[Propertalk] 1 Advent c Part 1

[Robert P Morrison]

This was put together in stages, so here's part 1. Part 2 will follow.
Bob

	THE ESPISCOPAL CHURCH OF ST. ALBAN, ALBANY 1 ADVENT C 

	JEREMIAH 33:14-16  29th NOVEMBER, 2015 

	1 THESSALONIANS 3:9-13 PSALM 25:1-9 

	LUKE 21:25-36 

	 A couple of weeks ago, I paused, unexpectedly, during the Prayer of
Humble Access, the first collect in the Eucharistic Liturgy. I can’t
tell how long the pause was, I didn’t time it. I didn’t look at
you. I don’t know what you were thinking, how you were reacting. I
DID get a couple of comments later, asking if I were all right. 

	 It’s funny how silence does that, especially if the silence
hasn’t been telegraphed, if people are unprepared. If it had been a
split second, even a whole second, possibly no one would have noticed.
Our brains would have dealt with it and blotted it out from what we
think we heard. But if, without warning, the silence continues. If,
without a letter, a phone call, a text message or an e-mail; if,
without warning, silence spreads out over multiple seconds, we may
begin to shift our positions. 

	 Back on the Monday after the attacks in Paris, at noon, there was a
minute of silence throughout the city during which everything
non-essential was asked to halt, to cease making sound for sixty
seconds, as a way of giving tribute to those killed. A reporter on the
radio described the scene in the hospital right across the street from
the bar where some of the killing occurred. “Nurses and doctors at
this hospital were among those having drinks across the street on
Friday when one of the gunmen opened fire. Fifteen people died, with
10 more seriously injured.” On the Monday, noon came, the people in
the E.R. halted non-urgent work, and the silence began. One minute.
Then two. Then three. Then six. “It was as is no one wanted this
moment to end. 

	 “Eventually, after eight minutes, people begin applauding. 

	 “And somewhere at the back, a man’s voice begins to recite
poetry. I find out later the words are by the Senegalese poet Birago
Diop. You can’t hear everything from our place at the front of the
crowd. But you can hear this: 

	 The dead are not under the ground
 They are in the fire that goes out
 They are in the grass that cries
 They are in the rock that moans
 They are in the forest, they are in the residency.
 The dead are not dead.” 1 

	 Silence can be incredibly pregnant. It can be incredibly enriching.
It can help us to get in touch with what is deep within us. It may be
a fear, as many in Paris, and in every country in the Middle East, and
in Kenya, and far too many other countries. What we encounter may be
joy, as we remember some unbelievably exciting event. What we meet may
be hollow or empty, as we discover a great longing for something. Or
it may be, as those medical personnel found, it may be some word, some
scent, some image, perhaps something held in common, which reminds us
that, as desperate as the silence appears, “The dead are not
dead.” 

	 Out of the silence came life. 

	 Silence. We need it. But we can hate it. 

	 Our entry through Advent’s door, however, asks us to confront this
sense of anticipation by dealing with the things which disturb, which
frighten us. 

	 Suzanne Guthrie wrote a question which many of us may think, but few
may be willing to express out loud. “Why does the new year begin
with dread, darkness, portents in the sky: the sun darkened, the moon
obscured, stars falling, the heavens shaken? Why does the new year
begin with the ultimate ending: the end of life, the end of the world,
the end of time itself?” 2 

	 One possible answer to this is that, like silence, we tend not to
like to think about the so-called “End Times” too much. Yet this
isn’t something that’s totally missing from some groups within
Christianity. It certainly wasn’t absent in the hundred-plus years
after the death and resurrection of Jesus. That’s how we were given
many parts of our New Covenant material. And for the same reason we
read them this morning. For the same reason that many groups dwell on
them. It may seem easier to deal with thought about chaotic and
out-of-control events leading up to Jesus’ return to earth than it
is to try to find some sort of an answer to the terrible increase in
terrorism, to disease, to hunger, to loneliness. 

	 In fact, within the last couple of weeks, leaders prominent at the
conservative end of the Christian Church spectrum stated quite
categorically after the Paris attacks, “We haven’t seen anything
yet.” The implication is that the more bold extremists become, the
more indiscriminate and wide-spread their attacks, the closer we move
towards the second coming of Jesus. And they seemed happy about this.
I don’t know if it’s died down any but ten or twenty years ago,
some people were actually promoting the idea of warfare in Israel and
the Middle East because it signaled that everything was wrapping up.
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