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The Third Sunday in Advent December 13, 2015

This Weekend's Readings (click each reading to view the passage)

Zephaniah 3:14-20; Isaiah 12:2-6; Philippians 4:4-7; Luke 3:7-18

Pr. Christine's Sermon: Where Are You Advent?

Children's Sermon: Sing a Little Song of Joy

Christmas Cantata - 2015

Christmas Pageant 2015 - 'Twas the Light Before Christmas

Sermon Notes from Pastor Christine...

This has been one of the darkest Advent seasons I can remember. We are afraid of so much and so many. There is much hate, dissension, and unrest at a time when we should be celebrating the impending birthday of the Prince of Peace. I have had more than one person share with me that they just aren't 'feeling it' this year. Things are not as they should be...

It's our responsibility within the church to talk about sensitive and problematic subjects such as: terrorism, hate crimes, racism, war mongering, poverty, and politics. We are called to not be silent. Frequently our Advent readings remind us to be vigilant, keep watch, stay awake. As many within Christian communities have touted over these last few weeks: Not on my watch!

As people who love Jesus our hearts are grieved at the overwhelming needs of the world and our intellect has become saturated with our duty to respond. And all the while, our souls yearn desperately for the promised joy, hope, and light of the season.

Where are you Christmas? Or at least... Where are you Advent?

We really do need Advent this year! So, while my natural inclination is to push us - I might be a little more John the Baptist-y than I like to admit, although I promise to never call us a 'brood of vipers' - I need, which in turns tells me that you all might also need... some hope and joy to hang onto right now.

We need the prophets of old - Zephaniah and Isaiah - to sing the promise to us again. Somehow, even in the midst of everything swirling around them, they continue to hold onto a beautiful and exciting hope. They are all abundant with joyful exhortations. Actually, abundant may be an understatement: the good news for this Sunday, according to them, is ecstatic and unequivocal, calling us to join in their song. "Rejoice," they say. "Again, I say rejoice!" Their exuberance is almost contagious.

How, Isaiah, how do we sing in times such as these?

The words we have from Isaiah are actually lyrics to a song, so in this case, it's more accurate to call Isaiah a singer/songwriter. The singer's song is placed in a decisive and crucial position within the entirety of the book of Isaiah. Our text follows Isaiah's prophecy of God's judgment and cleansing of Israel and the song also falls prior to God's messages of deliverance and comfort.

It is situated in between sorrow and joy; despair and hope. This placement reminds us that the human heart can hold many things at one time. And not just at one time, but in one place. Grief, sorrow, and sadness can widen our hearts beyond anything we ever imagined. It is wondrously strange, how in the deepest, sharpest grief, joy and hope still come and inhabit the very same space. One does not negate the other. They abide together.

Isaiah does something curious, something unexpected, something you just don't think to do when life sucks. He invited the Israelites, even though they were experiencing physical, emotional, and spiritual trauma, to sing.

A little known fact about me:

For the first 3 years of college I was a music major, with my primary instrument being flute and my secondary being piano. My first class on Tuesdays and Thursdays for all three of those years was Dictation, which basically meant listening to tunes and transcribing them onto staff paper. We'd dissect the melodies and harmonies, exploring how the composer used music to portray and evoke an emotional reaction from the listener.

Well, I'm practically tone deaf, which is why I'm not a singer, but I was excellent at reading music, so this class was a mixture of challenge and delight for me. Guessing what notes to write on the page based on what I heard was next to impossible for me, but dissecting the lines of music once I had them in front of me was intriguing.

I say all of this because that's what we are going to do with Isaiah's song, although luckily for me, I don't have to transcribe the notes to get to the meaning.

See, I'm a practical person. I want to know why Isaiah made the people sing when the last thing on earth they probably felt like doing was singing. It seems his rhetorical strategy was to call them to praise God with joy, even if they didn't feel like it, so that they would know joy. It was that simple. Well, not simple. But it was that clear.

If either my Dictation teacher or my Music Theory teacher was walking us through this song, she would point out that this song can be broken into two sections, verses 1-3 and verses 4-6. However, the first big problem with that is we aren't provided verse 1 in our lection today. Which is weird in and of itself. The whole song is provided, save this one verse. Why?

So the verse is: "You will say in that day: I will give thanks to you, O Lord, for though you were angry with me, your anger turned away, and you comforted me."

Now, I think the reason they left this verse out is because the second section starts with the same words, "You will say in that day," so why be redundant? BUT, it's an important phrase, if we remember Isaiah's purpose: to get the people singing!

I try not to do this too much when I preach, but in this case I think it's significant. There is a linguistic difference between the two parallel phrases that the lectionary developers didn't consider when they dropped this verse of Isaiah's song.

And it's the word 'you.'

In the first verse of his song the 'you' is singular.

In the fourth verse of his song the 'you' is plural.

This singular 'you' in the beginning of the song has intimately experienced God's faithfulness so much so that he (or she) can't help but sing. And it is precisely because that one, singular person refuses to let their song be shushed, that the other 'you's in verse 4 begin to sing.

What began with an individual's joy now becomes a community's joy. And as the song progresses, joy about God escalates in volume. I imagine it's almost deafening. SING! Believing community! SING! Actually, I imagine it's like that scene at the end of the Grinch that Stole Christmas when they all join in the "Fahoo Fores, Dahoo Dores" song.

You can't leave off verse one. It reminds us that someone, somewhere needs your song, no matter how small or off-key. It might just invite someone into joy.

Basically, Isaiah had two choices:

He could say to the people, "You just have to believe."

Or, he could say, "Sing this song with me."

This isn't a new song. These aren't new words. These are words to the old familiar songs of God's love and faithfulness to them. They've been singing them for generations.

As just one example, verse 5 is borrowed from Miriam's song, found in the Exodus story. Miriam was a prophetess who took a tambourine in her hand and beckoned all the women to follow suit, with tambourines and dances. Miriam called them to sing to God. All the other verses in Isaiah's song are taken from other songs too, found in Psalms and Exodus.

"Remember," Isaiah says, "Remember the song of your people; the song of your heart; the song of God."

Zephaniah, Isaiah, and Paul also testify to the fact that a person, a community, a nation does not need to be in perfect harmony in order to sing praises to God. Sometimes the best songs are sung in the midst of dire circumstances.

Advent is a season for remembering that the joy that makes its way toward us does not depend on mere happiness. Joy is made of stronger stuff than the world is throwing at us. Joy is what comes when our days tempt us toward despair and we still choose to celebrate - not in denial, but in defiance. In hope. In delight. In gladness for the One who comes to sing for us and with us.

So, we sing of the coming of the Immanuel, of the joy of the world, of the baby tucked away in the manger, of shepherds keeping watch by night, and of angels from the realms of glory. And in the singing, we come to believe what the songs say and find our joy again. Amen.