Awake My Soul

What are you hoping for? This is a question our season of Advent brings to the surface – begs of us – and burrows beneath our skin – like an itch for the next 25 days. A question that is meant to invite us into the stance of ‘waiting and watching’ for the presence of God who – as we know – moves where she will. But it’s a question that has, unfortunately, become highly marketable. A question we might ask one another as we look to ‘the big day’, preparing the home, mailing cards and buying gifts – what has become a symbol of care, connection, and belonging. Not bad things, of course, but becomes problematic when Christmas-culture takes the place of God. When our hope lies not with the God who takes on flesh but, rather, with the coca cola coloured Santa Clause, the sparkling lights, the perfect Christmas lunch and, of course, an Australian Cricket win. For others, ‘What are you hoping for?’ can become a question of dread, feeling like the only kind of God we see is the kind we play ourselves, with pen and paper in hand scribbling down wish lists to fulfill the hopes of others. What are you hoping for? A question that not only arises in this season but a question that was on the tips of peoples’ tongues a couple thousand years ago. Enter the Gospel of Matthew. A Gospel we will be journeying alongside this next year. A Gospel, you’ll find, is the first in the line-up, with Mark, Luke and John following. A Gospel meant to lead us into all other Gospels. And, if we had to reduce Matthew’s audience to a single image, it might best be pictured as a Gospel where Jesus is at the table with all his beloved and bewildering relatives, full of love and life, as well as discomfort and disagreement. A table where they freely criticize and complain about each other, but a table where anyone else looking in, dare not say one bad word. Not too dissimilar from what some of us might experience at our own tables in just a few weeks. And so, when we hear (and we will hear) harsh texts from Matthew this next year like we have today – just think about the brutal honesty, the embarrassing relative, as well as the deep care and compassion that often meets us at these tables, in the presence of loved ones. Historically, Matthew’s world is in ruins. The Jerusalem Temple – the center of religious life, identity, memory and holiness – has been destroyed. They are living in the shadow of disaster, trying to make sense of a world where the symbols of God’s presence have been shattered. Before our scripture they’re asking, ‘what does this mean’, ‘why did this happen’, and ‘when will the Son of Man, the Messiah, come in their glory?’ These questions are urgent. They have waited centuries for the long-promised Messiah. What we call “Christmas” had life-and-death consequences for them. Their hope was not a sweet tradition with gift-giving and pine-trees all aglow; it was a longing for salvation in the face of Roman oppression and persecution. And, as Jesus often does, he answers their questions without answering their questions. He does not concern himself with any of the who, what, where, when, why anxieties but, instead, answers a question they did not ask: ‘how then shall I live’? And to this, he says ‘be ready’, ‘keep awake’ – ‘expect the unexpected’. And he does this by drawing on Noah not to frighten them, but to give them a frame they already know. In the days of Noah, life moved along in its ordinary rhythms — eating, drinking and marrying — with no dramatic signs to warn anyone of the flood that would overwhelm the earth. The point Jesus makes is not about the rising waters itself, but about the ordinary routines that surrounded it. People were simply living their lives, unaware of the larger story unfolding around them. In the same way, he tells his listeners that God’s movement won’t arrive with advance notice or tidy explanations. It will come quietly, suddenly, in the midst of regular days and familiar schedules. Which is why the only real instruction he gives is to stay awake — to cultivate a posture of attentiveness and expectation. Because the presence of God will probably not break through in things like a coca cola coloured Santa Clause, sparkling lights, the perfect Christmas lunch or an Australian Cricket win. (But we can cross our fingers.) What are you hoping for? This is also a question the Uniting Church has been asking itself for a while now as numbers drop and younger generations are scarcely seen in our spaces. Leaders my age hear a repeated refrain: we hope young leaders will bring back young people. A hope that often expects change while staying the same – what the well-known proverb calls the definition of insanity. But maybe, beneath all this waiting and watching for more people to show up, is an unnamed desire in the depths of our souls. A longing for renewal. For life. For a hope that actually saves, despite whether or not we get bums in pews and despite whether or not the Uniting Church survives. Because maybe our task is not to wish society would conform itself to our ways, as some sort of continuing form of colonization – maybe our task is to wake up to its hunger. Because people — of all ages at the depths of their souls — are longing, watching and waiting for a spirituality that is awake. One that expects the unexpected. One that resists the gods of boxing day sales, cold culture and curated content. A spirituality that meets them with something that looks, sounds, tastes, smells and feels like salvation — real salvation — that is, the reawakening presence of God that lifts the weight of expectation and reconnects us to what is fiercely alive. Because people are tired. Tired of performing. Tired of producing. Tired of feeling alone in a loud, glittering rat-race. Tired of callous structures and cold rituals. And tired that Christmas comes around so quickly. They long for a way of being that feels spacious, sacred, and real. They long for a God who meets them not only in ecstasy or demise but in the humdrum, mundane and ordinary of their lives – between eating, drinking, and marrying. They long for a hope that doesn’t collapse on December 26 or whenever the Boxing Day test ends. If the church is awake to this longing, we have a gift to offer. If not, people will look elsewhere – as they are already doing. Because, you see, our scripture reading today is not directed towards the masses, towards our society, or even meant to be an indictment on our consumer-Christmas culture (as much as it would be nice to point our fingers at it). It is a text for the people who have gathered at God’s honest, uncomfortable yet loving family table – a text directed at us: that is, people who show up in these humble gatherings who feel a spark and a desire to follow this God who doesn’t become concrete, doesn’t become a theory but becomes flesh. A people who have a responsibility to take seriously this call to stay awake and expect the unexpected if not for ourselves, then for the life of the world. Because just like Matthew’s audience and their historical setting, it seems as though we are only awake to our demise. We have fallen asleep to the God who always breaks through even, if not especially, during the demise of our institutions, our customs, our cultures, our churches and expectations. Yet deep down, in the depths of our souls, beneath our quiet politeness at these pews – we want to be shaken awake. We want to believe this Messiah is not theory but reality. Why else do we come to church? Why do we provide for those who are struggling to get by? Why do we care for those on the margins? Why serve one another, pray together, sing together – unless we’re hoping to encounter the God made flesh? Unless we’re hoping for a salvation that reawakens the presence of God in us? Because our scripture today is not talking about a salvation where some will be taken and others will be left behind in some sort of ‘end of world’ drama like the TV series ‘Left Behind’ would have us believe. Salvation is the loosening of burdens we were never meant to carry. It is the freedom from the expectations of society, culture, church and even ourselves. It is the awakening of our souls to the God who is not dead but alive. Who is not asleep, but awake. Who has not only come and is on their way – but is here with us now. So, be ready. Stay awake. Expect the unexpected if not for yourself, then for the life of the world. Because the Son of Man wasn’t just born on December 25th 2000 some years ago, the Son of Man is coming in their glory, birthing amongst us — in our eating, drinking, and marrying — to offer us a way of being that shakes us awake to our soul’s deepest ache: a hope that saves. So—what are you hoping for? Because it might already be being birthed in the humdrum, mundane and ordinary of your life.