Advent: the antidote to wanting want we want when we want it

A long time ago, in a smatown far, far away, I was a young priest learning how to be a hospital chaplain and during that time, I kept watch by night over a flock of young men. I worked the night shift in a drug and alcohol residential rehab facility as a kind of shepherd for the men aged 18-35 who were working their recovery the hard way.

One of the young men I encountered was named Joey. (Not his real name.) He was a wiry, athletic kid in his mid-twenties, about 5’ 4”, with a ready smile and quick wit. He was also a petty thief, who was always working an angle, and, of course, he was an addict who was clean but still stuck in many of his addictive behaviors that helped him survive the street. 

At this program residents stayed six months or more and earned their way to leadership and graduation through group and individual treatment, 12-step programs, and successfully living in community while learning to live life clean and sober.  Most were at the end of their prison sentences and success meant either probation or a half-way house, but failure meant return to jail or, should the infraction be severe enough, re-arrest and an extended prison sentence.

I worked the third shift, and that meant staying up all night while they slept (or were supposed to) doing bed-checks, spot drug tests, and keeping their charts in order. And every morning, I awakened and supervised the guys assigned to make breakfast and then ate with them and shepherded them into their daily routine as the rest of the staff rolled in. 

And every morning, there was Joey. And every morning, he’d look down the table at breakfast and say: “Hello. My name is Joey and I want what I want when I want it. Please help me.” Then, after a brief pause he’d ask for what he needed like, “Can you please the toast?”

This ritual was imposed on him by the other house residents because while Joey was a really sweet kid, he was always working an angle. He was a petty (but terrible) thief, and a creative but not-so-accomplished liar, both of which arose from a fundamental impatience and, as I said, life on the street. Whenever he’d interrupt, cut in line, take some food before it was his turn, or be late for some group or appointment, he’d just look at you and grin “Carpe diem, man! Carpe diem!” Well, what he called seizing the day was just plain annoying, and it was at the root of his addiction. And he was often called out on it.

His group therapy peers kept calling him out for doing stupid stuff. They banned him from saying “carpe diem” – ever! They made him eat last. Once, they made him trim a hedge with fingernail scissors. And when he got antsy, people in the House would shout out, as if he were a dog being trained, “Wait for it!” Finally, his peer group required that when Joey wanted something—anything!—he always had to ask first, but before he could ask he had to preface his request with this:

“Hello, my name is Joey. I want what I want when I want it! Please help me!”

I don’t know if this little litany helped Joey, but it sure made an impression on me! I have never forgotten it! In a way, Joey taught the centrality of hope and importance of waiting. I don’t know whatever became of Joey but I think of him every Advent.

That’s because we all have a problem waiting. We live in a world that teaches us to be impatient. Every day we are taught to want what we want when we want it, and how to get it, grab it, keep it, and run away with it and tell everyone that we have it!

We have as a culture moved from “wait for it!” to “I want what I want when I want it” just that fast! Is there help for us?

We begin a new Church year in the heart of Matthew’s Gospel.  He writes to mainly Jewish Christians who lived in a Gentile world, increasingly cut off from their Jewish kin because they followed Jesus as Messiah and the Church was filling with Gentile converts. But that was okay, because in the early Church pretty much everybody was certain that Jesus would come back very soon in glory and judge the world. But no one knew when. In fact, today’s Gospel highlights that even Jesus did not know when the end of history would be!

This passage has also given rise to some strange but widespread theories about the end times. Lots of Christians assume that God will just scoop up all the true believers and the church will have to start over again during a time of persecution. There is nothing in the Bible that supports the idea of “a rapture.”

Instead of giving us a date and time, and stealing us away, Jesus tells us that the Kingdom of God is here now, and that we are to stay alert, stay awake, and be ready. For the Christian, waiting does not mean sitting on our thumbs or checking out of history or reading the tea leaves. Waiting means doing the things that faithful people do: to learn and do the work of Jesus in community, to be merciful, care for the poor and the sick and the outcast.

The Gospel warns us to avoid the temptation of “I want what I want when I want it,” which is as bad as the temptation to say “my way of the highway!” We are cautioned against looking for quick fixes—to jump on some political, messianic, or even material band wagon that promises to take away all our pain or give us all the power.

This is the tension of Advent. The culture tells us to satisfy our every want right now. The culture tells us that to be happy must craft the perfect holiday that will create the perfect family without blemish, pain or conflict. We are told that if only we pay enough money, acquire enough things, or organize our lives perfectly, it will all fall into place.  The culture says we want what we want when we want it.

But Jesus says instead “wait for it!” And God gives us the tools to stay awake and be ready. In our sacramental living we see that God transforms ordinary things, like bread, wine, water, even time, into holy things that changes lives. In Christian community, we are given the companions and support to stay faithful and strong. In choosing to act mercifully, we find that what feeds the heart is not so much what we get as what we give.

Advent is a time to make ready for the coming of Jesus into our hearts, the coming of Christ into our world. At the same time we live in a world that is caught up in the holiday frenzy. How to navigate the apparent contradiction? Well, one option would be to go into a monastery or fly to a desert island for the next month. But even monks have to go to the store.  Jesus never told us to hide from the world, but to look past it.

I suggest that we re-frame our approach to Advent. Think of this as a time of getting ready as daily spiritual practice. Just as in Lent, where we tithe our year to practice holiness, think of Advent as a tithe of our time to practice readiness.

For the society, this period from Thanksgiving through the Super Bowl is what I call “the Great Winter Festival.” So there are Christmas songs about dancing snow men and idyllic winter scenes (even in Florida!) There will be holiday parties, and calls to volunteer “in the spirit of the holidays.” Some Christians get grumpy about this, they say that we are forgetting “the reason for the season.”

Perhaps. But I suggest that we welcome it precisely because this season has a double meaning for us Christians. We have the chance to do now what we are called to do all the time. And why should we grumble about people celebrating, giving gifts, and singing songs? I think that instead of raining on people’s parades, we can appreciate the desire to celebrate. And by our charity, we can demonstrate to a hurting world that in Christ God provides all of what we really want: peace, purpose, hope, companionship, meaning and direction. 

For us Christians, Advent is the season where we await God coming to us in the person of Jesus. So watch. Be ready. Keep doing the things faithful people do. Take a moment to step out of the noise and listen for God and catch a glimpse that waiting is rewarded. Remember that God is present now and so we know there is a tomorrow.  We have been given second chances over and over again. Jesus is Emmanuel, “God is with us,” so we know that God has come, God is with us now, and God will come again. We are not alone. We have a living hope that gives us life.

And that living hope gives us what we really need exactly as we need it when we need it.

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Scripture for the First Sunday of Advent, November 30, 2025,St. Chad's Episcopal Church, Tampa, Florida 

Learn more about the Diocese of Southwest Florida here

Here is the bulletin for the First Sunday of Advent, November 30, 2025, St. Chad's Episcopal Church, Tampa, Florida.

Twenty-One Religious Resolutions for a New (Liturgical) Year

Tomorrow is the First Sunday in Advent, and while we don't generally make resolutions at the start of a new liturgical year, given all the turmoil in our culture and all the ways that people's use of religion both adds to and, at least occasionally, mitigates the anxiety of our age, I think some Advent Resolutions might be of use. Maybe they will help us refocus our life of faith so that our life of faith might become more healing, more centered, and more spiritually grounded. 

I've been pondering this question for a long time. Fifteen years ago, when I was on the news team for the old Episcopal Cafe, I wrote a column that I published when that daily news blog was alive and well. It was based on earlier version also appeared in a Saturday religion column that I contributed to every month in the Parkersburg (WV) News and Sentinel (in the 1990's), and again in the Allentown (PA) Morning Call (in the late 2000's). The latest (and only) version I could find on line came from the the blog of Bishop Nick Knisely of Rhode Island, posted several years ago.  As I said, I've been pondering this a long time.

Since that last version, I have updated it once again... mainly by adding a new resolve. These are written so that they can be read in both an interfaith and ecumenical context, and also with the assumption that those whose faith is not in my denomination--or religion, for that matter!-- or who are not traditionally religious, or who are non-theistic in their spiritual practice, might share in these resolutions and find value in them. 

So, without further adieu, are my Twenty-One Religious Resolutions for a New Year:

1. I will allow my religion to change me
2. I will resist telling other people how to change.
3. I will let go of my need to use my religion to control other's behavior.
4. I will seek to make my religion a channel for gratitude and appreciation.
5. I will avoid using my religion as a channel for my anger.
6. I will expect my faith to challenge me to live ethically.
7. I will give up needing to be certain about everything.
8. I will allow my religion to both care for and challenge my insecurities.
9. I will pay attention when my culture and my faith are in conflict.
10. I will be wary of leaders who use religion to sow hatred, fear, or division
11. I will allow my religion to temper my passion with humility.
12. I will work to be for something good even when it easier to be against something bad.
13. I will not allow my religion to become a fad or a trend.
14. I will allow my religion to keep pace with my maturity.
15. I will remember that my religion is for the benefit of the people and world around me.
16. I will avoid holding on too tightly to my religion as a personal possession.
17. I will give up punishment and shame as tool for religious persuasion.
18. When I fail, I will expect my religion to challenge me to be responsible.
19. I will not let the fact that I am an imperfect practitioner of my religion deter me from living my faith.
20. I will not let the imperfection of other people’s faith deter me from having faith.
21. I will accept beauty, fun, spontaneity, and companionship as signs of God at work.

Once again, the world is coming to an end!

The world is coming to an end!

Well, that’s the general feeling I get listening to the various pundits, politicians, and preachers…I have to admit that it does look pretty bad. 

But is the world really coming to an end? 

Well, no more than usual.

But after hearing the little apocalypse from the Gospel of Luke this morning, you might think that Jesus was saying the same thing. But his point is not to scare us to death. Instead, he reminds us that, as bad as things might look, God is always with us. 

Martin Luther was once asked “What would you do if you heard that Jesus would return tomorrow?” Luther said that he would plant a tree. For in all likelihood, the rumor would be untrue. Remember, Jesus also said that no one knows the hour or day when he would return except the Father. So by planting a tree and the Lord did return, he would find Luther taking care of the earth.

Luther’s tree reminds us of the tree in Jesus’ parable, “Look at the fig tree and all the trees, as soon as they sprout leaves you can see for yourselves and know that summer is already near. So also, when you see these things taking place, you know that the kingdom of God is near.”

Jesus calls us to look at the signs all around us. 

What do look for? Do you, like some candidates, look for signs of doom… or do you look for signs of hope?

Leo Tolstoy, an author whom we tend to associate with The Great Big Novel, once wrote a very short story about a cobbler who prayed for a dramatic revelation of God. The humble shoemaker wanted a voice from heaven; or, better yet, a big show in the sky or something like that. 

Instead he got everyday sightings of God as love in action, in charity, justice, and compassion toward the people the cobbler met each day. 

Yes. We look forward to the time when Jesus will return in glory and wrap up all of history, heal all creation and reconcile all people, the living and the dead, to himself. But remember, we Christians also believe that in Jesus we find the fullness of God and the fullness of humanity in one and the same person, undiluted. That’s the Incarnation that we celebrate on Christmas.

In Christ, the really big has already come down to earth and walked among us. And he has already defeated death and sin on the cross. And he has already opened the way to heaven in his resurrection and made us his children, heirs, and companions in the Holy Spirit and in baptism.

So in that light, a person alert to the signs of the times looks, as in Tolstoy’s story, for God’s saving power all around them.

Like many people, the moment I know that we’ve moved from Advent to Christmas happens when I hear on the radio the King’s College, Cambridge, choir of men and boys sings the service of Nine Lessons and Carols. Maybe you’ve heard it? It is broadcast by the BBC all over the world.

It begins when one of the choir boys sings in a clear treble voice “Once in Royal David’s City.” 

Have you ever thought about what it takes to get to that moment? Certainly, as the old joke goes about how one gets to Carnegie Hall, "Practice, practice, practice!” 

Much preparation musically and technically happens before that broadcast happens. But did you know that the boy who actually sings that unaccompanied solo doesn’t know he’s the one until about ten seconds before airtime?

Many boys have practiced and prepared. But it is at the moment that the college’s director of music looks that one boy in the eye and gestures for him to step forward. 

Can you imagine being that boy? I mean, the poise… the cool… the steady nerve! If it were me, I expect that I’d fall over sideways!

But remember… the one chosen to sing is only one of many. A whole troupe of choristers have prepared for this moment and have the grace (and the sportsmanship!) to continue to sing with the ensemble with all their hearts, even knowing that they weren’t the one picked for that particular solo.

This is for me a wonderful picture of Advent waiting and Advent fulfillment! It tells us that it is in the preparation where we are formed and grow as followers of Jesus. It is the pilgrimage we undertake where our hearts are made ready for God. It is walking with Jesus that we become his friends and apprentices.

So instead of being distracted by all the anxiety about the end of the world-- or in creating a perfect 'holiday season experience' -- enter into Advent and open your heart to God! Make room for the arrival of Jesus, Emmanuel, God-with-us. Advent is our time to prepare ourselves in heart, mind, and soul for the coming of the Savior. 

Even with all the busy-ness of the holiday season, this is our chance to learn to lean into God's promises and to use that energy and work for God's purposes; not in an anxious chasing after the "perfect holiday" but as a chance to learn and do the work of Jesus every day!

Advent waiting reminds us of the pilgrimage that every faithful Christian walks, to find Christ and to communicate Christ to a world aching for wholeness, purpose, and hope. In Advent, we discover that God is more and more doing on earth what God does in heaven. 

Anybody can be a voice of doom. That’s easy! It takes no skill at all!

But what we long for is a voice of hope and healing! We Christians are at once preparing …and in our baptisms and Eucharistic community... and we are picked out by God to be Jesus’ voice of hope to people longing for healing and peace, so let's sing!

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Scripture for The First Sunday in Advent, Year C, December 1, 2024.

Website for The Church of the Good Shepherd, Dunedin, Florida

Here is the livestream of the December 1, 2024 10 a.m. liturgy at Good Shepherd, Dunedin.

Answering our cry for help

If you spend any time on social media, and look beyond the cartoons, the cat videos, and the memes, you will find bite-sized human stories.

I once read a status update from the friend of a friend… a 17-year-old young woman who seems to have the whole world right before her— she has friends, she is a good student, she is a musician and an athlete, and is about to begin the college safari.  Yet her status update seems to came out of the fog like an SOS.

It reads: “I feel as if the weight of the whole world is on my shoulders.”

Another time, I ran into another old friend on Facebook who told me that the job he worked in for that last decade or so has just disappeared. Poof! Now, here he is, in his early- to mid-fifties, on the hunt for work. He says on his status that he is trying to see this as an opportunity and not as a setback, but it is not easy.

And nearly every day I read a new prayer request for a person facing surgery, some crisis, or transition, or for a person grieving a loss.

These electronic cries for help are quiet cries for hope in a life filled with uncertainty.  You do not need a computer or broadband to find this theme in human experience. It’s been in art and literature, even Scripture, since the very beginning. In fact, it shows up whenever people of faith look around at the world they inhabit.  Today’s scriptures included.

But there is a response, and, in fact, an antidote in today’s Scripture. In fact, if there is a common theme in today’s lessons, it is this: that we are called to rejoice in the midst of uncertainty.

All of the Scripture and music in today’s Lessons & Carols, tell us that the promised Messiah is coming—and that they should get ready.

Advent is a season of rejoicing and anticipation. We are being reminded to rest in God, because God has done, and is doing, great things for us, that God is with us now, and God’s future is always unfolding.

The challenge is to rise to the occasion without forcing the issue.

To that seventeen-year-old friend of a friend, I would point to John the Baptist, who carries the voice of the anointed one but is comfortable enough in his own skin to know that he is not the messiah. I would say to her, you have so much ahead of you, the one thing you don’t have to worry about is being the Messiah. You are not there to save the world, let alone your parent and loved one’s images of you. You are called to be the best “you” that you can possibly be. That is more than enough voice that prepares God’s way for us.

To the one who feels that life is becalmed if not beached, I would direct them to the scripture, music, and songs of hope, of faith that we heard today. Especially to those looking forward, to the words of Isaiah bringing words of hope and comfort to a people displaced by war and turmoil. But especially, I would point to the relationship between Elizabeth, mother of John the Baptist, and Mary, the mother of Jesus, who when they realize that God is doing great things in both of their lives break out in prayer and song as they discover the nearness and greatness of God in their lives.

Advent reminds us that God always meets us where we are, as we are, and exactly at the point of our greatest need. And that God who meets us, is ready to walk with us through all of life, no matter what it brings us, and not only bring us home, as the full person that God made us to be… ready to serve, ready to love, ready to follow and walk with Jesus every step of the way. Today, we have heard the story of God’s saving work, of how God meets us where our need is the greatest, and how God in Christ accompanies us to the fullness and richness of life promised in the coming of Jesus at Christmas. This is what we await, and this is what God does for all of us every day.

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Bulletin for Worship for the Third Sunday of Advent December 17, 2023 at St. John's, Clearwater, Florida.

Here are the Scripture Lessons for the Third Sunday of Advent, December 17, 2023.

Here is a video of the Sermon at St. John's, Clearwater, Florida on December 17, 2023.

Here is a video of the Liturgy at St. John's, Clearwater, Florida on December 17, 2023.

Mary sings radical, challenging, transformative hope!

This is my first winter as a full-time resident of these parts, and I must admit to a certain disorientation. I mean, where are the snowplows and the driveway salt? Where's the morning ritual of listening to the radio for your school district on the daily list of cancellations? I know… I moved down here to get away from all that, as many of you have—or at least make the annual trek south. But still... it’s disorienting!

You know, Advent, which we are wrapping up this week, can be disorienting, too! Everyone else is the full throes of Christmas… but we are still waiting. We are still looking forward because we know that the best is yet to come. Advent is the season of hope. And hope is faith that looks forward.

This week, we’ll officially enter winter, and we’ll discover somethings will begin to change. If you like to drive out the beach to watch the sunset, soon you’ll be doing that after dinner, not before. The days will gradually get longer, another sign of our season of hope.

And it happens all by itself! As the Earth spins around the Sun, and the tilt of our planet leans us more and more towards our star, Advent reminds us that we don’t save ourselves, but God is always doing his gracious work; all the more reason to find hope!

Today, with four candles lit, we got a double dose of the Song of Mary as it soared through as a Canticle and then in the Gospel reading and into our hearts once more!

We often think of Mary as gentle and meek, but today she is brave and bold, singing loud and strong. There has been a lot of chatter on the inter-webs and in social media about that song that muses about whether or not Mary knew what God was up to in Jesus. I don’t particularly care for the song, because, well, read the Gospel… she knew! But as in all our faith journeys, her knowledge unfolded as she uniquely participated in God’s redemptive work.

Mary the unwed mother, the fiancé of a poor carpenter, understood in a way that no one else could that everything — the very shape of human history — was about to change! A new dawn is on the way, and Mary sings out to greet it. The weight lessens; hope is born!

Hope is powerful because hope is faith that looks forward.

In the first installment of the three-part series The Hunger Games, there is a scene in the movie that is not in the book, but it sums up the trilogy’s theme. President Snow, the dictator of the dystopian, futuristic country of Panem, is walking in his rose garden with the chief “game maker,” Seneca Crane. Crane is the man responsible for creating the game that pits young people from the twelve districts of Panem against one another in a highly publicized fight to the death each year. The winner of the Hunger Games is then held up as a brave, strong hero that represents the spirit of Panem.

President Snow challenges Seneca Crane as to why the games must always have a winner. If the Capitol simply wanted to show its power and to instill fear and control, he says, why not simply execute people? It would be more efficient than the games! Why a winner?

Seneca Crane does not understand. He does not get what President Snow is driving at.

“Hope,” Snow says answering his own question. “Hope is the only thing stronger than fear. A little hope is effective. A lot of hope is dangerous. A spark is fine, as long as it’s contained.”

The purpose of the Hunger Games was to give just a little hope, Snow explains. It’s really the illusion of hope, because the games entertain the people and allows them to have a hero to root for, while also keeping the Capitol firmly in control. A lot of hope would topple Snow’s oppressive regime entirely. The books and movies, as you either know or can probably guess, are about that spark that is not contained. The second installment of the story is called Catching Fire, as hope — a lot of hope — is revived in the country of Panem.

Hope is more than mere optimism. A lot of hope can shake the foundations of everything that weighs us down. A lot of hope can change the course of history. That’s because hope always looks forward. Hope is faith that looks forward.

Luke’s Gospel says that when the angel tells Mary the news, she consents, but she’s not singing yet. Not right away, anyway!

As Mary absorbs the news from the angel Gabriel that she will conceive and bear a child, he tells her, perhaps to console her: Elizabeth, your cousin, is pregnant too, even in her old age!

Gabriel didn’t actually tell Mary to go see Elizabeth. But she “made haste” (as the Gospel says) to go to the Judean town in the hill country just the same.

I think Mary wants to be near someone who understands; and also, to see for herself. And because Elizabeth’s pregnancy is also miraculous, she won’t think Mary’s crazy! And it is here, with another human being who understands that God works in weird and unexpected ways, that Mary is finally able to find the courage to sing her song of hope. Not ordinary optimism, but great hope! The kind that catches fire! The kind that sings out loud!

Today, Mary’s song invites us into the vulnerable territory of daring to hope big. Optimism looks backwards to find comfort in what we’ve experienced before. Hope — the big, world-shaking, musical hope of Mary — looks ahead, knowing that we cannot fully imagine what God is able to do, but trusting in God anyway.

There is, of course, nothing wrong with optimism. Optimism wishes for good fortune, for fun with friends and family during the holidays, for a blessed and happy new year, and for love and warmth to surround us. There is nothing wrong with a little optimistic Advent and Christmas cheer.

But if you have experienced the depths of despair, if you have experienced grief, if you have seen the pain that exists in the world, you know that optimism is not enough on its own. It is too difficult to sustain. The world is too broken, too violent, and too divided, and we alone cannot fix it.

Our one spark of hope is that God has spoken and told us that someday, all things — all things — from our personal struggles to the weight of the world’s pain, shall be made right. That hope is why Mary sings.

Today, the Gospel story invites us, like Mary, to seek out others in order to find our song of hope. It wasn’t until Mary was with Elizabeth that her hope burst into song. And maybe, whether we know it or not, that’s what we’ve done today, too. We have made haste and sought one another, to gather together so that we, too, can sing songs of hope.

Our song is one of extraordinary hope. Hope that has seen the broken and divided state of the world and knows that mere optimism we cannot repair the world on our own. Only God can, and only God will do that through the gift of Jesus. In the meantime, we are called to make our corner of the world that God so loves a less divided, more trustworthy, more hopeful place.

We are called to sing as Mary did: that God will lift up the lowly and fill the hungry with good things.

The best part about Mary’s song of hope is that is always fulfilled. Every year—every day if you say or sing Morning or Evening Prayer--we remember her bold song to remind ourselves that God has already broken through. Even in the darkness, even in the deepest disappointments, even when we are betrayed, and even when the world looks most broken, we keep this crazy hope alive because God has broken through into our world in the coming of Jesus and God will break through again in the power of the Holy Spirit and through God’s people, the Church. Today, we make haste to find each other to sing that hope again, to fan that spark into flame again.

Advent reminds us that our hope is never in vain. There is never an Advent where Jesus doesn’t get born. We long, hope, wait, anticipate, and we are never let down. Every year, Christmas always arrives. Even if we feel exhausted or brokenhearted, the Light of Christ always comes to the Church. Always. The final candle is always lit.

Advent and Christmas remind us that God has already broken through the darkness of sin and separation in the person of Jesus Christ. Despite the world’s pain, the dawn is well on the way.

And that is why Mary finds Elizabeth and sings her heart out, telling out her soul the greatness of the Lord. In saying yes to God, she discovers faith that looks forward. And ever since, we followers of Jesus have come together, found each other and sung our hearts out to the God who breaks in and joins us to sustain us in our living. In Jesus’ birth, life, ministry, death, resurrection, and ascension, God dares us to hope big — and invites us to sing out loud.

Here is a link to the Bulletin for the 4th Sunday of Advent, 2021.

Here is a link to a video of the Sermon and the Liturgy on the 4th Sunday of Advent, 2021

Here is a link to the lessons for the 4th Sunday of Advent, 2021.

An urgent and gracious invitation

This is the second week in a row we’re hearing about John the Baptist, and you know what’s really special about him? Nothing! Well, not nearly as much as you think!

Yeah, sure, he starts out by calling people names, and it sure seems like he’s knocking heads and talking names when he says to the crowd that has come out to hear him: “You brood of vipers, who told you to flee the wrath to come?”

Well, John, if you really want to know, you did!

All these people came out into the desert near the Jordan River to hear John preach and also to receive his baptism signifying their repentance and their need for forgiveness. You remember what “Repentance” means, right? It’s a change of mind; a decision to go in a new direction. Repentance for the forgiveness of sins involves accepting responsibility for what you have done. When one publicly repents, they are saying that they are participating in a sinful and broken world, that they are benefiting from the brokenness around them, and they commit to going in a better direction. So taking part in John’s baptism was a ritual cleansing that signified their commitment to walk in that new direction.

But when St. John Baptist looked out at all these people he wasn’t very convinced!

John’s ministry was well-known and popular and the crowds had people of all sorts of motivations and intentions. Some took John’s preaching to heart, some wanted to see a good show, some wanted John to bless their choices and behavior while not really changing very much. And some people who came out would fall back on their earnest commitment to the Traditions they’d always been taught. But John would have none of it: “Don’t tell me how you have Abraham for your ancestor! Bear fruit worthy of repentance.”

Ouch! I gotta tell you, as a card-carrying cradle Episcopalian, that really hurts!

A lot of us Christians like to think that being Christian means being a good person, but “good” is not the point. Too often, we like to divide people into groups of “good” and “bad” people, and isn’t is fascination how we always put ourselves in the pile of “good” people—and all the others are, well, not. So much violence has been done by Christians who justified the persecution and oppression of others, because they thought themselves to be the “good” people and others were not.

So when John says, “You brood of vipers,” I get kind of nervous. I mean, I want to be a good person, a good Christian… who really wants to be a “bad” person, anyway?

But if you listen carefully to what St. John Baptist is saying, he is not saying to be good people. Instead,  he says, “Bear fruits worthy of repentance.” In other words, change the direction of what you’re doing, stop worrying about whether you’re a good person, or the “right sort of person,” or not—and start doing the things in your life that are worthy of and communicate the love of God that you have been receiving all along. People ask him what he means, and he tells them.

We tend to think of St. John Baptist was that hair-raising, outlandish radical in his teaching, and we assume that he expected huge things of people that absolutely no one could satisfy. But that isn’t true at all! What he tells the people to do were exactly the things that were commanded in the law: If you encounter someone who doesn’t have adequate clothes and you have enough, give them your extra coat, and if someone is hungry, feed them. It turns out that it’s not rocket science, like maybe we thought it was. The point is to respond decently and generously the next time we are faced with human need.

So when soldiers and tax collectors came to John and asked “what shall we do?” he didn’t say quit your jobs, or overthrow Caesar. He said like ethically and decently. What God requires is not dramatic, nor anything to brag about.

As I have gotten to know the folks at St. John’s these past five or six months, it’s what I consistently noticed in this community. There is concern for others, there is generosity—not ostentatious, or big, or glamorous but looking to make sure people who are hurting or in need are taken care of.

But here’s the thing: repentance is an ongoing process. It is often challenging; and it can be a painful process, especially when we realize the way we have given in to being fearful or selfish or when we get selective about who will or won’t welcome, or in how we are selective in accepting change in our community. But the key is that we are striving to be practically decent and faithful people—decent to one another, decent to people out there in the world, and faithful to God and our baptismal promises, and maybe most especially, decent and caring to those who might earn our annoyance.

If you don’t believe me, look at what John says to those Roman soldiers and tax collectors who come to him and asking what they should do in order to repent. These  were not well like people, and there was a lot not to like because they were agents of oppression of the Judean people—imperiling their lives who had no one to protect them or exacting heavy taxes from a populace who had very little. Notice that John does not tell them is not to leave their jobs or to become radically poor, or anything along those lines. What he tells the tax collectors is simply “Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.” And the soldiers, “Don’t extort by threats of violence or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.”  Both of those things were simply what was legal and prescribed in the Roman law. But everyone knew that tax collectors became wealthy by overcharging the people they were entitled to tax, especially those who had no influence or ability to push back. Likewise, soldiers were widely known for intimidating the populace for no real purpose other than to make themselves more comfortable and powerful. Actual repentance would make a real difference in how the tax collectors and the soldiers lived. What’s more, it would make a real difference in how the people they had power over lived. Actual repentance would change how we live today. Briefly stated, repentance is the change from fearfulness and selfishness about our own comfort, to being decent, generous people; people who trust God to provide enough so that all can mutually thrive.

The Apostle Paul says the same thing in a positive way in this passage from his letter to his friends at Philippi: “Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near. Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.” (Philippians 4:5-7)

In other words, let the way you deal with anyone demonstrate kindness, decency, gentleness. It’s not a matter of showing the “good people” that you are a “good person,” but rather that we deal fairly and graciously with everyone.

When Paul says, “The Lord is near,” we might expect that amid all the prophetic and apocalyptic imagery of Advent, that this is an announcement of God’s judgement. Maybe it is. But not in the way think. Paul is saying that God’s judgement is, “Do not worry.” Even though he was imprisoned when he wrote this, Paul could say in confidence that everything should be taken in thanksgiving to God.”

It turns out that John the Baptist’s call was not a harangue but an invitation. An invitation to repentance, a God-sent invitation that we our lives and behavior will be properly aligned with the love that God had been given to us from the very beginning. “Bear the fruits of repentance,” he said. Ultimately those fruits are generosity, thankfulness, and joy.

As Paul said to the Christians in Philippi, “Rejoice in the Lord always…! And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.”

Preparing the way

How do you get ready for Christmas?

Well, I don’t know about you but for me, certain things that have to happen: the tree goes up. The box of decorations comes up from the basement. Certain recipes are brought out. And we break out the Christmas music. I love it.

Don’t tell the Advent Police, but I think it’s kind of cool to go into a store and hear some pop singer sing “hear the news the angels bring.” I want to shout “Yay, team!”

Just the same, I must admit that, it is hard for the Good News to rise above all the noise about dancing snowmen and sleigh bells ringing. One of my antidotes to endless arrangements of the same old secular holiday fare is to drag out my CDs and find the Messiah by George Frederick Handel (1685–1759).

Handel composed the oratorio in just three weeks, from August 22 until September 14, 1741. He put the music together with the libretto prepared by Charles Jennens, which is nothing more or less than Old and New Testament passages from the King James Version of the Bible—then only 130 years old. It opens with poetry from Isaiah—the same passage we just heard today:

"Comfort ye, comfort ye my people, saith your God. Speak ye tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry unto her, that her warfare is accomplished, that her iniquity is pardoned" (Isaiah 40:1–2).

This is also where Gospel of Mark begins.

“The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God” are the first words in the Gospel. From there Mark heads straight to the prophet Isaiah, who speaks of one who would come to make straight the paths before the coming of the Lord.

The Good News of Jesus of Nazareth, the Son of God begins with John, the one who is preparing the way. He brings words of comfort and hope: `Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight,'"

Words of comfort imply that there are people who need comforting. Words of hope mean that there were people without hope. When John spoke those words, he was speaking to first century Jews and he quoted their own scriptures. He reminds them of something that God has already done.

About five to six hundred years before John the Baptizer and Jesus, in 587 BC, the Jewish people experienced a devastating trauma. The Babylonian Empire came and conquered Israel and razed Jerusalem, including Solomon’s Temple. They sent the Jews into exile hoping to wipe out all memory of this once-great nation.

But 50 years later, along came Cyrus, the ruler of the Persians who conquered the Babylonians. Cyrus allowed the Jewish people to return to Jerusalem and Judea and resume their customs and traditions. This is where we get the words that Mark uses to open his gospel. We hear these words of hope in Handel’s oratorio.

Prepare the way for the Lord! This is the message of John the Baptist brings more than five centuries after Isaiah. John prepares the way for Jesus, who through his incarnation, life, death and resurrection closes the gap and restores all of us to unity with God, each other and creation. But keep in mind: John knew he was preparing for something, he just didn’t know what. He would not live to see what he was preparing for unfold but would only catch a glimpse. John brought a message of forgiveness and hope. And he brought a message of change. He called people to turn away from sin and turn towards God.

A few years ago, I heard an extraordinary story of a person who leveled the way, who showed off the reign of God and the possibility of new life. When I heard it was like music to my ears. Maybe you heard too. It begins with a subway trip in New York City.

Every night, Julio Diaz, a 31-year-old social worker rode the subway to his home in the Bronx. And he always got off one stop early so he can eat at his favorite diner. But one night, his evening took an unexpected turn when Diaz stepped off the No. 6 train and onto a nearly empty platform. He was confronted a teenage boy who pulled out a knife and demanded money.

Diaz gave him his wallet, but as the teen started to turn and run away, Diaz called out, "Hey, wait a minute. You forgot something. If you're going to be robbing people for the rest of the night, you might as well take my coat to keep you warm."

The would-be robber looked at his would-be victim strangely and he asked him 'Why are you doing this?'" Diaz told him that "If you're willing to risk your freedom for a few dollars, then I guess you must really need the money. I mean, all I wanted to do was get dinner and if you really want to join me ... hey, you're more than welcome.”

So the teen and Diaz went into the diner and sat in a booth, where, of course, Diaz knows everybody. The manager, the dishwashers, and the waiters all come by to say hi. The teen is perplexed. “You know everybody here,” he asks. “Do you own this place?'" Nah, Diaz says, he just eats there a lot.

“But you're even nice to the dishwasher.'"

Diaz replied, "Well, haven't you been taught you should be nice to everybody?"

"Yeah, but I didn't think people actually behaved that way," the teen said.

As they talked, Diaz asked him what he wanted out of life. The teen was silent, answering only with a sad face.

When the bill arrived, Diaz told the teen, "Look, I guess you're going to have to pay for this bill 'cause you have my money and I can't pay for this. So if you give me my wallet back, I'll gladly treat you."

Without hesitation the teen returned the wallet. Diaz paid for dinner and then gave him $20 figuring maybe it'll help him. There was only one thing Dias asked for in return: the teen's knife.

We don’t know what happened to the teen who tried to mug Julio Diaz. But we can see from this moment—from this risky, “kids don’t try this at home,” outside the box, moment—that we all have the power in how we live to cooperate with God and herald the coming of Christ.

To prepare the way, people must change. And if we are going to, with God’s help, fill valleys of imperfection, level mountains of selfishness, and make straight the crooked ways of every one for themselves, anyone who brings a message of hope, anyone who offers a vision of God at work among us, anyone who stops to care for another all heralds of the coming of Christ and his redeeming work. It turns out that we have taken the mantle of John the Baptizer and we are the ones who are leveling the way and making ready for the coming of the Messiah.

It’s a wilderness out there!

It’s a wilderness out there! It’s wild, crazy, full of contradictions and confusion. If we’re not careful, it could eat us up!

Which is why we are looking for shelter, a way station, for comfort. And that is why we cry out for justice and freedom and safety. This advent, we’ve been hearing both kinds of stories.

This season we’ve been hearing on kind of voices forecasting good news. It had been forecasted by media who sent out word well in advance.  People made their way from their Thanksgiving tables (some at midnight) to the malls and stores and worldwide web. They cried out in the wilderness for deals. The way was cleared and stores made ready, the paths for savings and deals galore were opened so that all could find the perfect gifts for loved ones.

Out of the wilderness commercials, advertisements, and emails proclaimed savings and people from the whole countryside, in fact the whole developed world came out and bought and charged. You should have seen some of the people, in all kinds of clothing, ragged by the days end. They looked and they looked, so the story goes, until at the close of the day Black Friday (the shopping day after Christmas) and Cyber Monday (the online shopping day after the thanksgiving weekend) saw the sale of over 53 billion in merchandise goodness. 

There is a wilderness within our own hearts, a hedge of brambles that too often separates us into opposing camps and allows us to justify casting off and discarding each other. 

It sounds like the two voices are worlds apart. But both the annual shopping frenzy and the recent protests arising out of violence—the cry for justice and the quest for gift –are deeply connected.

They are connected by "human desire." We humans are wired to desire and long for that which is outside of ourselves.

In the long lines and the great deals, there is a part of us seeking to purchase and make real our own image of life and relationships. We longs to somehow fill the emptiness that is inside with something that is outside of us.

And in the present political and social turmoil, in our of world of us vs. them, we cry out, we long for, a justice that both eludes us in the face of force that both defies and protects us.

We are built that way. God has made us people who long for more. Christians understand that human desire is created within us so that we will long for that which is outside of our selves - in particular God in Christ Jesus. We are created to be in relationship with God. We are created to long for God. And, we are created to long for one another.

It’s a problem as old as humanity because it goes with being human. We long for something so big and we fill that longing in all kinds of ways…none of them by themselves can do the job.

So we try to meet that longing by purchasing massive amounts of gifts to show we care. We fill that longing with goods and products that promise beauty and normalcy. We fill that longing with media and fill all the quiet moments with playlists and social media that demands our attention. We know there are empty spaces so we try to fill them with food, or things, or sound, or busy-ness.

Every now and then something happens, something that is just so wrong, just so out of kilter, just so unjust, that we get angry, we get up and we march, we fight, we agitate. We want society and the people who govern and our institutions to act fairly, to reflect compassion, to be just and restrain evil.

Advent is a season for longing, for looking for something better. And all the good ways we do good things—our homes, our gifts, our work, our voices, even our governance and our politics—all point us to the ways in which we long for something more.

The message of Mark's Gospel today really is good news. The message is that God is the one we are longing for and in his incarnation Jesus Christ came into the world to fill all the missing pieces of our own soul for the sake of the relationship God desires to have with us.

Not only do we desire God in all these ways. God longs for us.

Ireneaus, the second century bishop and saint, once described the whole reason for God's creative and saving work is God's own deep longing to walk with us, his creation, in the garden at the eve of the day.

The incarnation of Jesus helps to mend that hole in us, and fulfills God’s longing for us. Jesus’ incarnation, cross and resurrection all happens so that we may find our longings transformed and fulfilled in the community of friends called the church. Our sacramental life, our prayer, our companionship, our compassion, all point to the fulfilling of our deep longing and God’s desire for us.

Which is why in today’s Gospel John the Baptist does not point us to a perfect place, but to "The Way." The Gospel of Mark is “the Gospel of The Way.” And The Way leads to the cross and to resurrection. In the Gospel of Mark, John proclaims, Jesus leads us, and the disciples follow.

Walking the way is how we meet our deep longings every day. Walking the way means continually making room in our lives for the God who chooses to make us companions.

What I love about today’s passages is that on the one hand—in Isaiah—God is the one making the paths straight and the valleys low. On the other hand, in the Gospel of Mark, it is we who are to do the work of clearing the path, filling the valleys, to make room in our lives for God. Think of two crews building the same bridge, but one is one bank and the other crew is on the opposite side and they work their way towards each other. And somewhere in the middle, they meet. And people can cross from one side to the other.

As we in Advent, not unlike the inn keeper in another Gospel, create space in our calendars, at our tables, and in our lives (privately and publicly) for God, know that in Jesus God has made space for us!

It is a wilderness out there! It is our wilderness. We live in the wilds of consumer goods, complex lives, poverty, injustice, and, above all, longing. It is a wilderness and the voice is crying out beyond all the noise and the media and all the news. It is a voice that proclaims, "Stop! Listen! Make room for God! Clear away the obstacles!" The God who longs for us is coming to meet us who long for God.

So, what's the rush?

We’ve all done it. It is a trait we all share on one level or another. We’ve all found ourselves shifting our weight from one foot to another, folding and unfolding our arms repeatedly checking our watches or phones, sighing deeply and asking ourselves inwardly (or even out loud) “what’s taking so long?” We may teach our children and even our puppies “to wait for it.” But we can’t wait! We peek to see what’s under the gift paper as the presents sit beneath the tree, we peer into the simmering pot before it's ready, we push ourselves to lift that too-heavy box instead of using good body mechanics or asking for help. And why?

Because we can’t wait. We are impatient.

So, what's the rush?

Advent is said to be the season of waiting. But because it is also the season of our society’s Great Winter Festival—you know, from the Macy’s Parade to the Super Bowl—waiting is not an option. We want what we want when we want it. God help us!

This past weekend, I read a post from a mother who put on her Facebook page a picture of the wreck of dirty dishes after Thanksgiving dinner: “eight hours to prepare, twenty minutes to consume, an hour to clean up,” she wrote. 

But if you think she has it bad, look at the farmer that gave us our feast: the one who prepared the ground in the spring, planted the seeds, watered and tended the plants, dealt with bugs, critters, and weather, and then harvested the crop and brought it to market. The farmer teaches us that waiting takes patience—which is not the same thing as twiddling one’s thumbs, but it is the wise use of time, hard work, and resources.

So, what is the rush anyway? Why are we so impatient so much of the time? 

What makes us rush to control and manage things just so we can get what we want-- in our relationships? In our work? In our churches? 

I believe that the rush comes when our deep inner longing meets our deep-seated inability to allow things to unfold.

The culture doesn’t help us one bit in this department! Everything is designed around getting us to want something and then get it as soon as possible. We’ve become so impatient that we can’t even go to the store anymore: we insist that it come to us! We buy our gadgets (and our groceries!) from Amazon in exactly the same way that the Coyote bought his rocket sneakers and bat wings from Acme.

Which brings us to Advent. As waiting seasons go, Advent is really not all that long. Four Sundays…that’s it! And often the season is not even a full four weeks, especially if Christmas lands on a Monday or Tuesday. But we light the candles, measuring either how long we’ve waited or how far we have to go before we can sing Christmas carols.

And you want to know what the really silly part is? After waiting those four Sunday, we rip through Christmas like a whirlwind and move right on to the January sales and New Year’s Rockin’ Eve. This year, the Christmas season covers two Sundays before we get to the Epiphany and the Magi. Already I can hear the sighing on that Second Sunday of Christmas, January 3^rd… because two days after New Year’s some well meaning person will say to me, “are we still doing Christmas…?”

Impatience is at the heart of the human condition. Just look at the classic seven deadly sins: they all have in common the impatient desire to give in to our impulses now. Don’t believe me? Take a look:

According to the standard list, the big seven sins are pride, greed, wrath, envy, lust, gluttony, and sloth. Pride, in this construct, is not healthy self-esteem or self-worth but what happens when we place ourselves above others, when we overestimate our importance; greed—getting what one wants at any cost; wrath—uncontrolled rage against life’s limits or against another’s dignity; envy—resentment over another’s good fortune; lust—sexual (or other) satiation without vulnerability or relationship; gluttony—devouring and hoarding everything one wants (not just food!); and sloth, which is not mere laziness but living in expectation that that one will receive benefits without any effort at all. Sometimes sloth is called “acedia” which the habitual absence of interest or deep resistance to do one’s own emotional work—the temptation to give up altogether. Personally, I’d like to add impatience as the eighth deadly sin, but I don’t need to-- because all of these classical sins share in one way or another the trait of impatience.

Mahatma Ghandi put it well when wrote about the seven blunders of the world that lead to violence; which, again, share the trait of impatience: 1) Wealth without work; 2) Pleasure without conscience; 3) Knowledge without character; 4) Commerce without morality; 5) Science without humanity; 6) Worship without sacrifice; and 7) Politics without principle. 

Both these lists tell us that there are no short cuts to virtue; and even our deep yearning for justice, and our longing for the coming of God’s reign require waiting, and, yes, patience.

Now, to be clear here, I am not saying that patience is the same as acquiescence. Patience is not the spiritual act of kicking the can down the road or assuming that someone else will do what we don’t want to do. “Patience” is not a synonym for “fear.” Actual patience requires trust, knowledge, effort, humility, and relationship. It requires a calm heart, clear thinking, and a non-anxious stance. Early in my ministry, when I worked with recovering addicts in a residential facility, the hardest lesson in recovery was for the residents to learn patience and with it the managing of one’s impulses.

“Yes, but…!” I hear you cry, “but what about justice?” Isn’t God impatient for justice? I sometimes hear preachers compare the sleeping disciples in today’s gospels to the church, asleep at the switch when it comes to justice. Jesus tells them to “wake up! Stay alert!” Why must we put up with oppressive and unjust systems for any longer than we must? 

To which I reply, who says that patience is “giving in?”

True, there are folks who disguise their discomfort and fear of change behind an argument for patience; just as many mainline clergy (including some then-prominent Episcopalians!) told the Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King to “be patient” as he sat in a Birmingham jail, or who tried to stall the full inclusion of women into the Church’s ordained ministry asking for more patience. Personally, my tendency is to agree with Mother Jones, who organized coal miners in 19^th century eastern Pennsylvania, when she said “Pray for the dead and fight like hell for the living.” On my wall hangs a saying, a kind of prayer, given to me at my ordination. It’s a quote by Elizabeth Cady Stanton who said, “Please don’t let me grow conservative with age.” 

At the same time, while we need to be wary of confusing patience with acedia, we must also be careful to not let one’s impatience doesn’t grow into pridefulness. Remember, how Rosa Parks changed the world with her focused, targeted patience?

So, what is the rush?

In Advent, we repent from our impatience while we wait for God's salvation history to unfold.

We acknowledge our sin that we often assume that we know better than anyone… even God… about how to get things done for God. Look at the Christmas narrative and see the lengths people go to snuff out the Incarnation. In the Passion narrative we see what happens when the impatience of the religious authorities caused them to try to stamp out Jesus’ ministry, and what Judas’ impatience to rush along the coming of the Kingdom does to him—even how his impulsive impatience made him unable to accept forgiveness! The Gospels, and especially the Passion, show us in stark detail the heart of human sin, which includes our inability to wait.

For me, the heart of Advent waiting is being present. Living in the here and now, with a stance that learns from and appreciates the past (all of it… the successes and the tragedies, the sins and the acts of redemption) and looks to the future of with hope (you know, "faith that looks forward"). Advent reminds us of the saying that John Lennon repeated, that life happens while we’re busy making other plans.

It takes faith to allow things to unfold in their time. We so often want to reduce God’s time (Kairos) to our timetable (Chronos). But, like an experienced cook, it takes a mature faith to cooperate with that process, giving it energy where it’s needed and time to simmer when that’s what’s called for. You need the skill and the know-how to prepare the ingredients, the trust and the knowledge to let the cake bake or food cook, and the confidence—the faithful activity—to do the right thing, at the right time, in the right way to get the right result.

As we long for God’s promised future—as we yearn for the establishment of God’s justice, God’s redemption, and for the maturity of faith which comes from grace and for faithful community that comes through the action of the Holy Spirit—allow this Advent time to teach us how to cooperate with God in the unfolding of God’s reign, to do the work God has given us to do, and to teach us the virtues and tools we need to bring Christ’s healing to our broken, confused, and impatient world.