Unprecedented Advent

Advent 2020 began last Sunday. And because it is 2020, I should not be shocked that it began in a bit of an unprecedented way for me. Isn’t that the word of the year? As this season of waiting; of hope, joy, and peace crept silently in with the end of the month, I stood in two different pulpits and preached messages of hope. I sang O Come O Come Emmanuel with two different congregations as the first candles of their wreaths lit up the darkness of historic sanctuaries on a cloudy morning. I felt the frayed edges of this hard year as I led familiar prayers with people I had only just met and marveled at a God who is indeed everywhere.

Last week was the week of hope according to the Advent calendar and this week we are walking through the week of peace. God chose the very first Sunday in this waiting season to send me as a substitute preacher for a pastor in our denomination. And like so many of the things God has called me to do this year, I walked hesitantly into it feeling unprepared, unqualified, and certain that he had chosen the wrong person.

I think that for most of us 2020 has spun itself around in ways we never imagined it would. Maybe you too have found yourself overwhelmed and unprepared. Even as I spoke words of peace and hope and watched the flames atop those candles last week, I struggled to process it all.

Peace and hope can sometimes feel like silly wishes made perched over dancing birthday candles. They can feel impossible.

And I wonder if that’s how it felt during all those 400 hundred years of waiting? That’s how much time elapsed between the final prophetic words of the Old Testament and the singing angels of the New Testament. 400 years where the world in solemn stillness lay; the earth was covered in the silence of God. 400 years of people lighting candles, watching the sunrise, raising kids, growing crops, cooking food, and talking with neighbors. But all without a word from their Creator.

I am certain that they began to doubt it was possible. “I will be their God and they will be my people …  I will put a new covenant in their hearts and no longer will they teach their neighbor … Know the Lord. For they will all know me.”  Those prophetic words of Jeremiah’s must have become nothing more than dead letters on a page. Because they must’ve been certain that God was never coming for them. Never. 

We don’t have many records of what it was like then. But we know. We know what it’s like to lose hope; to lose our peace of mind because God seems silent and unavailable. We know what it’s like to stand in a broken world and long for home, to lift up prayers that go unanswered, to watch others suffer, to ask the question; how long Lord? How long until you make it all right? How long until there truly is peace on earth? How long do we go on searching for you?

“The secret to abundant life [is] to believe that God is where you doubt he can be.” Ann Voskamp writes that in her book The Greatest Gift. I scribble it down and stick it to my desk. Because its truth catches me by surprise. And I’m such a forgetter. 

I stood in those pulpits amazed at a God who put words in my mouth and joy in my heart in the middle of a year like this. I felt the weight of being unworthy, unholy and unqualified. But here’s the thing. I couldn’t get over how close He was.

I forget that God doesn’t need me to create the perfect peace-filled moment for him to draw near. I forget that this season isn’t about how I feel or how much I know.

And I forget that this story of Jesus didn’t start with the star in the sky and the angels singing over a peaceful field of shepherds. It started in a garden with a huge mistake.

And it didn’t stop during the 400 years of silence. The words God had spoken through the prophets didn’t stop being true. “How can I give you up Ephriam? How can I hand you over Israel? My heart is changed within me. For I am God and not man; the Holy One among you. They will follow the Lord.” He’s always been coming for us. We may lose our hope, our minds, our peace, and our way. But we can never lose him. Because Jesus never loses sight of us.  

Where do you least expect to see him? In your messed up relationships? Your out of control kids? Your high stress job? Your finances? A year full of darkness? Where do you think Jesus cannot go? Where do you think he cannot bring peace? 

Hear him speak these words into that place..“Peace. My peace I leave with you. I do not give as the world gives. Do not let your hearts be troubled and do not be afraid” (John 14:27).

 It’s the thing I struggle with the most. Peace doesn’t always mean the absence of strife. It doesn’t mean I present all of my perfect to God for approval. Jesus was pretty clear about this. “In this world, you will have trouble, “he said. Yeah. We know about trouble. “But take heart, he continued, “I have overcome the world.” 

The 400 years of silence was broken with the coming of the Prince of Peace into a world that knew no peace.

So maybe that’s it? Peace is knowing that he comes for us even when we can’t see him. Peace is lighting candles in the darkness and trusting that it matters.  It’s being convinced that even in the middle of all that is wrong, peace on earth and goodwill toward men is still possible. 

And it’s believing what the great theologian C.S. Lewis said is true, “God can’t give us peace and happiness apart from Himself because there is no such thing.” 

The Sunday of hope ended in both churches with a benediction; one I was nervous about giving. Who am I to declare a blessing on these lovely people who seek the Lord so earnestly? But as I stepped away from the pulpit and towards the people, the Lord raised my hand over them and spoke through me, “May the Lord bless you and keep you, may he turn his face toward you and be gracious unto you and give you peace both now and into the week ahead”.

And that’s when I got it. This isn’t nearly as much about me as I think it is. The blessing isn’t mine. The peace and hope aren’t mine; none of it is mine. It is all found in Jesus. He’s it. He is the unprecedented gift of Advent. Even in the middle of this unprecedented year. May he bless you and keep you today.

Alleluia. Amen.