The Rev. Josh Shipman
The First Sunday of Advent, Year C, 2015
Jeremiah 33:14-16/Luke 21:25-36
Isn’t it funny how the seasons,
the lengthening of the night,
the shortening of the days,
can remind you of
periods of your own life?
There is a poem that I share
each year on my birthday,
and sometimes even on
National Coming Out Day—
I share it in a modified form,
as to not misappropriate another’s culture,
but it has had a powerful effect on me,
since my young adult life:
It’s called “Won’t you Celebrate with Me”
by the poet, Lucille Clifton:
won’t you celebrate with me
what i have shaped into
a kind of life? i had no model.
born in babylon
…
what did i see to be except myself?
i made it up
here on this bridge between
starshine and clay,
my one hand holding tight
my other hand; come celebrate
with me that everyday
something has tried to kill me
and has failed.[1]
It is hard to believe that
Lucille Clifton has been dead
for four years, now,
but this work lives on
in my mind and heart.
I believe I was in my last year
of community college,
still living at home,
when I discovered her.
I could often be found,
back in those days,
in the peaceful oasis
that was my Composition and Literature
teacher’s office.
I sat at the feet, then,
and still do, now,
of one of my living saints,
and mentor,
Dr. Deborah Kehoe.
Maybe she saw the weariness
from my homelife in my eyes.
Or the deep hunger
for something still mysterious,
something still sometimes
beyond my grasp.
She lent me a tape of
a poetry reading.
The tape featured the poetry
of the Persian poet, Rumi,
and the sometimes sassy,
and always deep and jarring poetry,
of Lucille Clifton.
I was instantly hooked on both!
I probably wore a spot
in the cassette tape,
(yes, it was a cassette tape)
listening to “wont you celebrate
with me”
(pause)
Fast forward about a year.
I didn’t have the calm office
of my mentor at my disposal.
My survey literature classes
were replaced with intense
Literature courses,
each with multiple books assigned.
I struggled, greatly,
to keep up with the reading,
and to make friends
in anonymous lecture halls.
I struggled with other things,
including but not limited to
loneliness,
self-discovery,
religious upheaval,
and love—
especially in the context
of a patriarchal
and heteronormative culture.
So, I did what I would do
again and again,
and continue to do, today.
I turned to literature.
I went to the giant-to-me
University of Mississippi Library,
and I rediscovered her:
There was a whole shelf of
Lucille Clifton’s poetry!
I checked them all out.
I began a trend
of checking out armloads of poetry
every time I was stressed.
The poets came and went,
but Clifton remained with me.
(pause)
I wonder if the Prophet Jeremiah
had the equivalent of
the University of Mississippi library
to go to when he was feeling kind of blue.
He had a lot of reasons to feel blue, you know.
The context of this passage
is that his nation was under siege.
Now, I don’t have a map, here,
but picture the tiny kingdom of Judah.
It is surrounded on one side
by the Babylonians,
and on the other side by the Egyptians.
You don’t have to play
Age of Empires
to know that this is not
going to end well.
As with all conflict,
there will be carnage.
There will be prisoners of war.
A people will be exiled.[2]
We’ve encountered these
kinds of readings before,
and the questions that they generate:
Where is God in all of this?
Where is God in the suffering of God’s people?
Where is God in the carnage of war?
Jeremiah finds God
in the hope of God’s promise.
This is where he is recharged,
how he handles what seems like
endless despair:
Earlier, in Chapter 33, he writes,
Thus says theLordwho made the earth,
theLordwho formed it to establish it—
theLordis his name:
Call to me and I will answer you,
and will tell you great and hidden things
that you have not known…
I will restore the fortunes of Judah
and the fortunes of Israel,
and rebuild them as they were at first.
I will cleanse them from all the guilt
of their sin against me,
and I will forgive all the guilt
of their sin and rebellion against me.
And this city shall be to me a name of joy,
a praise and a glory before
all the nations of the earth
who shall hear of all the good that I do for them
And then, we get to our fantastic
Advent reading:
I will cause a righteous Branch
to spring up.
The Lord is our righteousness.
(pause)
And what about Luke’s community,
so many centuries later?
Our Gospel lesson, today,
is the last recorded instance of
Jesus’ ministry on earth.
The next chapter is Jesus’
Passion and arrest:
Father, if you are willing,
remove this cup from me;
yet, not my will but yours be done,
he prays in the midst of his Passion,
and Luke records:
Then an angel from heaven
appeared to him
and gave him strength.
As it was for Jesus,
so it will be for Luke’s community.
Chapter 22 of Luke’s Gospel
parallels Mark’s Apocalyptic discourse:
there will be arrests and persecutions,
there will be imprisonments,
there will be trials,
You will be hated by all
because of my name.
But not a hair of your head
will perish.
(pause)
You see, my friends,
comfort in the midst of affliction,
light in the midst of darkness.
That is what Jeremiah’s passage is about.
That is what our Gospel lesson is about.
And this is what we hold on to, today.
How many of these things,
in Luke’s Gospel,
are happening right now?
Distress among nations.
People filled with fear.
It seems, at times, that even
Heaven itself is shaken
by the horrors human beings
commit against one another.
But Luke’s Gospel doesn’t
leave us some kind of
manual for figuring out
Christ’s return.
Luke doesn’t write,
“and when these things happen,
go out and buy your
Rapture preparation kit.”
These signs are actually
signs of hope.
The Kingdom of Heaven
draws near.
(pause)
How difficult it is
to hold on to hope, though,
isn’t it?
When we watch the news,
or worse yet,
read highly politicized reactions
to the news?
When we see loved ones
afflicted with various illnesses?
When we see blight
and self-destructive behaviors
in our city?
When we see the brokenness
in other families
and in our own?
(pause)
On the other hand,
How easy it is
to be comfortableand complacent
with the systems that
enslave and divide us.
There is a saying in the South,
it goes something like,
“She’s so heavenly minded,
that she ain’t no earthly good.”
Oh, this will all get fixed
in the afterlife,
so let’s not worry about it.
Some people,
actually think this way.
To counter that, Luke writes:
Don’t be weighed down.
Be on guard.
Be alert at all times.
(pause)
For Jeremiah,
and for Luke’s community,
every day something had tried to kill them
and had failed.
And also for me.
Now, don’t get me wrong,
I didn’t have any threats to my life.
I’m not some so-called
Christian martyr
with a persecution complex.
My threats, I will readily admit,
were more existential,
negative messages
designed to demoralize
the beloved Child of God,
that I knew,
somewhere deep down,
that I was.
And I imagine you have stories
like that, too.
Stories in which the
narrative of this world,
has tried its best,
to cover up , dampen or destroy
your own story,
your lived Gospel.
Have you been trudging along,
filled with fear or anxiety?
Have you had nights that seemed
eternally longer than your days?
I have Good News for you.
God breaks in to your life
in unexpected ways.
Hope in the midst of darkness.
For me one way
in which God showed up
was through a kind mentor and friend,
a peaceful and well organized office,
and a worn tape of poetry.
My brothers and sisters,
always be alert.
In the darkest night,
light a candle,
and do not despair.
Stand up.
Raise your heads.
Your redemption is drawing near.
1
[1]
[2]