December 4, 2022: May God’s words be spoken, may God’s words be heard. Amen.
Anyone else watch the lighting of the Rockefeller Center Christmas Tree this past week? It is a beautiful tree, and when the lights came on, everyone cheered. It was amazing, and folks just seemed so happy.
I love this time of year. Advent and Christmas is one of my favorite seasons of the church calendar, and perhaps it is for you too. This past week I was able to go find my tree and bring it in the house. The smell of the pine, the crackle of a warm fireplace, the candles, the music of the church – it all fills my heart with deep joy.
Yet, we know that at this time of year, there are many who find the lights, the music, the social gatherings, the shopping pressure we place on ourselves, the cold and the longer nights – all of it – just too much to bear. This season then becomes a time of despair and loneliness. And for those who see empty seats at tables, who grieve those they love but see no longer, their hearts are filled with pain, not joy, at Christmas. They may not show this on the outside. Instead, they may be acting just like everyone else – singing carols, eating and drinking at parties, giving and receiving gifts, going to church. The exterior view belies what is going on inside.
I am reminded of a story I heard once. “In 1835 a man visited a doctor in Florence, Italy. He was filled with anxiety and exhausted from lack of sleep. He couldn’t eat, and he avoided his friends. The doctor examined him and found that he was in prime physical condition. Concluding that his patient needed to have a good time, the physician told him about a circus in town and its star performer, a clown named Grimaldi. Night after night he had the people rolling in the aisles. “You must go and see him,” the doctor advised. “Grimaldi is the world’s funniest clown. He’ll make you laugh and cure your sadness.” “No,” replied the despairing man, “he can’t help me. you see, I am Grimaldi!””
“I am Grimaldi.” You can feel the deep sadness in that declaration of his identity. Perhaps some of you today are saying “I am Grimaldi.” Perhaps you know Grimaldi as someone in your life. And it is the Grimaldi’s of the world who were brought to my heart and mind as I pondered the text from Isaiah in preparation for writing this sermon.
In it, we heard, “A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots.” As I mentioned before, these passages from Isaiah that we get in Advent are so familiar to us, that we can sometimes just move right past them without taking in what they really mean.
Last week it was swords being beaten into plowshares, and this week a vision of the beloved kin-dom of God where the lion and the lamb are best buds. Yet we need to spend some time on the first verse, and not ignore this stump of Jesse imagery, because it speaks of a tree that has been cut down – all that is left of it being a stump – a dead remnant of what had been –lifeless and dry.
But the true power is in the metaphor that the prophet was really writing about. That part of our human condition when we are cut down by the troubles of our lives, a weary shadow of our dreams, as dead inside as any tree stump could ever be. And right now, there are so many, who feel this way.
The thing is – not only is this time of year difficult for many people – for even the biggest Christmas elf type there is also the daily onslaught of cruelty and hate seen every day on the news. These are the long dark nights of winter, which seem to echo how we can feel inside at times – as dead as that tree stump.
This is how Advent begins – with death and destruction, right? This is what we have been experiencing over the four weeks of our seven week Advent. But thankfully, today – today is different. Today we make a turn, even if ever so slightly, and begin to see the first hints of light breaking through the darkness.
You know, one of the ways we walk through our seven week Advent is in the use of the ancient O Antiphons – sung by a soloist as an introit at the beginning of our service, and part of the opening of the verses for the hymn O Come, O Come, Emmanuel, which we sing at the Advent Wreath lighting. Each antiphon depicts a different title for Jesus, and find their source in the book of the prophet we read now – Isaiah. They are O Sapientia or Wisdom, O Adonai or Lord, O Radix Jesse or Root of Jesse, O Clavis David or Key of David, O Oriens or Rising Sun, O Rex Gentium or King of Nations, and finally, O Emmanuel or God is With Us.
Today it was O Oriens, or the Rising Sun, the Dayspring, the Dawn. How perfect is that antiphon for us, because a shoot will spring out of that cut down stump, life will emerge from death, and light will spring forth to change night to day. This is why this passage from Isaiah holds such promise for us, as it did for the people of Judah so long ago. The darkness will not take hold of us forever, because the dawn, Jesus our dayspring, is coming soon.
Yet there is more to this stump metaphor. That green shoot is a sign – a sign that despite the exterior of that remnant of a tree – new life was brewing deep down inside. That’s the thing about plants and trees, something has to die for the new life to take place. A seed, which looks rather lifeless on the outside, is broken and gives way to root, and then a stem, and then a full plant. So, inside that tree stump, life was brewing. Did the stump know? Could it feel the life growing inside?
One thing is for sure – God knew. God knew because God was at working in bringing new life out of death, allowing that stump to bring forth that shoot. And here’s the hope for all of us, especially for those Grimaldi’s who feel dead inside – God is at work inside us too.
We may not be able to feel it just yet, especially if we are feeling very dead, but God sees us, knows the darkness we feel, and will bring forth life within us. For we are not dead to God.
Advent invites us to face the night of our lives with the knowledge of the hope that will be born to the world, born within us, at Christmas. There may be signs of death all around us, real and metaphorical, but the promise of God found in Jesus is that death never has the last word, that love will conquer hate, and that light – his light – Jesus the dayspring – will always break through the darkness.
The lesson of Advent, of this prophetic witness in Isaiah, is that we are a people of hope, a people who will always look East amidst the darkness to the dayspring of God’s love and grace, knowing that in him, and through him, we are changed, and through us, so too is the world. For it is hope that has been, and always will be, what brings forward prophetic visions of what is possible, and fills the heart of the courageous faithful to bring that dream a step closer into reality – one day, one witness, one act of love at a time.
In the epistle of St. Paul to the Romans we heard this morning, he offers this blessing, in which he is reminding us that as followers of Jesus, we abound in hope no matter how dead we may feel, or how dark the world may be. And it is that hope which will change us – change everything – tomorrow, the next day, and for all eternity. He says “May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, so that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.”
That hope St. Paul speaks of is the very promise of Advent. Our light will come. The long night we feel will be overcome by our dayspring. And so I close with how we began this service, with the O Antiphon:
“O Dayspring, brightness of light everlasting and Sun of Righteousness: Come and enlighten those that [sit] in darkness and the shadow of death.”
Yes, come thou long expected Jesus, our light, our hope, our life.
Amen.
For the audio, click below, or subscribe to our iTunes Sermon Podcast by clicking here (also available on Audible):
The Rev. Diana L. Wilcox
Christ Church in Bloomfield & Glen Ridge
December 4, 2022
Advent 5 – Year A
1st Reading – Isaiah 11:1-10
Psalm 72:1-7, 18-19
2nd Reading – Romans 15:4-13
Gospel – Matthew 3:1-12
