December 14, 2014
This is Rejoicing
Sunday.
Right in the middle of
the sober Advent waiting game, we take time out to take delight in what we're
waiting for.
Isaiah strikes the
tone in the first reading when he rejoices over the Day of the Lord-
the Sabbath, the
Sabbatical, the Seventh Day-when work stopped, fields lay fallow, debts were
cancelled,
slaves set free,
property returned to its owner. It was a time to let God break into human
affairs.
Things were turned
upside down, looked at from God's point of view:
the lowly were lifted
up, the proud were brought down.
Time stood still, and
the perspective was from eternity:
crimes were pardoned,
sins forgiven, families reunited.
It was a time of
grace, a time of rejoicing anticipating the time when God would live with his people.
That's what Isaiah was
shouting about, longing for.
Then it actually
happened!
God did break into
human affairs--physically, by becoming human.
And all humanity
should have rejoiced.
But only a few idle
shepherds did; because the rest of humankind was busy about more important
things, and could not stop for a little baby.
It's been that way
ever since.
Even when we know he's
coming;
even when we set aside
a special time of preparation.
We fill it with cards
and shopping and gifts—all nice things--
but we forget it's all
for that baby.
Once in a while,
someone remembers.
Like Paul, who just
couldn't get over the fact that Jesus came and was coming again.
He kept repeating:
"Rejoice! Be thankful! Be prepared!"
And they did for a
while; then they forgot again.
Why do people forget
certain things, even when they are reminded?
Because they don't
really hear them.
I have a friend--maybe
everyone knows someone like this-who doesn't hear certain things.
That's called
Functional Deafness--a nice way of saying that people hear what they want to
hear.
Nobody likes to hear
things that hurt.
Especially things they
can't do much about.
Who wants to hear that
they have cancer;
or that there are a
million and a half abortions each year in our country alone?
We don't want to hear
these things because we cannot handle these things.
Studies of dying
report that the first response is disbelief ,
then resentment, then
several other steps before people actually accept the incontestable fact that
they are dying.
Why do we have so much
difficulty hearing a baby being born 2000 years ago?
Because that baby was
set for the rise and fall of many
and you know how every
single person feels
threatened about
rising and falling over someone else.
We can't handle it
because that baby was a light shining in the darkness--
and you know how dark
things hate to have the spotlight thrown on them.
We can't handle it
because that baby shot straight as an arrow through a crooked world-
he became a simple,
honest man who did what he was supposed to do,
among clever people
who did what they wanted to do.
And you know, the
world has never quite discovered what to do with a simple, honest person.
They can't be bought
or sold or used; they're practically worthless.
Except to wonder at,
or talk about, or get rid of.
So they did.
But once in a while
someone did hear. who knew who he was by the grace of God and was not
threatened by men acting like God or God acting like a man.
Because Paul was able
to handle everything
he was able to hear
anything.
Once in a while a
hearer comes along.
So, in case there is a
hearer among us now, let me say it simply:
the Son of God is
human like us.
He lives among us,
with us, in us.
A God-man takes a bit
of getting used to.
That's why he started
out as a baby.
So he could grow on
us.
But for now he's just
a little baby.
So rejoice!
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