Sermon, Advent 1

Isaiah 64:1-9
Psalm 80:1-7, 17-19
1 Corinthians 1:3-9
Mark 13:24-37


Do you have a favourite piece of artwork? A painting, a photograph, a sculpture? Each of us has something that has caught our eye, from time to time. That has, for whatever reason, spoken to us. That has somehow invited us to slow down and take a closer look. It may have been in an art gallery, at the side of the road, on the television. Wherever it was, it made an impression. It could have struck us the first time we saw it, or we may have passed it by time and again without paying it any attention. We may have been uncertain about whether we liked it or not, whether we understood it or not. We may not fully understand why we’re attracted to one piece of art and not another.

My favourite painting is Van Gogh’s “A Starry Night.” I love looking at it – I even have a replica hanging over my bed. I’m not sure if it’s the genre (I tend to like the impressionists and post-impressionists). It may be that I’ve always loved stars. It could be that it simply speaks to my favourite colour being blue. I haven’t taken any art classes or have any particularly scholarly appreciation for it- I simply like it. It catches my eye, every time I see it. And I don’t think I necessarily WANT to delve deeply into the meanings and interpretations and all of that about this painting. I just want to keep looking at it and being impressed.

And the more I keep looking at the painting, the more I discover in it. It’s as though layers are peeling away in order that new layers are being revealed. It’s not just a starry night. It’s the mountains in the background to the right (the Alpilles mountain range). It’s the small town (St. Remy). It’s the olive grove just outside of town. It’s the very white church in the centre, with its disproportionally tall steeple. It’s the dark area on the left, which many mistake for a building that is actually a Cyprus tree. It’s the swirling mass in the sky, drawn almost exactly like the depiction of a spiral galaxy drawn by astronomers and widely published some 40 years previously, when Van Gogh was in his youth. It’s the sense of movement across the canvas, and the realisation that the focal point of the picture is not, in fact, in the centre – but in the many subtle details off to the side. It’s as though the artist is encouraging people to take the time to really look at what it is he sees from his bedroom window.

The thing with this painting, too, is that I have to like it for exactly what it is – a starry night. It doesn’t tell me what the future holds, it doesn’t tell me what tomorrow will be like, it focuses just on today. And it invites me to dig deeper into what it means to be caught in just this one moment. This one moment was significant enough to the artist to memorise at night and re-create the following day in the daylight, so I should take the time and effort to focus on whatever is presented in front of me.

I find a similar challenge and invitation with Advent. We’re waiting, and watching. We know something is coming. We don’t necessarily know when or how, but we know. Advent is a time for us to intentionally stop, sit back, and be aware of the world around us. Be aware of how the changing world around us is a symbol – like a fig tree preparing to blossom – that the Christ, the anointed, the Chosen one will come. We do not wait with our eyes on the clock, or the calendar, but with our eyes on the world listening to our hearts. The Latin Adventus, from where we get our Advent, comes from the Greek parousia which compels us not only to be aware as we await the second coming of the Christ but also to remember the waiting of the Hebrew people before Jesus’ appearance to Mary and Joseph.

For us in the Western Church, the season of Advent is 4 weeks, and it starts the new liturgical year. It starts on the 4th Sunday before Christmas – so today is actually the earliest day it can begin. In the Celtic Christian tradition, Advent spans 40 days, beginning 16 Nov., and is treated with prayer and reflection and fasting, much in the same way as Lent. In some traditions, there are candles lit and prayers offered daily in the gathered community; in some there is a wreath whose weekly candles are lit, in others the church bears no special attraction.

Society as a whole tends to ignore the traditions and rituals of Advent. Some of our children will follow a (loosely-called) Advent calendar (notice how they don’t follow the season of Advent but the month of December?) People will be out lighting their Christmas lights, putting up trees, shopping and baking. Shopping – yikes – this weekend, the so-called Black Friday and Cyber Monday – truly a testament to the true meaning of being a Christian society! I was appalled to hear of the violence and hatred being shown in stores, and parking lots. Especially in this time of economic uncertainty, why are people literally killing one another in order to spend money they may not have on more stuff that no one needs? This is not done to prepare for the coming of the Christ!

And so here, we Christians are challenged to really get into the meaning of Advent. We’re meant to avoid the RUSH! Mentality of the secular world and enter into a holy time of anticipating, of waiting, of watching. That’s not to say that we don’t have things to do, but that we are invited into a calmer state of mind and heart in the process, with our focus on the things that do matter this time of year.

We’re invited to recognise that God is making an impression on our hearts, in much the same way that our favourite piece of art does on our eyes. Maybe we don’t understand it, but we realise it’s there. We’re invited to look at the world around us, and be as intentional in that as we are when examining our favourite art – peeling back layers and layers of what others are skimming past, seeing more and more the presence of God’s love and grace and joy. And the harder we look for it, the more we will be delighted to find.

We are entering into this holy season with an awareness – that something new and different is coming, that everything is about to change. And so our response to this awareness is to be prepared for that change – that infusion of light into the world. Our response is to spend a reflective and calm Advent so that we’re eager and energetic and enthusiastic to meet that change, that Christ moment; rather than exhausted by the hustle and bustle. We’re invited to be entranced by just a single moment, not to be so busy that it passes us by unnoticed.
My prayer this Advent is that we all make the time to be present in the moment, recognising God’s presence in the moment.