Sermon Tone Analysis

Welcome friends to the Season of Advent.

It is the season of hope, a season for longing and preparation.

We await the day of Christ’s coming to us, Christ breaking through all sadness and sorrow, despair and fear.

Our passage this morning comes to us with this image of Christ coming in the clouds, through the clouds.

Clouds which obscure our vision of what is truly good are dispelled as Christ comes upon the scene in glory and power.

What is clouding your vision today?

Advent is a season for anticipation.

Year by year, I vacillate between wanting to dive headfirst into Christmas music and lights when the clock strikes twelve on Thanksgiving Day, or whether its better for me to wait, to slowly let the month of December unfold, like the growing anticipation of a pregnant mother coming to term.

But, with a seven year old boy in my house, I cannot resist going full on Christmas mode with lights and sounds and smells and hopes.

Resistance is futile.

So, today, I step into Advent in full expectation and longing for the completion of Christmas to come.

That is what we will work through this month — what does it mean to attend, faithfully, to the longing of this season, to come fully into hope, to know it deep in our bones, and to actually see it come to pass.

Because that’s how this all ends, right?

We decorate, we sing carols, we light candles, we spend time with people we love — and in this, Christ shows up.

Christ meets us.

Christ is born again in us, in our lives of hope and our acts of humble generosity to our neighbors.

Christ arrives in us.

And we live through the year as those who have come to see the savior in this glorious way, new and old and renewed all over again.

Let’s turn and examine our text today.

Remember, while Advent is all about preparation and longing, it is done so in a distinctly apocalyptic way.

Apocalypse means unveiling or revealing.

We wait in hope because we expect something to be revealed — God’s glory to shine through the sadness and despair.

We wait expectantly that the curtain will be torn away, the veil removed, and we may, even for a moment, glimpse Christ’s presence.

Apocalyptic hope can be discomforting, or, as our text says, there will be fear and foreboding for what is coming upon the world, for the powers of the heavens will be shaken.

Apocalyptic, revelatory hope is laced with uncertainty and possibility.

There is a danger to it, a sense that what is to be revealed me alter us completely, may change everything.

Jesus tells his listeners what to do in this time of apocalyptic, revelatory hope.

He says to watch for the signs, to stand up and look.

What do we watch for: our redemption!

Hear that again — we become uneasy and feel the great shifts happening in the world and we start to pay more attention — for our redemption, the making new of all creation, is drawing near.

Let’s pause for a moment here.

Think for a moment, how many Advent seasons have you experienced?

My grandmother is beginning her 100th Advent today.

My son, Asher, his 8th.

Me…I’m setting out on my 40th.

Where are you at in the journey of experiencing the longing and anticipation of Advent?

65 years?

32 years?

83 years?

9 years?

If you’ve been at it for a while, you may think, “well, pastor, I’ve heard this sermon about two dozen times…wait and hope.

When is this thing gonna get started?

When can we get on with this already?”

I mentioned a moment ago that I’m starting my 40th Advent this week.

This week, I turn 39.

And I am acutely aware of the passage of time at this juncture of my life.

I am longing for that same revelatory hope to show up and if I’m honest, I’ve grown a bit impatient and concerned at times.

I’m very aware of my age right now.

I do not fear entering my 40th year, but at the same time, I’m feeling quite ready for God to “get on with it already” in me and in my hoping for restoration.

As I walked out this morning, Stacy hollered something to me about looking good for a middle-aged pastor.

So if the hope of Advent is about Christ drawing near to us, then can’t we just get on with it already?

I’m moving into middle age here, let’s snap to it, ok?

Thankfully, I’m also quite comfortable with the process of waiting.

Or, at least, I’ve grown comfortable.

Because something that happens as you mature in faith and grow in your life is that you realize that the work is as much about the process and transformation that occurs as we grow in our longing as it is in the full realization of what we hope for.

Contrast this with what it is like to experience this season as a seven year old (my son’s age) or a sixty-seven year old (both of my parent’s age).

For my son, the longing and hope is almost too much to bear.

I will tell you, for the last few days, since we put up our Christmas tree on Friday, Asher has been hyped!!

I don’t know if you know this about him, but he can be pretty enthusiastic.

The way he will experience Advent this year is full bodied, sugar-coated, Jingle-Belled joy and unbearable waiting.

For him, apocalyptic, revelatory hope looks pretty simple: let’s get on with it already!!!

Contrasting this, while I can’t speak for my parents’ experience directly, what I observe is that they have learned to temper their longing during this season.

They know what they love about it — making grandma’s mulled grape juice, putting another log on the fire, roasting chestnuts, and savoring the season.

They know that their hope rests not in the immediate arrival, but in the tension and presence of waiting.

And I’m somewhere in between.

And I bet you’re somewhere along that continuum too, perhaps further along, perhaps more exuberant than a seven year old.

Vs. 28 tells us how to respond — stand up, raise your heads — look for what is coming.

And then Jesus goes on to tell a simple parable: Look to the fig tree…and all the trees.

He says that when the leaves are sprouting on the trees, we know that summer is coming.

A bit odd for us to read this text on the last Sunday of November, but easily exportable to our context.

Look, we hear, at the leaves, how they have almost all fallen, how they have clogged our gutters, how the trees look bear and the sap has fallen into the ground to hibernate.

Watch the squirrels, storing up their last nuts before the freeze sets in, watch the deer of Bellingham as their winter coats begin to fill in…all things are preparing.

Preparing for winter, yes.

But these are the same kinds of signs we are meant to attend to as we await Christ’s birth.

I’m not saying we need to believe in the historical birth of Jesus occuring on a Pacific Northwest December 25th.

Rather, we see these signs and we know that the seasons are changing…something is coming.

A parable is meant to tell a truth in slant, a glancing look at a deeper certainty.

Let’s transport this parable to a more global context, for a moment.

Look at weather patterns raging in wild, dangerous ways.

Look at the nations working together and warring with each other.

Look how the poor grow poorer while the rich grow richer.

Look at the injustices of the day, and savor the crucial justices won.

These, my friends, are the signs of our times.

To read this text, this apocalyptic, revelatory text, we must also attend to the longing for the final redemption of all things.

We’ve heard wait and hope again and again.

But we draw nearer and nearer to that hope as each day passes.

We’ve grown more and more aware of what is to come, what this world passing away and the renewal of all things might mean.

We grow in anticipation…because we’re not going back, are we?

Jesus reminds us once again, with this signs in full view that heaven and earth will pass away…but his words…his proclamation of hope and restoration…will not.

And Jesus knows how all the weight of the struggles of our team weigh us down.

He knows the human struggle, to let ourselves be overcome by grief and despair when the weight gets too heavy.

To numb ourselves with alcohol or screens, to worry about all that is left undone at the end of the day, to find ourselves consistently distracted in order to push off the fear of the unknown.

Jesus encourages us…do what you can to be alert.

Stay awake.

Watch attentively.

This will give you strength.

The closing words of our passage remind us:

Luke 21:36 “36 Be alert at all times, praying that you may have the strength to escape all these things that will take place, and to stand before the Son of Man.””

Our work during this season is to strengthen our waiting muscles.

I think back to holiday celebrations as a kid and how I’d wait at the window for the cars of my family or friends to drive up our hill.