Sermon: Breathing In Advent

Micah 5:2-5

Here we are on the 4th Sunday in Advent, the last Sunday before Christmas bursts upon us. For many of us, the spiritual meaning of this season competes with the fatigue and the stress that so often accompany the days leading up to Christmas. Some have called this period the spin cycle of the year. I heard a person this week use yet another metaphor. He said that he felt as though he were in a funnel with the pressures of the season constricting and pressing in on him even to the point that breathing itself becomes difficult. So today let's pause and draw in a deep breath. Keying off our reading from the prophet Micah, let's fill our lungs with the hopeful message proclaimed by the prophet.

As we begin to inhale the prophet's hope, notice a couple of key features about the hope of which Micah speaks. In the first place, the hope that inspired the prophets is one that arises out of devastation, disappointment, and suffering. The hope that we inhaled this morning is not the sentimental, false hope of pretending that everything is okay. Rather, biblical hope arises and endures even - and especially - when there is little evidence to support it.

Certainly this was the case for the prophet Micah. His message of a future hope came at a time when the nation was in crisis and on the verge of collapse. Jerusalem was under siege. Ruler after ruler had disappointed the people's hopes. The religious establishment was corrupt and cared only about their own prosperity. The economic life of the nation preyed on the poor and exploited laborers. Yet it was in this time of gathering doom that Micah proclaimed that a new and better day was to come.

Last week several thousand American soldiers said goodbye to anxious spouses, children, and parents to head to Afghanistan as part of the President's call for a military surge. Such a surge in force, the President concluded, is necessary to address the threats in that part of the world. No one knows what the consequences of the surge will be. But we all know that resorting to arms has never been a solution to the long-term cycles of war and peace, attack and retaliation. In his massive work on the rise and fall of civilizations - twenty-eight of them now - historian Arnold Toynbee sees the beginning of every civilization rising in the triumph of war, and dissolving in the horror of siege. As soldiers continue to march off to war much as they have from the dawn of civilization, we cry, "How long. . .how long before that promised day when people will live secure and peace will extend to the ends of the earth?"

I received an e-mail this week from one of our members commenting on our Advent readings from Micah. The person expressed a sentiment that is widely shared. She wrote, "I am grappling with the passage of 700 years between the time of Micah and the coming of Christ. That's a really long time!. . .It amazes me that 2800 years later, we are still reflecting on his teachings. I'm glad that there are still some persons who are moved to follow them." It is amazing, isn't it, that in spite of the slowness, in spite of continuing evidence to the contrary, we are still moved by the prophets' hope that the world at hand is not the world that will always be.

For some of you, devastation, disappointment, and suffering feels up close and personal. Some of you have suffered painful losses, disappointments, depression, financial troubles, anxious concern for the welfare of those you love. So this morning, we draw in a collective breath of hope, the kind of hope that sustains us, especially in times of trouble, sickness, or suffering.

Yet another feature of the hope we inhale this morning is the surprising way in which hope is realized in our lives and world. Micah declares that the hope of the world will come from the village of Bethlehem, from one of the "little clans" of Judah. That phrase "little clans" also can be translated to mean least, insignificant, or lesser in social status and power. By associating hope with Bethlehem, the prophet turns our attention to the small, the quiet, the hidden ways that God is transforming the world. One of the great themes of scripture is that God chooses the least likely, the littlest, the ones of low status or the youngest to accomplish God's purpose.

Recall how Gideon declared himself to be from the weakest clan, the youngest in his family. Saul described his tribe as the "least" of those in Israel. The Lord chose David, the youngest, over his brothers. This theme finds expression again and again. We saw it in Luke's story of the visitation. Mary -young, unwed, poor - comes to a remote village to meet her older cousin Elizabeth. Elizabeth is the unlikely mother who became pregnant when she was way past childbearing years. Together these two unlikely agents of God's purpose rejoice over the hope that is taking flesh within them. Of course, the climactic expression of God working in surprising, unexpected ways comes in the announcement that the Messiah and Savior of the world is the baby lying in an animal's feeding trough.

Composer John Bell sets this theme of the unexpected aspect of God's ways in his Carol of the Epiphany. We heard this carol during our Lessons and Carols last Sunday. "I sought him dressed in finest clothes, where money talks and status grows; but power and wealth he never chose; it seemed he lived in poverty. I sought him in the safest place, remote from crime or cheap disgrace; but safety never knew his face: It seemed he lived in jeopardy. I sought him where the spotlights glare, where crowds collect and critics stare; but no one knew his presence there; it seemed he lived in obscurity."

I've enjoyed the Advent booklet prepared by the Deacons. Included in the booklet are several personal reflections. I was struck how the meaning of the season tended to come in small ways - in a faraway place, through an unexpected gesture of friendship. Perhaps in a surprising sequence of events had a certain beauty, laced with kindness. Breathing in Advent prepares us to look for God's activity in the world where it is least expected.

Now our taking a few moments to breathe in Advent has a larger purpose. We've been inhaling the hope which Advent proclaims so that we can exhale that hope as we move toward Christmas and beyond. After all, our faith is that the prophet's dream of a just ruler who brings peace to the world has indeed come and in the most unexpected, surprising way. He grew up to rule the world not as a Herod or Caesar rule. Rather he rules solely through the irrepressible power of suffering love, a love that is slowly but surely transforming the world. This is what someone has called "the great process of transformation being wrought by the creative energy of the triune God."

And friends, we are called to be participants of God's great process of transformation. Recall that when the risen Christ came to his fearful disciples, he breathed his life into theirs, gave them his peace, and sent them out to be ambassadors of peace, as a community breathing in hope and breathing out Christ's love to the world. That remains our mission today.

Are you ready? On the count of three: 1-2-3-b r e a t h e.

-San Williams, Senior Pastor at University Presbyterian Church