Luke 21.25-36
There is something wonderfully exciting about Advent. A sense of tangible hope and anticipation.
It was there yesterday evening in the wonder of the Advent Procession. It’s here this morning as the first candle in our Advent Wreath finds its light.
It’s in the joy of opening doors in Advent calendars, of hidden preparations for Christmas, presents stashed away in secret places, the approach of gatherings with family and friends. It’s in the rawness of the season, the nip in the air, the warmth of an open fire.
Yet Advent can also be a challenging month. A month where the days get shorter and darkness closes in and loneliness and homelessness are glimpsed more starkly against the contrast of the cheerful celebrations of others. A month where there is grief at relationships that should be there but aren’t and where financial pressures bring stress and strain.
Advent is a time of hope and it is also a time of anxiety and despair. This is the month where light and darkness seem in greatest contrast, where hopes and fears collide.
The worship and liturgy of the church over the next four weeks bears witness to this dramatic landscape - the texts, music, collects and antiphons capture our imagination.
And there is a sense of urgency about it all. Calls to keep awake, to be alert, to be attentive. Because Advent isn’t just about preparing for Christmas and the birth of the Christ-child – it’s bigger than that. Today’s gospel reading speaks of “the Son of Man coming in a cloud with power and great glory”. It’s about the future too – and our preparations for it.
I don’t mean the foreseeable future – our plans for tomorrow, for the coming weeks – that which we have some control over.
I mean the unforeseeable future that comes ‘like a thief in the night’. A future that is unknown and unimaginable and for which we are not prepared. The future that was glimpsed by Mary at Gabriel’s announcement that she would give birth to the Christ child. “How can this be?” she gasped at the impossibility of a future she had never imagined.
And let’s not forget the context for today’s gospel. Jesus and his disciples have just left the temple, the centre of religious and civic life, when Jesus says, “Not one stone will be left upon another, all will be thrown down”. It was something they could never have imagined. And yet we will all know something of the experience of the stones of our own temples being thrown down. Unimaginable, unforeseeable, but not impossible.
In Advent, the unforeseeable future comes to us as a chance for something new – as a hope against hope of a different future. Advent doesn’t promise an escape from the challenges and anxiety of our lives or the world around us – but it sings a song of hope where the impossible becomes possible and the kingdom of God is known in all its fullness.
And it is to this hope that we are to hold fast. That’s why Jesus says, “Be on guard that your hearts are not weighed down … be alert at all times”. He’s reminding us that the impossible is the realm of faith, hope and love. That’s how we live when “heaven and earth are passing away” and when there is “distress among the nations” and ”when the powers of heaven are shaken”.
That’s why we do not give up or despair when the sands of life shift under our feet, when we are overwhelmed, or exposed to something we cannot control or foresee. When we are shaken by the conflict at display in our world, by leaders who build walls rather than bridges, by the apathy of some towards the vulnerable in our midst.
Because an Advent people are open to the possibility of a different future, to the possibility of the impossible, to the call of faith, hope, and love, of courage, compassion and beauty, of forgiveness and healing. The ways of the kingdom that tug at our hearts and at our souls.
I don’t know what the future holds and neither do you. But I know this. That the voice of Advent speaks of the possibility of a new life, a transformed life, of all that is longed for but seems improbable and out of reach.
It is this voice of Advent that sang out at the start of our worship this morning as the choir brought the words of the prophet Isaiah to life in the air around us:
Drop down ye heavens from above, and let the skies pour down righteousness.
It is this voice of Advent that sings out in our Advent Processions.
It is this voice of Advent that sings out in our gospel reading.
And it is this voice of Advent that sings out in our hearts.
Don’t be afraid or it. Sing it loud and clear. For there is light in the darkness – and the darkness will not overcome it.