Readings: Luke 1:68-79; Malachi 3:13-18; Philippians 1:18b-2:6

In response to “what is this child going to be?,” John’s father, Zechariah, sings the Benedictus Dominus Deus, which ends:

And you, my child, will be called a prophet of the Most High;
    for you will go on before the Lord to prepare the way for him,
77 to give his people the knowledge of salvation
    through the forgiveness of their sins,
78 because of the tender mercy of our God,
    by which the rising sun will come to us from heaven
79 to shine on those living in darkness
    and in the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the path of peace.”   (Luke 1:76-79)

Talk about high expectations! Is that even fair to impose such onto a new- born child? Well, God seems to have high expectations for John – and for us. This can be a heavy burden but only if we believe we have to carry it by ourselves.

Am I not also called to prepare the way of the Lord?—to give people the knowledge of salvation? Do I know someone living in darkness (maybe moi)?

Is it time to let the sun shine in this Advent and allow our feet to be guided into the path of peace?

Or are my expectations too low? My God too small? 

My prayer is that I never underestimate God.

Offered by Bill Albritton, God’s beloved child.

Readings: Luke 1:68-79; Malachi 3:5-12; Philippians 1:12-18a

Then I will draw near to you for judgment; I will be swift to bear witness against the sorcerers, against the adulterers, against those who swear falsely, against those who oppress the hired workers in their wages, the widow and the orphan, against those who thrust aside the alien, and do not fear me, says the Lord. For I the Lord do not change; therefore you, O children of Jacob, have not perished. Ever since the days of your ancestors you have turned aside from my statutes and have not kept them. Return to me, and I will return to you, says the Lord of hosts. But you say, “How shall we return?” Malachi 3:5-7, NRSV

A former rector of our church was fond of saying that if you don’t feel as close to God as you used to, make no mistake about who has moved.

    Advent can be a time to take stock of our current  relationship with God as we prepare for the coming of the Messiah. Have I moved away? Has my time spent in prayer and meditation become too routine and less reflective? Sometimes during my devotions, I find myself thinking about what I’ve got to do afterwards, looking forward to getting back to “work”. Really? Not a very effective way to worship, now is it?

    I’m not a big fan of the  word intentionality, and yet Malachi, which means My messenger , has a message for me here. “How shall we return?”, he asks. Being more focused, more intentional, in the time I carve out for prayer and devotion is a good start. As I do this, I find myself returning.  The old gospel hymn goes: In moments of despair and grief, my soul has often found relief, And oft escaped the tempter’s snare by thy return, sweet hour of prayer.

Offered by Bill Albritton, God’s beloved child.

Readings: Psalm 90; Isaiah 1:24-31; Luke 11:29-32

When the crowds were increasing, he began to say, “This generation is an evil generation; it asks for a sign, but no sign will be given to it except the sign of Jonah. For just as Jonah became a sign to the people of Nineveh, so the Son of Man will be to this generation. The queen of the South will rise at the judgement with the people of this generation and condemn them, because she came from the ends of the earth to listen to the wisdom of Solomon, and see, something greater than Solomon is here! The people of Nineveh will rise up at the judgment with this generation and condemn it, because they repented at the proclamation of Jonah, and see, something greater than Jonah is here! Luke 11:29-32, NRSV

“As the crowds increased, Jesus said, ‘This is a wicked generation. It asks for a sign, but none will be given it except the sign of Jonah.’” Luke 11:29

As the crowds increased suggests popularity, lots of people glomming on for the magic show, signs and wonders. You want a sign? Jesus says. You want a sign? Ok, I’ll give you one: Jonah.

People who want a sign are generally looking for something hopeful, positive,  something to help them keep hanging on. “Give me some kind of sign, God!” But Jesus uses some pretty strong language to push back against that kind of signal. “This,” he says, “is a wicked generation” of uplifting sign-seekers. What he offers—the only thing he offers—is the sign of Jonah, the one who descended, who rode Moby Dick all the way to the bottom of the sea. It’s an ancient, sea-faring version of the paschal mystery—three days down, down in the belly of the beast, and only then salvation. 

Best not to read this story to your kids around the Jesse Tree. This is an adults-only Advent message. The “coming” we await at Advent is a coming down, a divine “humbling” (Phil. 2:7) that leads to exaltation. Perhaps we should, in addition to the oxen, cattle and sheep, add a nice little whale to our creche scenes this year. 

Offered by David Anderson, God’s beloved child.

Readings: Psalm 90; 2 Samuel 7:18-29; Revelation 22:12-16

Then King David went in and sat before the Lord, and said, “Who am I, O Lord God, and what is my house, that you have brought me thus far? (2 Samuel 7:18, NRSV)

He wasn’t the obvious choice, and he didn’t kid himself into thinking he had earned or somehow deserved to rule. He was chosen for God’s own purpose for reasons beyond his own grasp. So what else would David pray except for this: Who am I, O Lord God, and what is my house, that you have brought me thus far?

There are other ways to say the same thing: Why do you care so much about me? What makes me different, and what makes you think I’m worthy of this life? Why am I here?

We would do well to ask such questions, particularly during this season of reflection. But God’s answer will not be a list of talents, accomplishments, or potential. A question this profound is usually answered with an equally profound and holy truth:

Because you are my child, my beloved, and a delight to me.

Readings: Psalm 90; Numbers 17:1-11; 2 Peter 3:1-8

The Lord spoke to Moses, saying: Speak to the Israelites, and get twelve staffs from them, one for each ancestral house, from all the leaders of their ancestral houses. Write each man’s name on his staff, and write Aaron’s name on the staff of Levi. For there shall be one staff for the head of each ancestral house. Place them in the tent of meeting before the covenant, where I meet with you. And the staff of the man whom I choose shall sprout; thus will I put a stop to the complaints of the Israelites that they continually make against you.. (Numbers 17:1-5, NRSV)

Sibling rivalry, perceived favoritism, someone getting away with something – the basics of most of the fights I had with my siblings. Whenever possible, my parents let us resolve it without intervention – a good way to learn how to deal with conflict and get on with life. When it wasn’t possible, they stepped in. The matter was resolved for us and the outcome not up for further discussion.

This story from Numbers is sibling rivalry gone awry – complaints of injustice and favoritism, an unwillingness or inability to resolve the issue, resentment building. Judgement in the form of a sprouting staff put an end to the fighting (at least for the moment), the outcome not up for further discussion.

As individuals and as communities, we can take our fighting to the point where we cannot resolve the issue without intervention. Tempers flare, old resentments and slights are rehashed, and there’s no resolution in sight. This is understandable among children, but tragic when those of us long past our childhood days cannot or will not do the work to resolve the matter in a respectful, thoughtful way.

What better way to show our love for the Prince of Peace than to seek peace in our own time and place, among this human family, in God’s great creation.

It’s time to set out: to put on our shoes, grab a hat and jacket, and make the journey. The road will be dark at times. We won’t arrive in what feels like a timely manner – there’s no point in rushing because picking up the pace won’t make God With Us come any faster. It’s a pilgrimage, not a race.

Our destination isn’t a lovely bed-and-breakfast. We won’t gain social status or admiration for making the trip. The road offers sore and tired feet. When the journey is done, we’ll have to turn around and come back home.

So why do it? Why take the journey at all?

Because we may never understand how very much we are loved if we don’t.

Time to get walking…