A Sermon by Tim Trussell-Smith
The First Sunday of Advent
All Saints Parish, Brookline, MA
November 29, 2009
In the words of T.S. Eliot:
"What we call a beginning is often
the end
and to make an end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from.
We shall not cease from
exploration
and the end of all our exploring
will be to arrive where we started
and know the place for the first
time." ("Four Quartets: Little Gidding," V)
Advent. The time of anticipation. We are waiting – waiting for the birth of our savior and the coming of a new world.
Here we are again – for nearly the two-thousandth time. The beginning of a new church year. Once again, we've come full circle and "arrived where we have started." But we have changed. We are in a slightly different place. Those of us who have been practicing this thing we call the Liturgical Year are changed individually. But, in addition, the church has changed. There are new Christians and others who have left this world behind. New works have begun and old ones ended. That work – the word liturgy actually means "the work of the people" – is what the new year, marked by the season of Advent, is all about. It is another chance for us to be transformed into and to transform the world into the image of the one we call Christ – our Savior. To grow in faith. Advent is the clasp on the necklace of the church year. Each season of the year lets us experience a different period of the church's history. In Advent, we honor that time before Christmas. We live again, symbolically, in the world that needed Christmas. And we wait, in hope, with all those who have waited for God through the ages.
In today's epistle, Paul gives thanks for his fellow believers and he prays that he will soon see them "face to face."
Coming together, sharing with one another are the basic premises of Thanksgiving. So, in this first sermon of the church year I'm going to start with a Thanksgiving story. This year, April and I decided to deep fry a Turkey. We did this for two reasons: one, we couldn't go home this year and were instead hosting a campus dinner at my school for other people who couldn't make it home; two, a fried turkey just tastes SO good! We spent the last two weeks looking forward to the crisp, brown skin covered in Cajun seasoning and the juicy meat that just falls off the bone. Oh man! I apologize to any vegetarians. I really do. But there is something absolutely glorious about a 20 pound turkey that is fried golden-brown all over. But this was my first "solo" turkey. In the past, I had just assisted April's Dad.
If you haven't seen one, the contraption you use to fry a turkey consists of a propane burner (attached by a hose to a full sized propane tank) mounted on a metal tripod and a pot which is about a foot and a half tall. They are also extremely dangerous and have led to numerous fires and serious injuries in recent years. So I was extremely cautious as I put the device together and connected the propane. I carefully read the entire instruction manual, made sure that the tripod was sitting on level ground at least ten feet from the nearest structure and, most importantly, that there were no leaks which could lead to an explosion. With my luck I pretty much expected something to catch fire at some point. BUT – provided I didn't blow myself up in the process – I knew that that Turkey was going to taste great!
Finally, after all my preparations – and about forty-five minutes after I had intended to start cooking – I turned on the gas, lit the match (there was no boom ... so I was feeling pretty good at this point). I put the match to the burner and – WHOOSH! – the burner caught and blue flames began to lick the bottom of the pot filled with gallons of cooking oil. Relief ... and then waiting. I watched the thermometer slowly ... slowly climb. The manual had been very clear that you have to monitor the oil at all times. So I was outside in the cold while April was inside setting the tables and arranging the food. At five o'clock the oil was only about halfway to the right temperature when the other guests started to arrive. My stomach tied up in knots. I just knew that everyone was going to be totally disappointed. What a catastrophe! But all I could do was watch the pot and wait for the oil to get hot while everyone else watched the Lions and Packers and played Pictionary inside. Several times, I ran inside for something and a table-full of eager faces turned around expectantly and I had to say, "No! Sorry! Not yet!" But everyone seemed quite happy and not too hungry yet. I sat by the pot, as darkness fell and the temperature outside continued to drop, sincerely wishing I had brought a heavier coat.
Finally, an hour after dinner was supposed to be served, the oil was ready. April and a few others came outside to watch the proceedings as I donned heat-resistant gloves, hooked the turkey on a metal hanger and began lowering the bird, very slowly, into the 300 degree oil. And then everyone went back inside to continue Pictionary and I returned to my lonely vigil, humming Christmas carols to myself. The delicious smell coming from the pot only made things worse. Soon after, my friend Seth, who I had not expected to see, came strolling up the sidewalk. "Wow, what smells so good?" he asked. Seth and I sat there talking while the Turkey continued to cook. He even went and fetched a coat and gloves from his dorm room for me. My mood went from anxious waiting to anticipation.
Finally, two and a half hours after guests started to arrive, the turkey was ready. And it was completely worth it! Succulent and tender and crispy. All the food was wonderful. It felt like Thanksgiving. And for me it was even more blissful because of the threat of catastrophe involved. The beginning of my time as a Thanksgiving host turned out very well.
Of course endings and beginnings are not always so simple. Given the timing, this passage also makes me think of the First Thanksgiving. The pilgrims washed ashore, praising God for their deliverance. They had found freedom to follow God in their own way but they had barely survived the ordeal of their freedom. After the cold and disease of their first winter in Massachusetts barely half of the original group survived. But then one day in the Spring a man named Samoset of the Wampanoag people walked out of the woods and said to them – in English – "Welcome." The rest, as they say, is history.
It's our history. And each November we remember the famous meal which these two peoples shared with one another. It was a beginning as we rightfully acknowledge. But it was also an end and we do well to remember that, too. After all, when Samoset first welcomed the Pilgrims, he was welcoming the end of the world as he knew it. But of course he couldn't know that this meeting was any different than his previous encounters with white people? He didn't know this meeting heralded the destruction of his people – he wouldn't live to see that tragedy. When the Wampanoag and Pilgrims sat down for the first Thanksgiving they didn't see the dark future. All they knew was the promise of hospitality and cooperation. Their beginning and end was full of the best intentions in themselves. It is right that we celebrate that promise every year. Only by acknowledging the meaning of the holiday can we begin to live into its promise. How we see things is vitally important. It might be the only true power we have in this world.
Advent. The coming. The time of anticipation. We are waiting – waiting for the birth of our savior and the end of all things.
Of course, the Gospel for today totally ruins my whole theory about Advent as a time for "looking back" – but that's the Gospel for you! It does seem odd that the first gospel lesson of the church year should be about the end of the world. And why would Jesus be saying these things in Luke's gospel, anyway? Again, a story might help us see more clearly. It is very likely that Luke was written about 50 years after Jesus' time on earth. This was the time immediately after the Jewish Revolt against Rome which resulted in the destruction of much of Jerusalem – including the Temple.
For the sake of the story I'm going to imagine that the author of Luke is, in fact, Luke. Imagine Luke, then, a very old man at this point, walking up the hill which the prophets of Israel called Zion – the mountain of God – toward the ruins of Jerusalem. Although he is not a Jew himself, he is coming here to see the place where everything changed: where Jesus' earthly life ended and where the "new creation" began. He has been traveling all over talking to those who knew the first apostles, collecting the stories of Jesus' life and the lives of the first generation of Christians so that he can prepare a pair of books to pass on this new faith. He first passes through the Roman camp – itself a virtual city. Ahead of him he can see a massive wall made of earth. It is crumbling in places, but it stands as tall as the walls of the city. At least, the parts of the walls that still stand. The Romans built this massive structure in the space of just a few months. Luke must have been awed by the power of the Empire. To the west of the city Gate is Golgotha, the place of the skull, where Jesus met his death. But the three crosses from Good Friday no longer stand there. Instead, it is covered in crosses – like all the hills around the city. Remnants of the Roman vengeance against those who had tried to escape the doomed city. What must Luke have felt in that moment.
He passes through the ruined city. The mud-brick homes of the poor and the stone mansions of the rich are both now just rubble in the street. Some people remain in the city – lucky to have survived being hauled off into slavery in Spain or North Africa. Luke makes his way up the Temple mount and stops dead in his tracks before the ruin of the Temple. The walls still stand, but the roof is gone. Inside it has been burned out. The courtyards are full of trash. It is almost impossible for us to imagine what it must have been like for the Jews to lose the Temple – and for Christians both Jew and Gentile. The destruction of Jerusalem and the Temple were the end of Jewish civilization as it was. The amount of fear and despair among the Jews all over the world cannot be grasped in words. Surely, witnessing the cruel power of the Roman Empire, Luke must have longed for an event which would truly reveal the Christian hope of new life amid such destruction. Something that would shake the powers of Empire to their knees just as Jesus had promised.
But then, in the courtyard, Luke sees something that catches his gaze – a tree. It is the sapling of a fig tree. He moves closer and sees that there are new branches growing from the trunk – fresh leaves. It is the end of the rainy season and the tree is putting forth its fresh leaves for summer. Something stirs in Luke and he remembers the words of Jesus in a new way. Amid the destruction, he glimpses hope. He glimpses the Kingdom. Far from his own home, in the place where it all started, Luke's faith is restored. He has come far to arrive at the beginning and he "knows the place for the first time." His anxious desire for an end to the world as it is gets transformed into a patient hope which will last generations. For the rest of his days – as he completes his books – Luke waits knowing the day of the Lord is coming. He is waiting still. Those that came after waited for generations and continue to wait in us. They, and we, continue to see the Kingdom coming in the stories we share and in the often mundane task of our Christian work.
Advent. The time of anticipation. We are waiting – waiting for the birth of our savior and the coming of a new world.
This advent, I am taking a literal journey and I will ask your prayers as I go. With Seth, my friend who waited on the Turkey with me, and two Rabbinical students from Hebrew College, I will be flying to Melbourne, Australia this Tuesday. We are attending the World Parliament of Religions. This is the fourth contemporary "Parliament." It is my first trip outside of North America – and my longest trip by far outside of the United States. An estimated 8 to 12 thousand people from every continent and every faith tradition will come together for a week and share with each other. We will share our stories and the work we all do to try and transform the world. I can't tell you how excited I am to go and meet other people who are studying to be religious leaders. Last week, David spoke about his experience at an interfaith gathering and described it as a "foretaste of heaven." I believe indeed that heaven will contain all people – not just Christians. I believe there is a wideness in God's mercy as wide as the Pacific Ocean which I'm going to spend 20 hours flying across to Melbourne. This is why inter-religious work is a large part of what I see as my work for the Kingdom.
What I hope to share with people there is the promise of my own faith. It is that promise – it is the power of Christ which I know has transformed me in some way – which leads me to sit down and explore my faith with people who do not believe the things I do. What I have found in interfaith work is that in the deepest moments of difference, of challenge, is when you find your own faith deepened. Like all the voices from today's readings – Jeremiah who faced the destructions of the temple 500 years before Luke's time, Paul who faced imprisonment and Luke who faced the cruel power of the world – I'm looking for hope in the midst of questions. I'm looking for growth. So, pray for me and my friends and for all the good people who are winding their way toward Melbourne; all the nations coming together. Surely, it is a vision of the things to come in the new world which the prophets and Christ promise us. I will go out exploring and find myself exactly where I started – I hope – deeply rooted in the love of God as shown in the Gospel of Christ and in the breaking of bread in his memory. I can't wait – and yet I can.
Advent. The time of anticipation. We are waiting – waiting for the birth of our savior and the coming of a new world.
"What we call a beginning is often
the end
and to make an end is to make a beginning.
The end is where we start from.
We shall not cease from
exploration
and the end of all our exploring
will be to arrive where we started
and know the place for the first
time."