Keep Awake

Isaiah 64:1-9

Mark 13:24-37

“But about that day or hour no one knows, not even the angels in heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.  Be on guard! Be alert! You do not know when that time will come. ..Therefore keep watch because you do not know when the owner of the house will come back—whether in the evening, or at midnight, or when the rooster crows, or at dawn.  If he comes suddenly, do not let him find you sleeping.  What I say to you, I say to everyone: ‘Watch!’” 

               Today is the first Sunday of Advent, and we are told, once again, to keep alert, to keep watch.  We need to be faithful, to not wait by sitting and doing nothing, but by actively preparing for the coming one by doing those things that create in us a space, first to see Christ when Christ comes; second, to be ready to receive God in the most unlikely of places, and third to be ready for our lives to be changed quickly and completely by Christ’s presence.

               Again, this does not mean failing to be active.  It does not mean sitting and waiting.  “It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live.”  It means watching from a place of living fully, and of being ready for the coming of Christ. 

               We just don’t know what tomorrow will bring.  I am reminded of the passage from Mitch Albom’s book, “for one more day” in which his characters have this dialogue, 

“Life goes quickly, doesn’t it Charley?” 

“Yeah” I mumbled.

“It’s such a shame to waste time.  We always think we have so much of it.”  I thought about the days I had handed over to a bottle.  The nights I couldn’t remember.  The mornings I slept through.  All that time spent running from myself.

              

Most of us struggle with different things, different issues, different situations.  But we all struggle with something, avoid something, get lost in something, give up times of really loving in one way or another.  If we knew that our life would end tomorrow, what would we do differently?  More to the point of today’s story, if we knew that Christ was coming tomorrow, what would we do differently?  If we knew that our world was about to turn on its head, that the prince of peace, our wonderful counselor, the alpha and omega, the God of Love were coming tomorrow, what would we do differently? 

               During Advent we prepare by remembering that God came to us as a baby, helpless, little, innocent, new (ie in an unexpected way), and to an unexpected mother in an unexpected time and place.  We remember that those with eyes to see did see and were blessed, deeply, in the seeing.  We remember that others saw and felt threatened, and that most people just didn’t know, couldn’t comprehend that God would choose to come to us in this unusual way, at that unusual time, in those unusual circumstances.  We prepare, we wait and watch, by remembering all of this. 

But here’s the thing: God does come anew each day if we have eyes to see God.  Being ready to see God, being prepared to see God is being open to seeing God.  Where is God moving today in your life?  Where is God showing up today in your life?  During Advent we are reminded to pray, to ask, to be able to see God’s presence, care, love, amazing grace when it comes each day.  And sometimes we do see it.   And what about when we can’t?  We are often guilty of seeing what we know rather than knowing what we see.

I am reminded of the movie, The Whale Rider.  The girl, Paikea, is part of a Maori tribe in search of its new chief, a new whale rider who will lead their people.  Her grandfather has very set ideas about who this person must be.  His set ideas do not allow him to see.  They do not allow him to really look with open eyes.  And despite all the signs that say that his granddaughter, Pai, is the new whale rider, he rejects this again and again until finally, from that stubborn place, his actions lead to a great tragedy. It is a wonderful movie that we will show for Faith and Film night, probably in January, so I will not give away the ending.  But I am aware that this is another “true” story, in that it tells the truth that happens again and again.  People fail to see what they do not expect to see, what they do not want to see.  People fail to see anything that challenges their mind sets and values.  We are also often guilty of only seeing what we fear…

A school principal told this story: Like most elementary schools, it was typical to have a parade of students in and out of the health clinic throughout the day. We dispensed ice for bumps and bruises, Band-Aids for cuts, and liberal doses of sympathy and hugs.  As principal, my office was right next door to the clinic, so I often dropped in to lend a hand and help out with the hugs. I knew that for some kids, mine might be the only one they got all day. One morning I was putting a Band-Aid on a little girl's scraped knee. Her blonde hair was matted, and I noticed that she was shivering in her thin little sleeveless blouse. I found her a warm sweatshirt and helped her pull it on.. "Thanks for taking care of me," she whispered as she climbed into my lap and snuggled up against me. It wasn't long after that when I ran across an unfamiliar lump under my arm. Cancer, an aggressively spreading kind, had already invaded thirteen of my lymph nodes. I pondered whether or not to tell the students about my diagnosis. The word breast seemed so hard to say out loud to them, and the word cancer seemed so frightening. When it became evident that the children were going to find out one way or another, either the straight scoop from me or possibly a garbled version from someone else, I decided to tell them myself. It wasn't easy to get the words out, but the empathy and concern I saw in their faces as I explained it to them told me I had made the right decision.

When I gave them a chance to ask questions, they mostly wanted to know how they could help.   I told them that what I would like best would be their letters, pictures, and prayers.  I stood by the gym door as the children solemnly filed out. My little blonde friend darted out of line and threw herself into my arms. Then she stepped back to look up into my face. "Don't be afraid, Dr. Perry," she said earnestly, "I know you'll be back because now it's our turn to take care of you."

No one could have ever done a better job. The kids sent me off to my first chemotherapy session with a hilarious book of nausea remedies that they had written. A video of every class in the school singing get-well songs accompanied me to the next chemotherapy appointment.  By the third visit, the nurses were waiting at the door to find out what I would bring next. It was a delicate music box that played "I Will Always Love You.." Even when I went into isolation at the hospital for a bone marrow transplant, the letters and pictures kept coming until they covered every wall of my room. Then the kids traced their hands onto colored paper, cut them out and glued them together to make a freestanding rainbow of helping hands. "I feel like I've stepped  into Disneyland every time I walk into this room," my doctor laughed.  That was even before the six-foot apple blossom tree arrived adorned with messages written on paper apples from the  students and teachers. What healing comfort I found in being surrounded by these tokens of their caring... At long last I was well enough to return to work. As I headed up the road to the school, I was suddenly overcome by doubts. What if the kids had forgotten all about me? I wondered, What if they don't want a skinny bald principal? What if… I caught sight of the school marquee as I rounded the bend. "Welcome Back, Dr. Perry," it read. As I drew closer, everywhere I looked were pink ribbons - ribbons in the windows, tied on the doorknobs, even up in the trees. The  children and staff wore pink ribbons, too.

My blonde buddy was first in line to greet me. "You're back, Dr. Perry, you're back!" she called. "See, I told you we'd take care of you!" As I hugged her tight, in the back of my mind I faintly heard my music box playing . . . "I will always love you.."

               When we fail to have our eyes open, to be prepared, in each moment for the coming Christ, tragedies occur, the greatest of which is missing God right here, among us, every day.  But where there is a risk of tragedy, there is also abundant grace. The grace of Advent is that  God comes even when we aren’t looking.  God shows up even when we don’t feel anything is different or anything has changed.  God shows up in the midst of our fear, our anxiety, and our inability at times to see.  We are called especially during advent to prepare for that coming.  To wait, to watch, to look.  My prayer then for us all is that we have the eyes to see when God comes, each and every time.  Amen.