Readings: Psalm 21: Genesis 15:1-18; Matthew 12:33-37

And Abram believed the Lord; and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness.

Genesis 15:6, NRSV

What a wonderful story we have in Genesis 15. First a little context. Abram and his wife Sarai and all those in their household, obeyed the command of God to leave their home town of Ur and head toward Canaan. They settled temporarily at Haran in Mesopotamia (Gen. 11:4). Then, they journeyed on to Canaan, to the land that God showed to them (Gen. 12:4). They were promised this land would belong to them and to their descendants, and they would become the forbears of a great nation (Gen. 12:7). Abram and Sarai, and their household, traveled around fifteen hundred miles over many years because God promised them that they would possess the land of Canaan and become a great nation.

Now, when they arrived in Canaan, both Abram and Sarai were quite old, past the age of childbearing, and the promises that the Lord had given them in the past now seemed impossible. This fact made the future that God previously laid out for them nothing but a dream, and empty assurance that had caused them to leave everything familiar to become pilgrims and wanderers. It was into this situation, without hope for the future or fulfillment of the covenant that our story begins in Genesis fifteen.

The first Word from God in this chapter is that Abram would have many descendants: Your reward will be very great (Get 15:1), but Abram did not believe it at first. In fact, his reply was, in so many words, No, I won’t. Abram, the forbearer of our faith, in this particular scene, was not the model of unshakeable trust in the Lord that he later became known for.

Even with Abram’s doubts, God took him outside to look at the stars and to count them. Of course, there were more than he could count. At that point, the Lord renewed the promise: That’s how many descendants you will have. For some reason known only to Abram, God inspired him to trust in the promise. Abram believed the Lord, according to our story, and the Lord reckoned it to him as righteousness (Gen. 15:6). An about face: here, in this moment, the cynical Abram became the pioneer of our faith. After seeing the stars in the sky, Abram trusted God’s promise, despite all appearances to the contrary, and so he, and presumably his wife Sarai, began to act from that moment on as if that promise would come to pass. In that act of trust, God opened the future to them.

Our lives with God are very much like Abram’s and Saral’s, for we, too, have been given lots of promises by our Lord. Here are a few of them:

Remember,  I am with you always, to the end of the age (Mt. 28:20).

I will not leave you orphaned: I will come to you (John14:18)

Those who believe in me, even though they die, will live, and everyone who lives and believes in me will never die (John 11:25-26)

Faith, therefore, consists in believing these promises and acting as if they will be fulfilled. When we are beset by trouble on every side, when every circumstance seems to go against us and there seems to be little hope for the future, do Christ’s promises give us the strength to embrace the emptiness and desolation, and give us hope? Faith trusts God’s promises, despite all evidence to the contrary. Faith simply waits for God to fulfill those promises, knowing that ultimately God will pull it off.

In her book, Group Spiritual Direction, Rose Mary Dougherty writes this: There comes a time when we are invited into simple faith as we make decisions, trusting God to transform the ambiguity of our hearts with the fire of love and be with us in and through the uncertainty. We have done what we can. Our task is to live into the decision, seeking the support of others (when available) who share our desire for God. Gradually, we come to live in a place of love and allow that love to lead. God’s loving prayer in us becomes the testing place of discernment. Through the lens of that loving prayer we view our choices and come to recognize our authenticity. (Paulist Press, Mahwah, NJ, 1995, p. 33)

Offered by David Fredrickson, child of God.

Readings: Psalm 21:14-21; Isaiah 41:14-20; Romans 15:14-21

When the poor and needy seek water, and there is none,

And their tongue is parched with thirst, I the Lord will answer them,

I the God of Israel will not forsake them.

I will open rivers on the bare heights, and fountains in the midst of the valleys; 

I will make the wilderness a pool of water, and the dry land springs of water.

Isaiah 41:17-18, NRSV

If you happen to be on the waterfront of Plymouth, Massachusetts, at low tide, look for the seagulls and pigeons on the sand. You’ll see them stretched out in a few lines, squawking and looking for all the world like they are at a party. Look closer, and you’ll see the reason: they are gathered at the freshwater streams that flow into the ocean. Visible and available only at low tide, these streams are life for the birds who are surrounded by salt water that is the home of their food source but can never quench their thirst. When low tide comes, the birds drink, bathe, and rejoice. 

The seacoast birds give me a glimpse of the joy that water (really life) is in a desert. And if that’s not a glimpse of God’s love, what is?

Readings: Isaiah 11:1-10; Psalm 72:1-7, 18-19; Romans 15:4-13; Matthew 3:1-12

A shoot shall come out of the stump of Jesse, and a branch grow out of his roots.

The spirit of the Lord shall rest on him, the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord.

His delight shall be in the fear of the Lord. He shall not judge by what his eyes see, or decide by what his ears hear; but with righteousness he shall judge the poor, and decide with equity for the meek of the earth.

He shall strike the earth with the rod of his mouth, and with the breath of his lips he shall kill the wicked. Righteousness shall be the belt around his waist, and faithfulness the belt around his loins.

The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them.

The cow and the bear shall graze, their young shall lie down together; and the lion shall eat straw like the ox. The nursing child shall play over the hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall put its hand on the adder’s den.

They will not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain; for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea.

On that day the root of Jesse shall stand as a signal to the peoples; the nations shall inquire of him, and his dwelling shall be glorious. Isaiah 11:1-10, NRSV

Idyllic: the world of Isaiah’s vision. The meek and poor find justice, and the predator and prey are predator and prey no longer. The wicked are killed – or at least what was wicked in them dies and leaves in its place love. It seems like the chasm between our current world and Isaiah’s peaceful kingdom will never be spanned, no bridge built to take us from here to there. Except that it starts and ends with Jesse, an imperfect and perfectly loved child of God. Just like us.

At its heart, Isaiah’s world is the place where we don’t live at the expense of others. We seek a just world, even when it means we have make sacrifices. Sacrifice expands the heart’s capacity to love and strengthens the spirit within us. When we mean good things for others and sacrifice to bring them to life, we take a step toward Isaiah’s world. Take enough steps, and that chasm just might be spanned.

Readings: Psalm 72:1-7, 18-19; Isaiah 30:19-26; Acts 13:16-25

Give the king your justice, O God, and your righteousness to a king’s son.

May he judge your people with righteousness, and your poor with justice.

May the mountains yield prosperity for the people, and the hills, in righteousness.

May he defend the cause of the poor of the people, give deliverance to the needy, and crush the oppressor.

May he live while the sun endures, and as long as the moon, throughout all generations.

May he be like rain that falls on the mown grass, like showers that water the earth.

In his days may righteousness flourish and peace abound, until the moon is no more…

Blessed be the Lord, the God of Israel, who alone does wondrous things.

Blessed be his glorious name forever; may his glory fill the whole earth. Amen and Amen.

This psalm of Solomon is an admission that ruling with wisdom and compassion is not sustainable without God’s presence and guidance. Solomon knows that he does not have the strength to rule God’s beloved children out of his own resources; he must draw on God’s well of compassion and wisdom if he is to exercise his power without losing his soul. The king’s rule is measured by how communal life for the most vulnerable is blessed, not by how much wealth he attains.

None of us will be ruling an ancient civilization any time soon. Most of us don’t hold the power of life and death in our hands, and we do not make or enforce the laws of our society. But each of us has power – the power to nourish the life of this world we call our own. When we call on God’s strength and compassion, we can use our power wisely – and be nourished in mind and spirit through it all.

Readings: Psalm 72:1-7, 18-19; Isaiah 4:2-6; Acts 1:12-17, 21-26

Then they returned to Jerusalem from the mount called Olivet, which is near Jerusalem, a sabbath day’s journey away. When they had entered the city, they went to the room upstairs where they were staying, Peter, and John, and James, and Andrew, Philip and Thomas, Bartholomew and Matthew, James son of Alphaeus, and Simon the Zealot, and Judas son of James. All these were constantly devoting themselves to prayer, together with certain women, including Mary the mother of Jesus, as well as his brothers.

In those days Peter stood among the believers (together with the crowd numbered about one hundred and twenty persons) and said, “Friends, the scripture had to be fulfilled, which the Holy Spirit through David foretold concerning Judas, who became a guide for those who arrested Jesus – For he was numbered among us and was allotted his share in this ministry.”

So one of the men who have accompanied us during all the time that the Lord Jesus went in and out among us, beginning from the baptism of John until the day when he was taken up from us – one of these must become a witness with us to his resurrection.” So they proposed two, Joseph called Barsabbas, who was also known as Justus, and Matthias. Then they prayed and said, “Lord, you know everyone’s heart. Show us which one of these two you have chosen to take the place in this ministry and apostleship from which Judas turned aside to go to his own place. And they cast lots for them, and the lot fell on Matthias; and he was added to the eleven apostles. Acts 1:12-17, 22-26, NRSV

There came a time when Judas Iscariot, having given up his life on the Field of Blood, needed to be replaced among the ranks of the apostles. There were only eleven of them. They wanted an even dozen. Peter, always the emboldened one, put forth the names of two men:Joseph (Barsabbas) and Matthias. After having prayed about the matter, the group agreed on the selection process. They would cast lots, which is akin to drawing straws.

WAIT…WHAT? This is the apostleship we’re talking about! Are they just going to gamble on it? Shouldn’t they conduct interviews? Stage a debate? Maybe hold an apostle’s decathlon? At the very least, shouldn’t they vote? Nope. The next apostle was going to be chosen by a game of pure chance. Well, you may remember the outcome. Matthias won and was granted entry into that esteemed circle.

Now, pardon my impertinence, but it seems to me that Jesus might have granted both gentlemen entry into the club – along with their wives (We know Jesus’ feeling about exclusion. It was an equal protection issue for him.).

So why this obsession with the number 12? Yes, I know Jesus himself chose 12 disciples. But he also appointed a different, much larger group of persons (70 or so) to spread the news. I can’t help but wonder why they were so intent at keeping their number at a dozen. Was it because that’s the way it had always been? Or did it have something to do with the 12 sons of Jacob? Or 12 as a covenantal number? Did these people really think that deeply about numerology?

And what of poor Joseph? Did he need to seek counseling to reconcile his hurt over this slight in favor of Matthias? Or maybe, just maybe, Joseph was secretly relieved not to have been chosen?

Such questions are, of course, unanswerable. It’s probably better not to have all the answers. Socrates didn’t like answers very much, at least not the surface variety. He spent most of his life asking questions and little else.

Mary Oliver wrote a poem about that entitled The Man Who Has Many Answers:

The man who has many answers

is often found

in the theaters of information

Where he offers, graciously

His deep findings.

While the man who has only questions,

to comfort himself, makes music.

Offered by Bryan Fredrickson, child of God.

Readings: Psalm 124; Isaiah 54:1-10; Matthew 24:23-35

Sing, o barren one who did not bear; burst into song and shout, you who have not been in labor!

For the children of the desolate woman will be more than the children of her that is married, says the Lord.

Enlarge the site of your tent, and let the curtains of your habitations be stretched out; do not hold back; lengthen the cords and strengthen your stakes.

For you will spread out to the right and to the left, and your descendants will possess the nations and will settle the desolate towns.

Do not fear, for you will not be ashamed; do not be discouraged, for you will not suffer disgrace; for you will forget the shame of your youth, and the disgrace of your widowhood you will remember no more.

For your Maker is your husband, the Lord of hosts is his name; the Holy One of Israel is your Redeemer, the God of the whole earth he is called.

For the Lord has called you like a wife forsaken and grieved in spirit, like the wife of a man’s youth when she is cast off, says your God.

For a brief moment I abandoned you, but with greater compassion I will gather you.

In overflowing wrath for a moment I hid my face from you, but with everlasting love I will have compassion on you, says the Lord, your Redeemer.

This is like the days of Noah to me; Just as I swore that the waters of Noah would never again go over the earth, so I have sworn that I will not be angry with you and will not rebuke you.

For the mountains may depart and the hills be removed, but my steadfast love shall not depart from you, and my covenant of peace shall not be removed, says the Lord, who has compassion on you. Isaiah 54:1-10, NRSV

Shout for joy. 

Do not fear. 

Do not be discouraged. 

These are not easy things to do.

With great compassion I will gather you. 

With everlasting love I will have compassion on you. 

My steadfast love shall not depart from you. 

These are not easy things to believe.

A world shaped by love and compassion seems far from our daily experience. Politics is divisive and becoming ever more so. Racism and homophobic prejudice, in both subtle and blatant forms, is rampant. Violence confronts us at every turn. More and more people are feeling less and less secure, both physically and financially. It seems impossible to be joyful, impossible not to fear or be discouraged. We struggle to believe that love and compassion can be real, except perhaps in a small and intimate way.

And yet, these are the words we hear in Advent. These are the proclamations of the prophet. These are the promises of God.

How are we to believe and act this way in a world that confronts us with a starkly different reality? The simple answer is we can do it if we have faith. But if it stops there it’s little more than a platitude, sounding appropriately pious, but still all but impossible to believe. We need something more than nice words. However, if words point us to something real, something that we have experienced, they begin to take on a power that makes belief and action possible.

The truth is that the words of Isaiah 54 mean very little unless they are grounded in the words of Isaiah 53.

Who has believed what we have heard? And to whom has the arm of the Lord been revealed?

For he grew up before him like a young plant, and like a root out of dry ground; he had no form or majesty that we should look at him, nothing in his appearance that we should desire him.

He was despised and rejected by others; a man of suffering and acquainted with infirmity; and as one from whom others hide their faces he was despised, and we held him of no account.

Surely he has borne our infirmities and carried our diseases, yet we accounted him stricken, struck down by God, and afflicted.

But he was wounded for our transgressions, crushed for our iniquities; upon him was the punishment that made us whole, and by his bruises we are healed.

All we like sheep have gone astray; we have all turned to our own way, and the Lord has laid on him the iniquity of us all. Isaiah 53:1-6, NRSV

We can believe the words of Isaiah 54 because Isaiah 53 reminds us that we have experienced the truth of these words. We know that there is a divine compassion and love that saves us from ourselves and anything the world can throw at us. Yes, the world is in a sorry state. That’s why we need a savior. And in great compassion and love God offers that savior to us. We know that because we have experienced it. So, it is possible to believe these words of hope. It is possible to act in joy, not be afraid, not be discouraged.

It is possible! That is the wonder of Advent and the miracle of the Incarnation.

Offered by Jeff Jones, child of God.

Readings: Psalm 124; Genesis 8:1-19; Romans 6:1-11

But God remembered Noah and all the wild animals and all the domestic animals that were with him (Noah) in the ark. And God made a wind blow over the earth, and the waters subsided; the fountains of the deep and the windows of the heavens were closed, the rain from the heavens was restrained, and the waters gradually receded from the earth. Genesis 8:1-3, NRSV

One of my favorite songs is Everything Must Change by George Benson on an old Quincy Jones album I have. It starts out:

Everything must change, nothing stays the same.

Everyone must change, nothing stays the same.

The Young become the Old, mysteries do unfold.

‘Cause that’s the way of time, nothing and no one remains unchanged.

Then Later:

Winter turns to Spring, wounded heart will heal.

Never much too soon, everything must change.

I would imagine that Noah, his family, and all the animals were grateful for the lack of permanence. Change can be scary and yet we know change is inevitable and sometimes vital. What might you and I want to change as we begin this Advent season? Perhaps we should pray for guidance:

O God, by whom the meek are guided in judgement, and light rises up in darkness for the godly: Grant us, in all our doubts and uncertainties, the grace to ask what you would have us do, that the Spirit of wisdom may save us from all false choices, and that in your light we may see light, and in your straight path may not stumble. Through Jesus Christ our Lord, Amen. BCP

https://youtu.be/oqtHo0pU-1M

Offered by Bill Albritton, child of God.