad thing… particularly when you’re going down. It’s a harder sell with the groceries and dry-cleaning in hand, at the end of the day, and you’re contemplating how many calories you will burn off by ascending to the 14th floor. Nevertheless… exercise is a good thing. As is patience. And, I am talking much more to my neighbours… too often in the previous times, the ride up and down is done in silence, or with a minimal grunted "Morning." Now we have so much to talk about; hey, on the eight floor, when the elevator shudders, well, I’m almost tempted to hold hands with whomever is facing possible death with me. I am discovering that I like my neighbours.

And of course, because I am a preacher, I can’t help but see this as a metaphor for my life… a discovery that often the detours and the delays are what add colour to my day. I am being called into a new acceptance of life’s peculiarities. And there are surprises along the way… occasional variations, when we don’t go to the basement. You never quite know what floors you will visit, and whether you go up or down does not necessarily depend on the buttons that you push. And who knew that the seventh floor was so interesting… I’ve never visited there before.

And just the other day… when indeed I was losing my cool, despite all these sermonic reflections… I discovered that waiting for the elevator could be a time for prayer. Not the "Please, God, send that blinking elevator immediately!" nor even "Please, God, smite those repairmen!"… but rather an open-ended kind of prayer… "Here I am God, and who knows for how long; speak Lord, for your servant is listening… wide awake, and alert." We’ve been told that the repairs and upgrading will take at least twelve weeks. Talk to me in March… ask me about waiting; ask me then about attending to the presence of God.

Who knows how God will suddenly appear in our lives. But advent reminds us to be ready… ready for the unexpected. When I was back in Toronto last September, I had a chance to preview the Christmas ads for the church’s Emerging Spirit campaign… remember, that advertising outreach to the unchurched thirty and forty year olds. Well, every sketch of Jesus had him with a beard, wearing a long robe and sandals, as if he had just stepped out of the pages of Mark’s gospel. It felt a little Cecil B de Mille to me, but when I raised questions I was told by the ad experts that this is how Jesus lives in our imaginations. Which is okay, as far as it goes; but however are we to encounter the Christ if all our images are two thousand years old. Sometimes our expectations can blind us to what is all around us.

The theologian/preacher Barbara Brown Taylor has recounted an experiment which tested exactly that reality… that we cannot see beyond the blinkers of our expectations. It goes like this. You sit down at the table and an examiner turns over a dozen cards from an ordinary playing deck, and you have to remember what they are. "Queen of diamonds, ten of spades, ace of hearts…. Whoa… what’s that next one? Darn, don’t remember." You try again, a little slower this time; you get nearly all of them. But there’s one card you can’t quite remember; but when the cards are all turned face up you realize what the problem is… it’s a six of spades… but it’s red. The deck had a wild card. Red spades… you don’t see what you don’t expect. But it seems that God loves red spades, and deals them out all the time. It’s sure what happened two thousand years ago… who would have guessed that anything good would come out of Nazareth… the child of an unmarried teenager. Now that was a red spade.

You have to stay alert; keep watching. Like, who knew that a Stewardship campaign might be one of those moments when God played a wild card, that in the midst of organizing visitations, talking about promises and programmes and commitment and money, we just might encounter the Christ in our own community. Those red spades… they have a way of leaving you guessing.

So be alert; keep watching; don’t fall asleep. Walk through your days with eyes wide open, expecting Christmas to arrive in strange and wonderful ways. Red spades… and maybe some green ones and blue ones. Who knows what God will use… elevators and great blue herons; you and me and Stewardship campaigns. Don’t miss Christmas when it happens in your life.