Tag Archives: anticipation

On the Risk of Anticipation…

12 Wednesday Mar 2025

Posted by in reflection

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , ,

Photo Credit: https://www.pinterest.com/pin/tango–761882461966749050/

So, what does a Dancing with the Williamsburg Stars competitor do after the competition?  Well, in my case, you get back in the studio!  Before the competition even began, I already knew I wanted to keep dancing.  I was having such a great time stretching my mind and body learning new things that I knew it was a good physical, and spiritual, discipline I wanted to maintain. 

Now, you may be wondering how in the world ballroom dancing can be categorized as a spiritual discipline.  The truth is, I encounter the sacred in ballroom dance all the time.  I talked about it once before HERE.  This week, as I started my first post-competition class, we went back to basics, learning the rumba and cha-cha.  There’s a certain humbling that comes with learning a new dance that I had forgotten from when I started months ago.  As we progressed through the class, I felt like I was slowly getting the hang of the technicalities – that is, until we started turns.  At one point, my instructor said, “Stop anticipating!”  He reminded me that he would show me where to go, but if I anticipated what he was going to do next, I would mess up our unique dance.

Those two words have been rattling around in my head.  Stop anticipating.  You see, I am a planner by nature.  Anticipation is my jam.  I am constantly thinking ahead, wondering about decision trees and the potential impact of each branch.  I like thinking about the larger system and strategically guiding my parish in our next steps.  So, the idea of stopping anticipation seems anathema. 

But the more I thought about it, every good thing that has come about in my ministry was nothing I actually anticipated.  In my current parish, I might have conducted a needs assessment with the community, listened to my parish’s desires, and researched a particular new ministry.  But what I didn’t anticipate was an outside group needing space to do the exact ministry we were contemplating.  I might have envied other parishes with digital ministries, but what I never anticipated was a worldwide pandemic that would launch my church’s own digital ministry.  I might be dreaming with my parish about alternative revenue streams and the repurposing of our spaces, but what I didn’t anticipate was three conversations that fell into my lap in the course of three weeks about potential partnerships.  When I finished the planning and stop anticipating, God happened each time.

I wonder in what ways your anticipation is blocking the movement of the Holy Spirit.  In what ways are you anticipating a left-hand turn, only to discover, God is over the to right, ready for you, if you can just stop anticipating?  For those of you who are lifetime planners, I know this is hard spiritual work.  Perhaps this Lent, you can join me in my prayer, “Lord, help me stop anticipating.” 

Sermon – Luke 21.25-36, A1, YC, December 1, 2024

04 Wednesday Dec 2024

Posted by in Sermons

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , ,

Many years ago, when my husband and I were driving from our honeymoon in the Outer Banks back home to Delaware, we decided to take the scenic route.  At the time, the idea of a scenic drive sounded romantic.  We were excited to take the Chesapeake Bay Bridge-Tunnel.  And of course, as newlyweds, we were just excited to have more time together.  But by hour ten, I thought I was going to lose my mind.  I devolved into a whiny mess who could not keep still and who huffed and puffed in frustration.  I kept shifting around and fidgeting in my seat, and I am pretty sure I groaned at some point, “Are we there yet?!?”  Any notion of a romantic journey was lost – all I wanted was to get home immediately.

I feel similarly about Advent.  As a priest well-trained in preaching from the lectionary, I know I am supposed to be appreciative of the intentional ways in which the lectionary shapes, prepares, and teaches us.  But as soon as Advent starts, I struggle not to get overly excited.  I think about the Advent candles, the beautiful blue vestments, and the greenery.  And because I know what is waiting for us on December 24th, I turn into that car-trapped honeymooner, complaining, “Are we there yet?!?”  Since I know a baby is coming, all I want to think about is Mary’s pregnancy, her relationship with Joseph, and the long journey to Bethlehem.  I am not saying I need to celebrate baby Jesus right away, but I at least would like to throw a baby shower or see Mary’s baby bump.

But that is not how Advent is presented to us in the beginning of Advent.  Instead of talking about the first coming of the Christ child, we talk about the second coming of Christ.  Instead of giddy, romantic stories about lovers making it work with an unexpected pregnancy, we get dark, foreboding tales of earthly disorder and destruction.  Instead of happy expectation, we get sober warnings to prepare ourselves and to stand guard.  Normally, I do not mind these texts at the beginning of Advent.  Theologically, I understand the concept of framing the first coming of Christ within the second coming.[i]  I understand that in order to appreciate Christ’s birth I need to remember what his birth means many years later.  I understand the need for a warning about being on guard for the second coming – a reminder that I do not get to enjoy all the fun stuff of Christ’s birth without realizing the significance of Christ’s death and return as well.  But emotionally, I am tired of being on guard.  I am tired of earthly destruction and political tension.  I am tired of feeling like the end is upon us.

That is what is so hard about Advent this year.  We are already on guard this Advent.  With an election that left us deeply divided, wounded, angry, and some scared; with war, death, and upheaval in the holy land we hope to celebrate in four weeks; and with natural disasters wiping out whole towns and transportation systems, we know all too well the reality of living in fear, guardedness, and preparation for the darkness of this world.  And quite frankly, when we come to church, especially in this season of preparing for the Christ Child, the last thing we want to do is dwell on the darkness.  We want some light from Christ too.

Many years ago, there was a film series called the Hunger Games.  For those of you unfamiliar with the series, the movie featured a dystopian future after a failed revolution.  As punishment for revolting against the Capitol, the Capitol designs what is called The Hunger Games – a battle to the death in which two children from each of twelve districts faces one another in an arena.  Not unlike ancient practices in Rome, and yet uncannily familiar to modern times, the residents of the Capitol watch the games with a detached sense of enjoyment as they cheer for their favorites.  In the first film of the series, President Snow talks to the head of the Games about why they have the games and a winner in the first place.  “Hope:” he explains, “It is the only thing stronger than fear.”  He goes on to say, “A little hope is effective.  A lot of hope is dangerous.”  You see, the President wants to keep people oppressed.  He knows that the people need to fear him – but he balances that fear with a tiny bit of hope so that they do not revolt again:  if they can believe that there is hope for a slightly better life while keeping the status quo, then they will strive to stay in line.  But the hope must be managed so that the hope does not liberate people from submission to the Capitol. 

We could easily live lives of fear when hearing Jesus’ words today about the Second Coming.  We could worry about natural disasters, about violence, and about destruction.  We could hear Jesus’ words about being on guard, being alert at all times, and standing up to raise our heads, and be worried about the burden of constant vigilance.  But Jesus is not trying to scare us into preparation.  Jesus does not want us to live in fear.[ii]  Quite the opposite, Jesus wants to give us a big dose of hope today.  Unlike President Snow, Jesus does not manipulate us by only giving us a small amount of hope.  Though today’s text can feel full of gloom, Jesus, in his weird Jesus way, is actually trying to give a large dose of hope today.  Instead of asking us to cower in fearful anticipation, he is inviting us to stand tall, raise our heads in certainty, and be people of sober, joyful expectation.

In our collect today, we prayed these words, “…give us grace to cast away the works of darkness, and put on the armor of light…”[iii]  Many of us may question whether we can put on an armor of light in such a despairing world.  Perhaps we worry about being insensitive to the suffering of the world and our communities or maybe we are having a hard time seeing light at all.  But putting on the armor of light is not putting on the armor of denial or dismissiveness.  Putting on the armor of light is an act of seeing and experiencing the deep groaning of our time and proclaiming that God works as an agent of light despite what feels like overwhelming darkness.  By putting on our armor of light, we are acknowledging that “God in Christ is coming because God loves us – because God wants to redeem us.”[iv]  Putting on the armor of light means that despite all that is falling apart in our lives, our communities, and the world around us, we claim hope over despair. 

Now some of us may think that putting on armor is preparing us for battle – that we are going to be dressed for a fight.  But the armor of light is a bit different.  The armor of light requires us to stand tall as beacons of light in the world – much like the lighthouses that line our eastern shores.  Now, I do not mean putting on that armor is a passive act.  In fact, as N.T. Wright explains, our armor is not for an “exciting battle, with adrenalin flowing and banners flying, but the steady tread, of prayer and hope and scripture and sacrament and witness, day by day and week by week.”[v]  Knowing that we are slowly, steadily treading toward Jesus’ return, we need that armor of light more than ever:  to protect us from allowing fear to overcome us, and to remind ourselves of how we are grounded in liberating hope. 

And just in case you are not convinced that you can survive a long, steady tread, the community of faith gathers here every week to witness and wear that armor of light with you.  We are like those freedom fighters from the Civil Rights movement, who steadily marched – from Selma to Montgomery, through the streets of Washington, D.C., and anywhere else where fear was reigning.  Their power was in their numbers, their fortitude, and their hope.  They wore the same armor that we don today.  Yes, we will get to celebrate the birth of the Christ Child soon enough.  But before he comes, when he comes, and after he comes, we will still need to stand up, raise our heads, and be agents of light and hope.  The world needs our light – and so do we.  Amen.

[i] Mariam J. Kamell, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 21.

[ii] David Lose, “Advent 1 C: Stand Up and Raise Your Heads!” November 23, 2015, as found at http://www.davidlose.net/2015/11/advent-1-c-stand-up-and-raise-your-heads/ on November 29, 2024.

[iii] BCP, 211.

[iv] Kathy Beach-Verhey, “Homiletical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 1 (Louisville:  Westminster John Knox Press, 2009), 25.

[v] N. T. Wright, Luke for Everyone (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2004), 260.

Sermon – Luke 21.25-36, A1, YC, November 28, 2021

01 Wednesday Dec 2021

Posted by in Sermons

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , , , , , , , , ,

As the passing of Thanksgiving brought on the presence of Christmas music radio stations, my husband and were talking about our favorite classics.  His grandfather and I both loved Nat King Cole’s “Christmas Song” with its images of, “chestnuts roasting on an open fire.”  Our conversation swept me up in wave of nostalgia as we talked about other favorites like Judy Garland’s “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” or Mariah Carey’s admittedly cheesy “All I Want for Christmas is You.”  The tricky part about these songs though is that they do not connect me to the reality of my lifetime of Christmases.  Instead, they simply remind me of my idealized dream of Christmas – the glossy picture I have devised about the utter perfection of Christmas.

Our entrance into Advent is a lot like that contrast.  You might have come into church today totally excited about the hope and love of Advent as we await the perfect baby Jesus.  We imagine Advent as a sort of pregnancy, where we wait for four weeks to birth the Christ Child.  We cannot wait to hear those stories that are coming – of Mary and Joseph, of shepherds and angels, of wise men.  Advent in our minds is this great time of anticipation.

But the actual gospel text for today does little to fuel this happy anticipation.  Instead, our gospel lesson from Luke is an apocalyptic text about signs and fainting and fear.  “Stand up and raise your heads…Be on guard…Be alert at all times,” says Jesus.  The words from Jesus are not soothing or encouraging at all.  The kind of waiting Jesus describes does not sound like a joyful waiting for a birth but sounds more like the dreaded waiting for judgment. 

As modern Christians, we do not tend to enjoy apocalyptic scripture lessons for several reasons.  First, apocalyptic readings are usually weird.  We much more often associate these texts with crazy fanatics who make predictions about the end of the world that rarely come true.  We even make jokes with silly bumper stickers that say, “Jesus is coming.  Look busy.”  Second, we often do not understand what apocalyptic readings mean or how to interpret them.  That style of literature is totally foreign to us.  Even John Calvin, theologian and father of the Presbyterian Church, who wrote a commentary on every other book of the Bible, did not attempt to write about Revelation.[i]  If John Calvin cannot interpret apocalyptic literature, we do not have much hope for our own understanding.  And, finally, we do not tend to enjoy apocalyptic readings because we find them exhausting.  Even Will Willimon argues that, “It’s hard to stand on tiptoe for two thousand years.”[ii]  Our life is already full of anxiety these days.  Between the state of the economy, a devastating pandemic, deeply divisive political tensions, and our own financial, personal, and emotional anxieties, we have enough to worry about without having to also be anxious about Jesus’ return. 

Despite our hesitancy, there is good reason for us to turn to this kind of text.  The season of Advent reminds us that we cannot anticipate the first coming of Christ without also anticipating the second coming of Christ.  The two activities are intimately linked.  We celebrate the birth of this child because we know what this child will be.  We do not simply anticipate the Christ Child because he will be a cute baby.  We anticipate him because we know that he will be the Savior and Redeemer of the world and he promises to come again.  We anticipate this birth because of the joy of this specific person and Godhead, in whom we have redemption. 

In this time between the two advents, the Church invites us through Luke to live a little differently than normal.  This Advent, we are invited to step back and look at the whole of our Christian faith.  Sure, we may not want to be on guard at all times but being on guard from time to time is a good thing.  As Lewis Smedes argues the hardest part of anticipating the second coming of Jesus Christ is in “living the sort of life that makes people say, ‘Ah, so that’s how people are going to live when righteousness takes over our world.’”[iii]  This is our work this Advent.  Not just to look busy because Jesus is coming, but to be busy with works of righteousness.

There is a well-known story that happened in the colonial period of American history.  The Connecticut House of Representatives were going about their work on a sunny May day, when all of a sudden, an eclipse caught the entire legislature off guard.  Right in the middle of debate, everything went to darkness.  In the midst of panic over whether this might be the second coming, a motion was made to adjourn the legislature so that people could pray and prepare for the coming of the Lord.  In response, one legislator stood up and said, “Mr. Speaker, if it is not the end of the world and we adjourn, we shall appear to be fools.  If it is the end of the world, I choose to be found doing my duty.  I move you, sir, let candles be brought.”[iv]  Those men who expected Jesus went back to their desks and by candlelight resumed their debate. 

We too light candles in Advent.  We too move into a time of actively living in the time between two advents.  We too take on the intentional work of living as though righteousness has taken over the world.  Of course, we do not do this work alone.  We do this work “prayerfully, depending upon God to give strength to persevere despite temptation or persecution.”[v]  Jesus is coming.  With God’s help, instead of “looking busy” this Advent, we can be busy this Advent with works of righteousness.  Amen.       

[i] Cornelius Plantinga, Jr., “In the Interim,” Christian Century, vol. 117, no. 34, Dec. 6, 2000, 1271.

[ii] Will Willimon, as quoted by Plantinga, 1270.

[iii] Lewis Smedes, Standing on the Promises, as quoted by Plantinga, 1272.

[iv] Joanna M. Adams, “Light the Candles,” Christian Century, vol. 123, no. 24, Nov. 28, 2006, 18.

[v] Mariam J. Kamell, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009),25.

Sermon – Luke 21.25-36, A1, YC, December 2, 2012

05 Wednesday Dec 2012

Posted by in Uncategorized

≈ Leave a comment

Tags

, , , , ,

On the way to Simone’s school this week, Nat King Cole’s “Christmas Song” came on the radio.  As I tried to teach Simone the words of, “chestnuts roasting on an open fire,” I suddenly became teary-eyed singing the familiar song.  Something about Christmas songs on the radio can do that to me.  Whether Judy Garland is singing “Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas” or Mariah Carey is singing “All I Want for Christmas is You” a wave of nostalgia hits me and a sense of deep happiness washes over me.  The tricky part about these songs though is that they do not connect me to the reality of my lifetime of Christmases.  Instead they simply remind me of my idealized dream of Christmas – the glossy picture I have devised about the utter perfection of Christmas.

Our entrance into Advent is a lot like that contrast.  You might have come into church today totally excited about the hope and love of Advent as we await the perfect baby Jesus.  We imagine Advent as a sort of pregnancy, where we wait for four weeks to birth the Christ Child.  We cannot wait to hear those stories that are coming – of Mary and Joseph, of shepherds and angels, of wise men.  Advent in our minds is this great time of anticipation.

Of course, the actual gospel text does little to fuel this happy anticipation.  Instead, our gospel lesson from Luke is an apocalyptic text about signs and fainting and fear.  “Stand up and raise your heads…Be on guard…Be alert at all times,” says Jesus.  The words from Jesus are not soothing or encouraging at all.  In fact the kind of waiting Jesus describes does not sound like a joyful waiting for a birth, but sounds more like the dreaded waiting for judgment.

As modern Christians, we do not tend to enjoy apocalyptic scripture lessons for several reasons.  First, apocalyptic readings are usually weird.  We much more often associate these texts with crazy fanatics who make predictions about the end of the world that rarely come true.  We have friends who like the Left Behind series; and even if we find the idea intriguing, we cannot really watch without feeling like the whole idea is strange.  We even make jokes with silly bumper stickers that say, “Jesus is coming.  Look busy.”

The second reason we do not enjoy apocalyptic readings is that we often do not understand what apocalyptic readings mean or how to interpret them.  If you have ever read the Book of Revelation all the way through, you know that your eyes start to glaze over as the images become stranger and more disjointed.  That style of literature is totally foreign to us.  Even John Calvin, theologian and father of the Presbyterian Church, who wrote a commentary on every other book of the Bible, did not attempt to write about Revelation.[i]  If John Calvin cannot interpret apocalyptic literature, we do not have much hope for our own understanding.

Finally, we do not tend to enjoy apocalyptic readings because we find them exhausting.  Even Will Willimon argues that, “It’s hard to stand on tiptoe for two thousand years.”[ii]  We know that Christ will return, but how can we possibly keep vigilant constantly?  Our life is already full of anxiety.  Between the Fiscal Cliff, wars around the world, and our own financial, personal, and emotional anxieties, we have enough to worry about without having to also be anxious about Jesus’ return.

Fortunately, on this first Sunday of Advent, there is good reason for us to turn to this kind of text.  The season of Advent reminds us that we cannot anticipate the first coming of Christ without also anticipating the second coming of Christ.  The two activities are intimately linked.  We celebrate the birth of this child because we know what this child will be.  We do not simply anticipate the Christ Child because he will be a cute baby.  We anticipate him because we know that he will be the Savior and Redeemer of the world and that he promises to come again.  Our anticipation is two-fold because we know the rest of the story.  Our anticipation would be like if we knew that baby Martin Luther King, Jr. or baby Mother Teresa were about to be born.  We do not celebrate this birth for the everyday joy of life.  We anticipate this birth because of the joy of this specific person and God-head, in whom we have redemption.

In this time between the two advents, the Church invites us through Luke to live a little differently than normal.  Our everyday faith usually means business as usual for us.  We know about the second coming, but we do not think of the second coming often.  We go to church (most of the time) and receive the sacraments; we read scripture (sometimes) and pray; we try to live by the Golden Rule and the Ten Commandments; we have our version of Christian music (hymns, Christian pop, or gospels) that enliven our faith; and we faithfully spend money and time every week on what we might deem “kingdom causes.”  This is more than enough religion to keep us going in this in-between-advents time.[iii]

But this advent, we are invited to step back and look at the whole of our Christian faith.  Sure, we may not want to be on guard at all times, but being on guard from time to time is a good thing.  We can all use a little check-up from time to time – and not just during Lent.  As Lewis Smedes argues the hardest part of anticipating the second coming of Jesus Christ is in “living the sort of life that makes people say, ‘Ah, so that’s how people are going to live when righteousness takes over our world.’”[iv]  This is our work this Advent.  Not just to look busy because Jesus is coming, but to be busy.

There is a well-known story that happened in the colonial period of American history.  The Connecticut House of Representatives were going about their work on a sunny May day, when all of a sudden, an eclipse caught the entire legislature off guard.  Right in the middle of debate, everything went to darkness.  In the midst of panic over whether this might be the second coming, a motion was made to adjourn the legislature so that people could pray and prepare for the coming of the Lord.  In response, one legislator stood up and said, “Mr. Speaker, if it is not the end of the world and we adjourn, we shall appear to be fools.  If it is the end of the world, I choose to be found doing my duty.  I move you, sir, let candles be brought.”[v]  Those men who expected Jesus went back to their desks and by candlelight resumed their debate.

We too light candles in Advent.  We too move into a time of actively living in the time between two advents.  We too take on the intentional work of living as though righteousness has taken over the world.  Of course we do not do this work alone.  We do this work “prayerfully, depending upon God to give strength to persevere despite temptation or persecution.”[vi]  Jesus is coming.  With God’s help, instead of “looking busy” this Advent, we can be busy this Advent.  Amen.

[i] Cornelius Plantinga, Jr., “In the Interim,” Christian Century, vol. 117, no. 34, Dec. 6, 2000, 1271.

[ii] Will Willimon, as quoted by Plantinga, 1270.

[iii] Plantinga, 1270.

[iv] Lewis Smedes, Standing on the Promises, as quoted by Plantinga, 1272.

[v] Joanna M. Adams, “Light the Candles,” Christian Century, vol. 123, no. 24, Nov. 28, 2006, 18.

[vi] Mariam J. Kamell, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2009),25.