1 Advent.A.2025
Isaiah 2:1-5; Romans 13:11-14; Matthew 24:36-44
The Rev. Melanie L. McCarley
I’m something of a news junkie. Here’s the problem; every so often I find myself engaged in that oddly contemporary past-time that originated with smartphones—namely, doomscrolling. I move from one story to another, compiling a catalogue of the many reasons there are to be anxious and worried. There is Climate Change, the war in Ukraine, the horrifying events in Israel and Gaza, the political crisis in our own country, the latest foolish or frightening utterance by a public figure—and don’t even get me started if I start the same thing with medical symptoms. Finally, something breaks the trance and I look up from the tiny screen that had so utterly captivated my attention. The world seems oddly tilted, I realized that I had, for a moment, fallen into a rabbit hole of doom and despair.
In St. Paul’s letter to the Romans he says: “You know what time it is, how it is now the moment for you to wake from sleep. For salvation is nearer to us now than when we became believers; the night is far gone, the day is near.” His, is a call for us to “wake up”—to lift up our heads from whatever has captured our wayward attention and re-orientate ourselves to the light. To choose hope rather than despair.
One of the wonderful things about the season of Advent is this. Advent gives us permission to notice the darkness without giving in to it. In the words of Joseph Mangina “Advent summons us to let our imaginations be shaped by our Lord Jesus Christ and his coming, rather than by the voracious 24-hour news cycle.” This first week of Advent, is oftentimes referred to as the week of Hope. It’s worth spending some time considering what it is for which we are hoping this holy time of year.
In the first lesson for today, the Prophet Isaiah offers a stunning vision of worldly peace. In this vision, the Lord God judges between the nations saying: “they shall beat their swords into plowshares, and their spears into pruning hooks; nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall they learn war any more.” Later, in the Gospel of Matthew we find ourselves facing another judgement—and, quite honestly, it depends upon your vantage point whether you hear this proclamation to be good news or bad—a promise or a threat. “For the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.”
This verse has inspired countless signs proclaiming: “Repent! The end is near.” Rather than inspiring one to live in hope, odds are good it might just have the opposite effect—motivating people to assume a bunker mentality—lock up your houses, install doorbell cameras, hole up and order the Costco emergency food kits for Christmas. Post “No Trespassing” signs and keep your sites trained on any strangers. Sit with your back against the wall with an escape route planned in case of attack.
If you haven’t guessed, this is not the kind of hope to which I believe our Lord God is calling us. Nor is this any vision of peace to which we should be aspiring. God, I believe, expects us to be made of sterner stuff than this.
In this season of hope, preparation and expectation—we should dream larger dreams, we should expect more glorious promises. We should look to the dawn of a more perfect morning.
Listen to the origin story of a famous Christmas poem, written on what I expect was a particularly sad Christmas Day, when the American poet Henry Wadsworth Longfellow picked up his pen just a few miles away in Cambridge, and wrote these words:
“I heard the bells on Christmas Day/Their old, familiar carols play,/ and wild and sweet/the words repeat of peace on earth, good-will to men.”
“And in despair I bowed my head;/There is no peace on earth,” I said;/ “For hate is strong,/ And mocks the song/ Of peace on earth, good-will to men!”
Sad verses make sense for Longfellow to pen on the Christmas of 1863. His cherished wife had died just a few years earlier in a tragic fire, and his son, Charles, had been severely wounded in the Civil War. The hope of peace for Longfellow must have seemed at best, elusive, at worst, a mockery, as he wrote these verses. Maybe we’re even tempted to nod our heads and agree.
Some might see the prophet Isaiah’s vision of the peace of Jerusalem to be a pie-in-the-sky fancy and dismiss it out of hand. Others might say—we’ll it was all accomplished at the first coming of Christ. Still more set their sights on the second coming of the Lord. Yet---and I hope you are with me on this---I think more than this, that the vision of peace to which God is calling us, is one to work for right now, in this present moment—for this world in which we dwell, for lands other than our own, and for ourselves, within our hearts and spirits. St. Paul says it well: “for the night is far gone, the day is near. Let us then lay aside the works of darkness and put on the armor of light.” Let us arm ourselves against the evils of despair, cynicism and resignation.
I wonder what it was that inspired Longfellow to pick up his pen and write the final verse to his poem:
“Then pealed the bells more loud and deep:/ “God is not dead, nor doth He sleep;/ the Wrong shall fail,/ The Right prevail,/ With peace on earth, good-will to men.”
I like to think that what ultimately led Longfellow to write these words was hope. A determined and courageous hope found within a deep and abiding faith, which comes not from a life of ease, but from the crucible of the love of God; in which pain and suffering are taken, transformed and reshaped into something else…something which looks remarkably like the dawn of a Christmas morning, where the light shines over the horizon—promising peace and hope. In Jesus’ name. Amen.