Advent 2B
A sermon preached by the Rev. Kit Carlson on December 7, 2014
(Also available in audio at
http://www.allsaints-el.org/content.cfm?id=315&download_id=149#attached_content)
O God make speed to save us.
O Lord make haste to help us.
These are ancient words from Israel’s hymnal, the book of Psalms. Ever since the 16th century, since Thomas Cranmer wove them into the services of Morning and Evening Prayer in the very first versions of our Book of Common Prayer, Anglicans around the world have prayed these words, day in and day out: O God make speed to save us. O Lord make haste to help us.
I have to thank Jay Sidebotham for reminding me about these words. If you’ve been following along with the Advent calendar poster we handed out this week, this was his suggestion for Friday, December 5. The calendar for that date says: “Overwhelmed by the news? Try this basic and ancient prayer. O God make speed to save us. O Lord make haste to help us.”
Frankly, my brothers and sisters, I am overwhelmed by the news. I am overwhelmed by the events of Ferguson, the events of New York City. I am overwhelmed by the fact that in the year 2014, it is still necessary for me as a white clergy person, to march along the sidewalks of MSU in solidarity with African-American students, as Chaplain Sarah and I did on Wednesday. To march in an ongoing witness to the cold, hard truth: equality and justice for black people in this country is still a dream deferred.
Why am I even marching at all? My mentor, Joe Clark, marched in the civil rights movement of the 1960s. That was fifty years ago. Shouldn’t things be better by now? Weren’t we supposed to be post-racial by now? Wasn’t electing an African-American president – twice – supposed to demonstrate that we had moved beyond issues of race into a new, shared humanity?
But the people in the streets of Ferguson are crying out. And the people in Staten Island are crying out. And the people across America are crying out.
O God make speed to save us.
O Lord make haste to help us.
I’m sorry. This is hard. I know it. And I know that perhaps you came here this morning in a happy Christmas spirit. Maybe you came hoping for something nurturing and spiritual and comforting to help you make room in your hearts for the birth of Baby Jesus. Maybe you came looking for Mary or Joseph…and what the lectionary gives us instead is Isaiah. What the lectionary gives us instead is John the Baptist. The second Sunday of Advent is all about prophets. It’s all about truth-tellers.
Prophets fill the pages of Holy Scripture. Because God needs prophets. God needs men and women who know how to give voice to the anguish of a people. God needs prophets to expose all the ways that the leaders of the nation have led the people astray. Prophets do the hard, hard work of God. Prophets look those leaders in the eye, and tell them off – right to their face.
A voice says, "Cry out!" And I said, "What shall I cry?" All people are grass, their constancy is like the flower of the field. The grass withers, the flower fades, when the breath of the LORD blows upon it; surely the people are grass.
John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.
Surely the people are grass. Surely if we are to prepare the way of the Lord, we must repent. Surely if we are to recognize our Christ at his appearing, we must first recognize ourselves. We are grass. Our constancy is like the flower of the field. We break and bind and smother and shoot and slay one another.
And if we are not the people actually committing that violence and that injustice, well, we are certainly complicit in all of it.
Complicit in the way we turn away, to think about the shopping that still needs doing, or the checklist of gifts that commands our attention.
Complicit in the way we turn our focus inward, on ourselves, our own families.
Complicit in the way we turn our backs, and mind our own business. When what is happening all around us is our business. Our neighborhoods are our business. Our nation is our business. Our children are most definitely our business -- all of our children, but today especially our black children.
O God make speed to save us.
O Lord make haste to help us.
It is on a day like this -- with Isaiah exhorting the exiles in Babylon, with John preaching repentance at the Jordan -- it is on a day like this that we see most clearly that Advent is not Christmas. Advent is a season of waiting for the promise of Christmas. That God will come to us.
O come, O come, Emmanuel. It is the cry of Advent. Because we need God to come to us. We need the comfort that Isaiah promises. We need the One who will carry the lambs in his arms and gently lead the mother sheep. We need this comfort, we need this God…not because we’re ready. Not because we have everything in order, the presents purchased and wrapped, the cookies baked, the tree trimmed, the stockings hung.
No. We need this comfort, we need this God, because God’s precious world is broken. We need God to come to us because we need to be redeemed.
We need a Messiah, not because we want to get to heaven.
We need a Messiah because this world can be a living hell.
O God make speed to save us.
O Lord make haste to help us.
But my brothers and sisters, even though the news is overwhelming, the promise of the prophets is that we shall not be overwhelmed. The promise of the prophets is that God is coming.
It is the promise of Advent, the promise that we will be comforted. There will be restoration. There will be justice. There will be peace.
And while we wait for our redemption, John the Baptist and the prophet Isaiah remind us that we have work to do. Our work is to wake up and stake woke. Our work is to look around and see the sad, the challenging, but the still-redeemable truth. That the way of the Lord has become rugged and ruined. And our work is to rebuild that road and prepare the way of the Lord.
It is the work of truth-telling. The work of repentance. And the work of lament.
Brother Timothie – a student at Union Theological Seminary in New York City – has rewritten Isaiah’s words for us, this week, in this nation, for us who are confronted with these dilemmas of race and justice and violence and resistance.
These are words of truth-telling, words of repentance, words of lament. They can help us face the world we live in, and they can help us face the work ahead.
I leave them with you this morning as each of us ponders how to take up our own piece of the ongoing work – to prepare the way of the Lord and to make his paths straight this Advent. It is titled: “Riot Gear will Collect Dust: A Proclamation from the Prophet Isaiah of America.”
Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God.
Speak tenderly to Ferguson, to Brooklyn, to Staten Island,
and cry to them that they have not been forgotten,
they are loved deeply and from the Lord’s hand hope shall be given.
A megaphone cries out:
“In the streets prepare the way of justice,
make straight in city parks a highway for our God.
Every empty lot shall be a home,
and every Trump Tower–rent controlled apartments;
unfair minimum wages shall be living wages,
and riot gear will collect dust.
Then the presence of God shall be unveiled,
and all people shall see it together,
for the mouth of God has spoken.”
A voice says, “Cry out!”
And I said, “What shall I cry out?
Is it for the unjust deaths of Eric Garner, Michael Brown, Akai Gurley or Tamir Rice?
Or the giant gap in economic inequality?
Or that America’s democracy is owned by corporate elites?”
All people are fragile; their constancy is like the flower of the field.
The grass withers, the flower fades,
when the breath of God blows upon it: “I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe.”
The grass withers, the flower fades; but hope for the rise of caring communities transcends life.
Get us up to the main streets, O Ferguson, bearers of another world;
Shout with strength, O New York City, heralds of justice, shout louder, do not fear;
say to America,
“BLACK LIVES MATTER! BLACK LIVES MATTER!”
See, the God of justice comes with might, and her hands serve the lowly;
her comforting presence brings about change.
She will bring water for those too tired to shout anymore;
she will rub the feet of those too tired to march anymore,
and she will carry all in her bosom,
and gently lead us to a new heaven and new earth.[1]
Amen.
[1] http://blackflagtheology.com/2014/12/04/riot-gear-will-collect-dust-a-proclamation-from-the-prophet-isaiah-of-america-staywokeadvent/
A sermon preached by the Rev. Kit Carlson on December 7, 2014
(Also available in audio at
http://www.allsaints-el.org/content.cfm?id=315&download_id=149#attached_content)
O God make speed to save us.
O Lord make haste to help us.
These are ancient words from Israel’s hymnal, the book of Psalms. Ever since the 16th century, since Thomas Cranmer wove them into the services of Morning and Evening Prayer in the very first versions of our Book of Common Prayer, Anglicans around the world have prayed these words, day in and day out: O God make speed to save us. O Lord make haste to help us.
I have to thank Jay Sidebotham for reminding me about these words. If you’ve been following along with the Advent calendar poster we handed out this week, this was his suggestion for Friday, December 5. The calendar for that date says: “Overwhelmed by the news? Try this basic and ancient prayer. O God make speed to save us. O Lord make haste to help us.”
Frankly, my brothers and sisters, I am overwhelmed by the news. I am overwhelmed by the events of Ferguson, the events of New York City. I am overwhelmed by the fact that in the year 2014, it is still necessary for me as a white clergy person, to march along the sidewalks of MSU in solidarity with African-American students, as Chaplain Sarah and I did on Wednesday. To march in an ongoing witness to the cold, hard truth: equality and justice for black people in this country is still a dream deferred.
Why am I even marching at all? My mentor, Joe Clark, marched in the civil rights movement of the 1960s. That was fifty years ago. Shouldn’t things be better by now? Weren’t we supposed to be post-racial by now? Wasn’t electing an African-American president – twice – supposed to demonstrate that we had moved beyond issues of race into a new, shared humanity?
But the people in the streets of Ferguson are crying out. And the people in Staten Island are crying out. And the people across America are crying out.
O God make speed to save us.
O Lord make haste to help us.
I’m sorry. This is hard. I know it. And I know that perhaps you came here this morning in a happy Christmas spirit. Maybe you came hoping for something nurturing and spiritual and comforting to help you make room in your hearts for the birth of Baby Jesus. Maybe you came looking for Mary or Joseph…and what the lectionary gives us instead is Isaiah. What the lectionary gives us instead is John the Baptist. The second Sunday of Advent is all about prophets. It’s all about truth-tellers.
Prophets fill the pages of Holy Scripture. Because God needs prophets. God needs men and women who know how to give voice to the anguish of a people. God needs prophets to expose all the ways that the leaders of the nation have led the people astray. Prophets do the hard, hard work of God. Prophets look those leaders in the eye, and tell them off – right to their face.
A voice says, "Cry out!" And I said, "What shall I cry?" All people are grass, their constancy is like the flower of the field. The grass withers, the flower fades, when the breath of the LORD blows upon it; surely the people are grass.
John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.
Surely the people are grass. Surely if we are to prepare the way of the Lord, we must repent. Surely if we are to recognize our Christ at his appearing, we must first recognize ourselves. We are grass. Our constancy is like the flower of the field. We break and bind and smother and shoot and slay one another.
And if we are not the people actually committing that violence and that injustice, well, we are certainly complicit in all of it.
Complicit in the way we turn away, to think about the shopping that still needs doing, or the checklist of gifts that commands our attention.
Complicit in the way we turn our focus inward, on ourselves, our own families.
Complicit in the way we turn our backs, and mind our own business. When what is happening all around us is our business. Our neighborhoods are our business. Our nation is our business. Our children are most definitely our business -- all of our children, but today especially our black children.
O God make speed to save us.
O Lord make haste to help us.
It is on a day like this -- with Isaiah exhorting the exiles in Babylon, with John preaching repentance at the Jordan -- it is on a day like this that we see most clearly that Advent is not Christmas. Advent is a season of waiting for the promise of Christmas. That God will come to us.
O come, O come, Emmanuel. It is the cry of Advent. Because we need God to come to us. We need the comfort that Isaiah promises. We need the One who will carry the lambs in his arms and gently lead the mother sheep. We need this comfort, we need this God…not because we’re ready. Not because we have everything in order, the presents purchased and wrapped, the cookies baked, the tree trimmed, the stockings hung.
No. We need this comfort, we need this God, because God’s precious world is broken. We need God to come to us because we need to be redeemed.
We need a Messiah, not because we want to get to heaven.
We need a Messiah because this world can be a living hell.
O God make speed to save us.
O Lord make haste to help us.
But my brothers and sisters, even though the news is overwhelming, the promise of the prophets is that we shall not be overwhelmed. The promise of the prophets is that God is coming.
It is the promise of Advent, the promise that we will be comforted. There will be restoration. There will be justice. There will be peace.
And while we wait for our redemption, John the Baptist and the prophet Isaiah remind us that we have work to do. Our work is to wake up and stake woke. Our work is to look around and see the sad, the challenging, but the still-redeemable truth. That the way of the Lord has become rugged and ruined. And our work is to rebuild that road and prepare the way of the Lord.
It is the work of truth-telling. The work of repentance. And the work of lament.
Brother Timothie – a student at Union Theological Seminary in New York City – has rewritten Isaiah’s words for us, this week, in this nation, for us who are confronted with these dilemmas of race and justice and violence and resistance.
These are words of truth-telling, words of repentance, words of lament. They can help us face the world we live in, and they can help us face the work ahead.
I leave them with you this morning as each of us ponders how to take up our own piece of the ongoing work – to prepare the way of the Lord and to make his paths straight this Advent. It is titled: “Riot Gear will Collect Dust: A Proclamation from the Prophet Isaiah of America.”
Comfort, O comfort my people, says your God.
Speak tenderly to Ferguson, to Brooklyn, to Staten Island,
and cry to them that they have not been forgotten,
they are loved deeply and from the Lord’s hand hope shall be given.
A megaphone cries out:
“In the streets prepare the way of justice,
make straight in city parks a highway for our God.
Every empty lot shall be a home,
and every Trump Tower–rent controlled apartments;
unfair minimum wages shall be living wages,
and riot gear will collect dust.
Then the presence of God shall be unveiled,
and all people shall see it together,
for the mouth of God has spoken.”
A voice says, “Cry out!”
And I said, “What shall I cry out?
Is it for the unjust deaths of Eric Garner, Michael Brown, Akai Gurley or Tamir Rice?
Or the giant gap in economic inequality?
Or that America’s democracy is owned by corporate elites?”
All people are fragile; their constancy is like the flower of the field.
The grass withers, the flower fades,
when the breath of God blows upon it: “I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe.”
The grass withers, the flower fades; but hope for the rise of caring communities transcends life.
Get us up to the main streets, O Ferguson, bearers of another world;
Shout with strength, O New York City, heralds of justice, shout louder, do not fear;
say to America,
“BLACK LIVES MATTER! BLACK LIVES MATTER!”
See, the God of justice comes with might, and her hands serve the lowly;
her comforting presence brings about change.
She will bring water for those too tired to shout anymore;
she will rub the feet of those too tired to march anymore,
and she will carry all in her bosom,
and gently lead us to a new heaven and new earth.[1]
Amen.
[1] http://blackflagtheology.com/2014/12/04/riot-gear-will-collect-dust-a-proclamation-from-the-prophet-isaiah-of-america-staywokeadvent/