Isaiah 64:1-9; Mark 13:24-37

Bruce Springstein sings about the “Glory Days”, those days in our youth when we were strong, and fast, and good looking.  He talks about running into old friends who don’t seem to be able to talk about anything but what used to be.  He sings about his dad who lost his job after 20 years.  He’s not sure what he’s thinking about but he imagines that his dad’s lost in memories of the glory days he never had.  The song ends with a wish that the singer won’t end up talking about nothing but those glory days – and recognizing that he probably will.  Glory days, the memories we hold of better times, the memories we’ve recreated to fit our heart’s longing.

Now there is nothing wrong with dabbling in memories of times that felt good to us, of times when we did well at something or experienced life more fully, of times that were more exciting.  Dabbling in those memories can be healing.  It can help clarify what we want from life now.  Dabbling is OK.  When we get lost in the past, we have a problem.  The holidays offer us both the trap of nostalgia and the opportunity for new beginnings.

This is the first Sunday in Advent.  In the Christian calendar, we begin a new year today.  You might have thought the new year would start with the celebration of the birth of Christ.  But it doesn’t.  It begins more intentionally than that.  It begins with a period of waiting, of longing, of hoping.  The liturgical calendar is designed to encourage us to pay attention to those over-arching questions.   The question for advent is this:  what are you waiting for? 

Our scriptures this morning help us with this question.  The reading from third Isaiah was probably written in the late sixth century before the common era, possibly 530 b.c.e.  The people who had been carried off in exile by the Babylonians 50 years before returned to Jerusalem under the rule of Cyrus the Great, leader of the Persians.  Throughout the exile, the people of Israel longed for a return to Jerusalem, to the land of their ancestors, to a time of better memories.  Now they were back and things just weren’t as good as they had remembered them.  They are disappointed in what they find: the reappearance of social, political, and religious conflict and disagreements about who is in and who is out.  They have returned to Jerusalem, which for them at that time could just as easily have been paradise, and yet, their differences and dissatisfactions remain. 

This lament that Bill read for us comes out of that feeling of desolation and frustration:  O that you would tear open the heavens and come down.  O that you would intervene in our lives and change this misery into blessing.  For the author of this text, God has become angry and turned away.  The people have sinned and incurred God’s wrath.  And yet, the author speaks of an intimate and loving relationship with God:  God is the potter and we are the clay – we are all the work of God’s hand.  Isaiah is confident that God will not remain angry and will not remember our sins.  We are still seen as the people of God. 

Our scripture selection from the Gospel of Mark that Per read for us echoes the reading from Isaiah.  As in Isaiah we heard, “O that you would tear open the heavens and come down,” in Mark we hear, “Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in clouds, with great power and glory.”  Besides the Book of Revelation, this reading from the Gospel of Mark is the most apocalyptic piece in the New Testament.  By apocalyptic we mean seeing a future of peace for all people that is not here yet.  Apocalyptic is important to us – especially in 21st century America where we lean to the extremes.  We are likely to see everything as awful – complaining about everything – or to see everything as just fine, unable to talk about even the harshest realities without a smile on our face.  Apocalyptic offers another approach.  We neither have to see the world through rose-colored glasses nor run around like Chicken Little screaming that the sky is falling.  There is another way.  There is a way in which we are able to acknowledge the reality of life, while at the same time experiencing a sense of hope for and confidence in a better future.  In this way, we do not succumb to despair and inaction but continue to seek ways to participate in a better tomorrow – continue to seek ways to contribute to a more fulfilling future.  While we may be part of the problem, we can also see our way to becoming part of the solution.

The language of chapter 13 in the Gospel of Mark is the language of mystery.  There are no clear cut, easy answers.  We will not know the time and therefore we must keep alert, we must keep awake.  While the imagery may be anxiety-producing, that is not how we will arrive at an answer to the question for advent:  what are you waiting for?  Anxiety reduces our ability to see and explore alternatives.  If we take these admonitions to stay alert, to stay awake, and soften the language just a bit, we arrive at a state more conducive to generating responses.  We don’t want a level red alert.  We don’t even want a level orange alert.  Yellow would do nicely.  That is a level of alertness that does not result in panic.  It’s a level of alertness that allows all of our senses to take in what is actually going on around us.  We notice more, both outside of us and inside of us.  We can see and hear, taste and smell, touch what is going on.  We can make sense out of it, based on our own experience and expectations.  We do not rely on others to interpret the signs for us.  Of course the interpretations of others make up part of what we are taking in, but it’s only a part of that.  We’re still in charge of what we make of it.

We are also able to pay more attention to what is going on inside of us.  How do we feel about what is going on?  What is it that we long for that will move us to a sense of wholeness?  To stay alert, to be awake is to slow down enough to be able to see what is going on.  That is almost an impossibility in most of our lives especially at this time of the year.  There are too many decorations to put up, too many cards to address, too many cookies to bake, too many presents to choose, buy, wrap, too many parties to attend.  Perhaps if we fill our time with so many things that need to be done, we won’t have to pay attention to what we’re missing, what we’re longing for.  Maybe it’s too painful to see what isn’t there. 

On Thanksgiving Day, after a delicious and laid back dinner, a brisk walk by the lake, and a helping of pumpkin pie, we settled on the couch in front of the fire in the living room fire place.  Entertainment of choice was Ron Howard’s version of the Grinch Who Stole Christmas.  We enjoyed watching Cindy Lou Who try to get her parents’ attention in the Christmas madness.  Cindy Lou seemed to understand that the season was about more than decorating the house with more lights than your neighbor, or buying the perfect present.  She wasn’t sure what Christmas should be about, but she knew it couldn’t be about frantic, competitive activity.  She paid attention to what was missing.  To the horror of many of the Whoville residents, Cindy Lou realized that what was missing was the Grinch.  She managed to invite him as the guest of honor at their Christmas festivities.  While this encounter didn’t go as planned, the warmth of her welcome eventually softened and enlarged the Grinch’s heart so that he fit in.  Cindy Lou just wanted every one to be together for Christmas.  She discovered what she was waiting for.

Even if you can’t slow down, perhaps in running the errands and the shoping, and the baking, and the buying, and the decorating, you can continue to ask yourself the advent question:  what am I waiting for?  What am I longing for?  Perhaps you can pause long enough for a response to emerge.

In a few minutes we will gather at the table, remembering the many times that Jesus gathered with those who followed him.  They gathered to enjoy each others company and to experience the realm of God on earth.  As we gather at the table, perhaps you will allow the question to linger:  what are you waiting for?