BARUCH 5:1-9
PHILIPPIANS 1:3-11
CANTICLE 16
LUKE 3:1-6

In the beginning was the surreal.

A week ago yesterday, we stood in New York’s Times Square. It was the day after Black Friday, the shopping day of shopping days; the indicative day on which store owners’ financial security is set up for the next twelve months – or not.

There we were – having to move in the same way, and at the same pace, as everyone else in creation – or so it seemed.

I don’t know when I’d seen so many people outside of an enclosed arena.

Then we went into “ToysRUs”. Wrong move! I didn’t think there were any other people. I thought the world was crammed into Times Square, but I was wrong – or else another planet had descended for a shopping spree. Again, we oozed along aisles, past more Barbie dolls than I thought existed. At one point, as we went down an escalator, every step filled with shoppers carrying bigger and bigger bags of purchases, some unthinking individual chose to stop at the foot of the escalator. Unfortunately the escalator didn’t, and for a very long moment, I envisaged two to three hundred people being crushed because someone stopped to look, or think, or whatever. Only a screaming store clerk brought him to his senses and he moved out and away at the last second, thus averting a catastrophe.

We decided to leave the store.

Then we walked along Fifth Avenue. It was lovely, especially when we got to Saks’ Fifth Avenue, and saw all the lighted stars on the side of the building, and the incredibly complex and intriguing display of animated toys taking up about four or five full window spaces, with the reading of a story being piped out into the cold to the crowd waiting to file past the display and “Ooh and Ahh!” at what must have been the work of some incredibly imaginative staff. Then there were an equal number of windows filled with models wearing gorgeous dresses. Unpriced, of course … if you have to ask, you can’t afford it!

Across the street stood a shadowy tree. It must have been, oh, fifty or so feet high – probably more, but it was dwarfed completely by the buildings surrounding it. That was Rockefeller Plaza – whose tree was to be lit last Wednesday.

Finally we reached St Patrick’s Cathedral, a narrow street crossing away from Saks’. We went in. It too was packed. There must have been a hundred and fifty to two hundred people standing in the back alone. The Gospel was being read … about signs and all that – you know, the one those of you who were in Church last Sunday heard.

That was when I was brought up short. The priest came to the chancel steps – looking like a little purple-clad fly at the end of the long aisle (don’t tell him I said that!) and began to talk about the people who’d been chatting with him at the end of the week.

“Why isn‘t the Cathedral doing something for Christmas? Saks’ is all dolled-up. The tree is to be lit on Wednesday. Everyone is into Christmas already!”

The preacher – whose name I’ll probably never know – then said, very simply, “Because we don’t get to Christmas until we prepare. We don’t leap straight at Christmas. There’s always time to be spent leading up to Christmas – and he mentioned God and Christmas, and how the two are related, and how what he, and those in the whole Church were trying to do, was to become part of that relationship.”

It was so simple – the contrast between what was happening outside, something very necessary for the store owners, something not to be despised in the least, yet, ultimately, not what will sustain you and me when we face a crisis, when we need a sign of hope, when we crave an honest, genuine relationship. That, implied the preacher, and the whole, somewhat understated ecclesiastical interior of the building, that sign, that support, that experience comes from something that is much more quiet, much more contemplative, much more deep. It comes from finding one’s self in the company of those who were waiting in their day-to-day difficulties, and from listening, listening to the quietness so that one can hear a voice, an unusual voice, pointing out where to look; and how to look; and for what to look.

The strange thing about last Saturday’s experience, for me, at any rate, was that this was not a gloom and doom contrast; this wasn’t a “Give up everything for Advent, and the Church, and God” contrast. This WAS a deliberate call to make a choice, but it was one that was filled with hope for a much more satisfactory, much longer-lasting experience in life than even the most intriguing toy or gorgeous dress can offer.

And the good news is that we don’t have to walk in lock-step. We won’t be swept along, out of control, mindlessly taking the same route. Nor will we risk death by crushing if someone stops to look in wonder at what’s around us all the time.

The good news is that God calls us all, using a different tone, a different vocabulary, a different language. Sometimes this merges with what others hear, but sometimes it doesn’t. The point is that we’re called to listen and to look to find the courage and the hope we all need, and the very response we make is a sign in itself.

Set aside all that would fill us with nervousness, and drain us of our energy. Be confident because of the promise of what God is bringing to us. Be assured that whoever we have been, whatever we may have done, that has all been set aside. There is ALWAYS an opportunity to change, to find renewal. All that can make us stumble, all that can tempt us to settle for something less than lovely, or just, or merciful, CAN be overcome, so our journey through the second week of Advent encourages us by reminding us that God’s loving desire WILL be brought about. Nothing can stand in the way of it – however, the time dimension involved is outside of our control, and may take an enormous effort on our part to wait for God’s resolving power to bear fruit.

That’s kind of how John the Baptist approached things. He must have spent countless years in the so-called wilderness, simply watching and waiting, hoping for some insight into what his vocation from God was.

It may be helpful to remind ourselves, however, that the “wilderness” had a completely different connotation in John’s time. It was the place where one went to contemplate one’s religious life, one’s relationship with God. It was the place where one longed for some direct communication with God, and so one went fully prepared to sit and to listen; to think; to read; to be in the company of holy people.

A friend from New Jersey, Louie Crew, wrote this past week about attending a meeting with Native Americans. He’d actually been asked to address the issue of being Gay, and what it meant in terms of how one was respected or not, how one was included in society; how one was able to use all the gifts with which God blesses humans. Louie began by asking the group to address a question, to respond in terms of where they saw themselves as sexual beings. He sought a response – and he said that he would just sit and wait till someone was able and willing to speak. They sat in silence for a very long time before someone eventually did speak.

Later Louie was told that it was part of tradition that one meditated and listened to one’s own thoughts for quite a while before beginning to verbalise them. Louie could have interrupted. He could have answered his own questions, thinking he’d give the others a hand. But, in his wisdom, he simply was present to the others – and waited.

John the Baptiser was no shrinking violet. He was a powerful man. He had a strong sense that he had a particular calling, a special role to play in creation. Yet he waited until God’s Word broke into his consciousness and enlightened him so that he could begin to speak clearly on God’s behalf, out of his own experience and convictions.

It’s seldom easy or quick to come to such a place, though, even WITH faith. Nevertheless, God calls us to set aside those things which can tempt us to be overcome by a sense of being alone, or being left behind, of not being part of where things are at – the temptation of fixing our attention solely, for instance, on the incredible toy displays and the stunning haute couture, as opposed to the somewhat stark-by-comparison external towers and internal clear light of St Patrick’s.

This isn’t to say that toys, and gowns, and so on are bad, or that every merchant from the humblest pretzel stand on the sidewalk to the most ostentatious department store owners are evil incarnate. Far from it – I grant them their concern to make sure that during these weeks they can earn enough to carry them through bleak times ahead.

But what of John, walking through Times Square, and along Fifth Avenue? He would have us choose carefully which to make our cathedral, our focus of worship – because what we worship will define who we are as spiritual individuals.

John comes, again and again, from his religious retreats, into the midst of society, and talks about the work of God which makes travellable the roughest road, the toughest emotional experience. Again and again, John speaks to us about values – how we can take the time to find where our values are and how they nurture us. John still reminds us that this time in which we find ourselves, while filled with questions about when, and how, and where God’s Light will next shine, John still reminds us that this time is FILLED with hope, even as we experience unsettling changes and are faced with decisions that make us uncomfortable.

The Good News is that God IS still coming. The difficult news is that we have to work to see for ourselves, and to bring others to see also, how to wear those marvellous robes of righteousness which God is offering us.

By the way, as far as I can tell, as Saks’ would have it, anyway, red is this year’s Christmas colour. Just thought you’d like to know!

(Comments to Bob at lincolncityepiscopal@charterinternet.com.)

The Episcopal Parish of St James
Lincoln City, Oregon 97367