Hope and the Works of Light

Third Sunday of Advent
December 11, 1977

Isaiah 35:1-6, 10; James 5:7-10; Matthew 11:2-11

I look out my window on this crisp fall morning and see a contrast of darkness and light. My home is in a basement apartment in the middle of the city. At the farthest point of what I can see is a beautiful towering tree bathed in the early morning sun. The tree is robed in the glorious colors of autumn.

But this wondrous view is enclosed in bars. I live in the city and persons before me have learned that there can be danger in the darkness. My comfortable apartment has windows with bars over them. I possess what others would like to have. And I too must admit this same concern for security.

The fences in my line of vision have been erected to keep me out of the space and life of my neighbors. Each claims his or her own fiefdom in these small tracts which are so valuable in the city. My heart is warmed by the thought that the squirrels and the birds are not intimidated by the fences.

I see garages. Old garages of aging brick and rusting metal acting as storehouses for our modern symbol of wealth, the highly-polished automobile. Or, if the car be abandoned, we store our accumulated junk there. Things cast out of our home but with which we cannot yet part, we store there for holding. And the phenomenon of "garage sales" tells us that we cannot even bear to give away our refuse.

All of these human works are still shrouded in the early morning darkness. But through all of the jungle of "civilized life" I can see the tree of light. And I have hope!

The readings for the Third Sunday of Advent speak to us of hope. They teach us that this hope which comes from above calls us to be patient and steadfast. There is a tenacious spirit demanded of those who are rooted in the Light who comes to those who choose faith. We are to wait expectantly for God's final coming in the fullness of glory. But even now the light of Christ shines in the darkness both through our common life in the community of faith and in our works of mercy in the world.

Isaiah foretold it long ago. The time will come when the parched land and the desert will exult and bloom with abundant flowers. The glory of the Lord will be revealed. Feeble hands will be strengthened and weak knees will be made firm. Therefore we can say to our frightened hearts, "Be strong, fear not!"

In spite of all appearances, life is the final word and not death. Our God will come to save us. God will come in the very midst of the darkness and prisons of our lives. No matter how barren the land may seem, the harvest of God's promise is assured. The Lord God of Israel is faithful and worthy of trust. God's promise will be fulfilled.

How can we know? We will see the vindication of the Lord's word in the lives of people:

Then will the eyes of the blind be opened, the ears of the deaf be cleared;
Then will the lame leap like a stag, then the tongue of the dumb will sing.

God's word comes alive in the works of salvation and wholeness wrought by divine love in our own brokenness and darkness.

John's disciples asked, "How can we know if you are the one?" Jesus told them to look at what he had done: the blind saw, cripples walked, lepers were cured, the deaf heard, the dead were raised to life, and the good news was preached to the poor.

Is this of the earth, or is it from above? Are these the works of darkness or of light? The new has broken into the old, and our despair can be transformed by the works of light. Indeed, Jesus hints at the greatness possible for us if we will choose for the kingdom. John the Baptizer was a great person, but the least one born again in the kingdom is greater than he. One can almost see the angels standing on tiptoe to see the works of mercy we will perform in the name and the power of his love.

Still we look around us and see so much that is barren wasteland. Darkness descends at times and we are chilled by its power. James tells us that we must hold on even in the midst of the most severe hardships. We are to be patient and steadfast like the farmer who waits with perseverance through the long bleak winter for the precious yield of the soil after the spring rains.

Advent reminds us that Jesus is always close at hand. If we steady our hearts on him, we can patiently and calmly search out the light even in the closest darkness. James points us back to the prophets as our models in patiently dealing with the hardships of darkness. Christ gives us the victory as we steadfastly perform the works of love and patiently and obediently wait for him to come in fullness when and as he wills. The victory is as certain as his coming.

Father Delp wrote these words from his prison cell in Nazi Germany. Like Bonhoeffer, he was imprisoned because he believed in and lived the gospel of truth and freedom. For him as for Bonhoeffer, execution was the certain conclusion of his earthly days. Father Delp wrote:

God's promises are always before us; they are more constant than the stars, more effective than the sun; they heal us and set us free. They transform us and widen the compass of our existence to infinity. In the face of the promises even grief loses its bitterness; trouble discloses inner courage and in loneliness is sown the seed of trust.--The Prison Meditations of Father Delp.

Fourth Sunday of Advent
December 18, 1977

Isaiah 7:10-14; Romans 1:1-7; Matthew 1:18-24

Immanuel. "God is with us." This is stupendous meaning of Christmas. The almighty God, creator of the heavens and the earth, has stooped down and is with us. The one who is the Lord of us all has come in love to be one with us. The Divine has become flesh and has declared once and for all that flesh is redeemed. In the grace of God we can grow into oneness in the world.

It is in our growing submission to the will of Jesus and our shared servanthood with him that the good news of Immanuel becomes transparent to the world in which we live. People who rub up against us should have some of Immanuel rub off on them.

And the sign of this fact is that he comes as a weak and vulnerable little baby. Love comes to us with all defenses down. Love comes to win us and not to overwhelm us, nor to bind us into a new slavery. Paul tells us that this Jesus is a descendant of David in the flesh, "but was made son of God in power, according to the spirit of holiness, by his resurrection from the dead." Our flesh is the point of our weakness, but it is through this very weakness that God's power can work itself out in the world. This is a marvelous and a humbling promise to claim.

Poor Joseph! He had found himself a beautiful young wife, but before they lived together "she was found with child through the power of the Holy Spirit." What was he to do? The only honorable course was to divorce her quietly.

God rarely does things the way we would expect him to. God is not bound by our conventions and our finitude. We will never be able to bind the Infinite into our own narrow systems and legalisms.

Our dreams, which rise up from the depths of our deepest self, can convey to us the message of the Infinite. An angel of the Lord appeared in a dream to Joseph, and shared with him the great mystery of his life and the Life for all of us. Mary was to bear a son who would save his people from their sins. Therefore he was to be named Jesus, the Greek form of the Hebrew name Joshua, which means "Deliverer" or "Savior." We recall the promise of Isaiah, and link the new baby with "Emmanuel." Through him God comes to be with us. When Jesus comes to you, there is God.

So do not let the tinsel sparkles and the silvery bells seduce you from the awe-filled meaning of this event. God has come to us in the weakness of our flesh and the concreteness of our world; through God and in God possibility is infinite. God has come to tell you of God's love for you and of God's desire to be at one with you.

In God is the power of redemption and of victorious life--if you will receive God as a little child. Before a little child, how easy it is for us to realize our own vulnerability and our own aching need. It is at that point that we can invite God in and give over our hearts to God as God's "cradle," as Luther puts it.

Again I recall the words of Father Delp in his prison cell:

The man who, in his inner being, has entered into the perfect relationship with God fulfills the real purpose of his existence.... Such a man discovers his real self because he has put his mind in order.... His soul begins to sing and he has a vague awareness of the stirring of deep fountains... until eventually he comes to the full realization of truth in the Lord. And the day will come when the singing sold, will be ready to join in the ultimate alleluia. All this is true-provided man takes the essential first step of relinquishing his personal self of his own free will. Only thus can he come to the necessary state of receptivity.

My Christmases have never been the same since first reading Father Delp. For he has reminded me that the Advent of God into the world is a continuing work of the Holy Spirit in every new life that is born. And that in my life there is the continuing emergence of the work of conversion. That in my own life there is the ongoing event of creation. I am never at a place where I cannot be made new in Jesus Christ, where I need not be made new in his grace. I only know life as I live it out of the grace and the forgiveness of Jesus.

And this gives me hope for the world. For this same unfolding of God's inscrutable purpose is working its way out in the lives of my sisters and brothers who have given their lives over to Immanuel. Jesus says to us as he said to the followers of John the Baptizer, look to the places where there is healing, where the dead are raised to life and the poor have the good news preached to them, and you will know that I am present.

When this article appeared, Conrad Hoover had served as the retreat master of Church of the Saviour in Washington, D.C. This is the second of a two-part series on Advent.