Watching and Waiting

Debbie Cato

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

Peace Presbyterian Church

November 30, 2014 – First Sunday of Advent

“Watching & Waiting”

Our passage from Isaiah this morning is a lament on behalf of the Israelite community. A lament is a wailing; a mourning out of deep grief. The kind that comes from deep inside you in the midst of overwhelming suffering and sorrow. A lament is crying out to God in the depths of pain and despair.

We know that kind of pain; the kind of pain that fills your soul. We know that kind of grief. Our beloved Bernice died early Wednesday morning; after sharing her life with Paul for 59 years. Pat Lanier was in the hospital over Thanksgiving and just went home yesterday. Sterling, Bob, and Roger are all fighting illnesses. Two months ago we said good-bye to dear Phyllis. Each of us has had suffering and sorrow in our lives that fills our body and causes us to cry out - “Where are you, God?” We can relate to the cry, “O Lord, that you would tear open the heavens and come down, so that the mountains would quake at your presence.”¹

The Israelite people are hurting. They are trying to find understanding in the midst of their pain. The Babylonian empire has conquered Jerusalem and the people are disoriented. Their sanctuary lies in ruin. The crisis shook the religious foundation of the community to its' very core. They turn to God and ask, “Where are you God?” and “Why did this happen?”

Hundreds of years later, Jesus is talking with his disciples, trying to help them understand what is going to happen in the future. Jesus is getting ready to leave them. It's time for him to go be with His Father in heaven. “But, I will come again,” he tells his disciples. “When?” they ask. “When will you come again? How will you come again?” “Watch and wait,” he tells them.

These are the Scripture readings we are given for this first Sunday of Advent. The season of Advent is a time when the church is reminded to wait and prepare for the coming Messiah. Advent is a time when we are filled with new hope in the impending birth of the baby Jesus – the Savior of the world.

Advent is a time when we are reminded that there is a big difference between waiting for Christmas and waiting for Christ. Waiting for Christmas is about getting the decorations up and the shopping done. It's about scurrying and over scheduling. It's about running to get everything done until we are so exhausted that we can't enjoy any of it. But this busyness; what the world has us believe is Christmas, has nothing to do with Christ.

We cannot buy our way into Christ. Waiting and watching for Christ involves a painful longing; a bold allegiance. It requires passionate patience. Waiting for Christ requires us to draw on our collective memories of God's people as a source of hope for the future – hope we sorely need today.

In the season of Advent, Christians imaginatively enter a time of waiting for the Christ child. The Christ who comes as God, hidden in human form. The Christ who comes to reveal the power of the powerless in his self-giving act on the cross.

There's a beautiful story that's told about watching and waiting for Christ that I would like to share with you. The author is unknown, but I challenge you to listen and see how this kind of attitude might change you – might change us as a church. How it might change our community.

As the story goes, there was once a great religious order of monks. It was a decaying monastery that only had five monks remaining. The order was dying. In the surrounding deep woods, there was a little hut that a Rabbi from a nearby town used from time to time.

The monks always knew the Rabbi was home when they saw the smoke from his fire rise above the treetops. As the Abbot of the monastry agonized over the imminent death of his order, it occurred to him to ask the Rabbi if he could offer any advice that might save the monastery.

The Rabbi welcomed the Abbot and invited him into his hut. When the Abbot explained the reason for his visit, the Rabbi could only commiserate with him. “I know how it is,” he exclaimed. “The Spirit has gone out of the people. It is the same in my town. Almost no one comes to the synagogue anymore. The Abbot and the Rabbi sat together discussing the Bible and their faiths. When the time came for the Abbot to leave, he said, “It has been a wonderful visit, but I have failed in my purpose. Is there nothing you can tell me to help save my dying order?”

“The only thing I can tell you,” said the Rabbi, “is that the Messiah is among you.”

When the Abbot returned to the monastery, his fellow monks gathered around him and asked, “What did the Rabbi say?” “He couldn't help,” the Abbot answered. “The only thing he did say, as I was leaving, was that the Messiah is among us. Though I do not know what these words mean.”

In the months that followed, the monks pondered this and wondered whether there was any possible significance to the Rabbi's words: “The Messiah is among us.”

Could he possibly have meant that the Messiah is one of us monks here at the monastery, they wondered? If that's the case, which one of us is the Messiah? Do you suppose he meant the Abbot? Yes! If he meant anyone, he probably meant Father Abbot. Certainly he could not have meant Brother Elred! Elred gets crotchety at times. But, even so, come to think of it, Elred is virtually always right. Maybe the Rabbi did mean Brother Elred.

Of course, the Rabbi didn't mean me, each monk thought to themselves. He couldn't possibly have meant me. I'm just an ordinary person. Yet – supposed he did? Suppose I am the Messiah!

As they contemplated in this manner, the monks began to treat each other with extraordinary respect on the off-chance that one among them might be the Messiah. And, in turn, each monk began to treat himself with extraordinary respect.

Now it happened that people would still occasionally come to visit the beautiful forest and monastery. Without even being conscious of it, visitors began to sense a powerful spiritual aura at the monastery. They were sensing the extraordinary respect that now filled the place.

Hardly knowing why, people began to come to the monastery frequently – to picnic, to play, and even to pray. They began to bring their friends, and their friends brought their friends.

Then it happened that some of the younger men who came to visit the monastery started to talk more and more with the older monks. After a while, one asked if he could join them. Then, another and another asked if they too could join the Abbot and the older monks. Within a few years, the monastery once again became a thriving order; a vibrant center of light and spirituality in the realm.²

Anyhow – that's the story. It seems to speak to me about the power the risen Christ

has to change even our lives. Even when it seems His kingdom has fallen into ruin; even though we can't see Him walking along the way with us as he did with His disciples, He is here. This is a story about how followers of Christ become witnesses to his life-giving presence – even after thousands of years. It doesn't matter if Jesus could eat a bit of fish with the disciples back then. What does matter, is what does it mean now? What does it mean for us today?

Truth is, we don't usually see or meet Jesus in a vision of nailed-scarred hands and feet as the disciples did. We meet Jesus in the illegal alien picking produce in the field, or the checkout clerk at a big box store. We meet Jesus in the youngster fidgeting in the seat next to us, while we quietly try to pray or listen to a sermon. We meet Jesus at the food bank, in the prison or in our home. We meet Jesus in strangers and in friends. Do you want to see the face of God? Look at the person sitting next to you!

Others see and meet the risen Christ in us! We are the witnesses to the power of God to transform life – to make life new. Just as important as it is to see Christ in others, it is important that others have the chance to see Christ in us. Each day, we may be someone's last and best hope to see the love of God in their lives; to know that God is present with them and loving them in a way that can make a difference for them. Do you want to see someone created in God's image? Look in the mirror! Odds are you'll recognize the face looking back at you!

The choice is ours – whether to serve God with heavy hearts or with the hope and joy and grace of the transformed monks in the story. The choice is ours – are we willing to seek the face of Christ in our presence? Will we believe that the Messiah is among us?

We are witnesses when we invite someone to look into our homes, our families, our

friendships, our work, our checkbook – and find Jesus there. We are witnesses

when we allow ourselves to be touched by folks who are lost and afraid. We are a witnesses when we rest in God's peace in spite of our circumstances. We are witnesses when we live in a way that defies any explanation other than the presence of the living Christ within us.

And this living God – this risen Christ – isn't stuck in the pages of a story from long ago. This risen Christ is real today. This risen Christ can and does change lives today. My friends – my sisters and brothers in Christ – you are the people of God. The Messiah is among you.

Let's remember this, as we watch and wait together this Advent season.

1Isaiah 64:1

2 The Rabbi's Gift. Author unknown, adapted from “The Different Drum: Community Making and Peace,” by Dr. M. Scott Peck.