Friday, December 17, 2010

The Advent of Love

Psalm 146; Isaiah 35:1-10
December 12, 2010
To begin with this morning, what are some of the signs of hope that you have witnessed of late?
For me, hope is grounded always in community, and, to borrow from Emily Dickinson, it is given wings by the power of love. Without wings – that is to say, without agency, without the ability to move something, to transform, to change – without that hope will always be disappointed, and thus it will lead to despair.
Last week I quoted Archbishop Romero – “I try not to depend on hope, because unfulfilled hope leads to despair, and we have no need of despairing people. I try, instead, to depend on faith.”
I’d like to suggest this morning that love is the power that moves us from hopes and dreams to faithful action in the world.
This is not easy, to be sure.
As Chris Hedges noted in an essay a couple of weeks ago urging people to speak out for an end to the wars, “Hope has a cost. Hope is not comfortable or easy. Hope requires personal risk. Hope does not come with the right attitude. Hope is not about peace of mind. Hope is an action. Hope is doing something.”
I think that is mostly right, but only when the power of love moves us from vague and idle hopes into faithful engagement with the suffering and brokenness of the world around us.
It’s crucial to remember that the New Testament concept of love is grounded in Jesus giving of himself for the sake of the world. “Greater love has no one than that he be willing to give up his life for his friends,” Jesus told his followers.
It’s all too easy to sentimentalize love, but the gospels refuse to do so – even down to the Greek word the gospel writers chose: agape. Koine Greek offers three words for love: eros, or romantic, erotic love; philia, or the love of kin, brotherly love as it were; and agape. What distinguishes agape from the others is that it refers to love that expects nothing in return. Romantic love desires its own return in the relationship among lovers. Brotherly love is given out of the obligation of kinship, and one is bound to repay it. But agape is utterly self-giving, without regard for its own well-being or expectation of being returned.
There is incredible power in such love, and when we open our hearts to that love in the person of Jesus we find ourselves moved from passive hope to faithful acting in the world. Advent is about just such opening.
That is to say, I can stand up here and hope that people don’t go hungry on Christmas Eve, or I can open my heart to the love of Christ and move my butt into the street on Christmas Eve to feed people. I can hope that people in this community who are shut in by illness or infirmity know that we care about them, or I can open my heart to the love of Christ and pick up the phone and call them or move my butt and visit them. I can hope that wars will cease, or I can open my heart to the love of Christ and act in the world for nonviolence. I can hope that justice will be done for my GLBT sisters and brothers, or I can open my heart to the love of Christ and move my butt to work for that justice in the church and in society. I can hope that all people know that they are created good in the image of a loving God and hope that they learn to live out of that fundamental identity, or I can open my heart to the love of Christ and then go out into the world to show everyone I meet along the way that they are beloved.
The advent of love is about moving from fear to hope and from hope to faithful action in the world.
In the beautiful carol, O Little Town of Bethlehem, we sing about the hopes and fears of all the years being met on the Holy Night. I believe that’s what the Advent of Love is all about: meeting the hopes and fears of all our years with the love of God known to us in Jesus.
This season of Advent is about preparing a way for that to happen again, about preparing our hearts for the love of Christ.
So this morning, I invite you now to come forward with the strip of cloth you were given, and the notes of hope you’ve attached, and lay them in the cradle as a sign and symbol of preparing the way of the Lord.