Advent comes again
It is the first Sunday of Advent, the beginning of what for me ought to be a particularly sweet season of the year. Constitutionally I naturally bend towards the sentimental, towards the romantic. It is simply me, I think, and it was also part of the environment I grew up in. So, truth be told, I'd like to sing Away in a Manger today, on the first Sunday of Advent, and let our collective minds drift off to the soft, warm, pillow-like hay, and the little baby, softly cooing, his mom and dad hovering nearby.

But instead we get in our New Testament readings for today this reminder that our lives should not be riddled with debauchery and licentiousnessI mean, come on, I know that, I just want to sing but little Lord Jesus no crying he makes. And then, in the gospel reading, we have this eschatological discourse from Jesus dealing with final things. Here we have to deal with the image of two women preparing a meal together when, suddenly, in the twinkling of an eye, one is gone, and one stays. Forget all that, I just want to sing The stars in the sky looked down where he lay, the little Lor d Jesus asleep on the hay. That's all I want.

Advent does have this course quality about it; it does have this way of jarring our sensibilities. Eventually we have to deal, every year, with the rough-hewn, sweaty John the Baptist, screaming in the desert to repent. And we have to face the tough implications of the hard words softly flowing from the young and beautiful Mary. Yes, Advent is here and it forces us to push the pause button, and wait, and consider if I really do want to sing Be near me, Lord Jesus, I ask thee to stay close by me forever, and love me, I pray. Is this really what I want?

This excerpt from Jesus' end-times speech in Matthew 24 is framed by two strong declarations. The first is this:
But about that day and hour no one knows, neither the angels of heaven, nor the Son, but only the Father.

And the passage ends with this forceful conclusion:
Therefore you also must be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.

To both of these assertions probably most of us want to add our own personal ``but.'' Yes, no one knows but oh how I'd like to know, just give me a little information, please. And, yes, you must be ready but I really do have some important things to do and see first, so please, just give me a little more time.

On knowing
How can we understand this idea of knowing? What is deservedly ours to know? What is best left not to know?

We are naturally inclined to want to know. Adam and Eve didn't like the prospect of not knowing a few things. Some folks do some clever calculations, read between the lines, and figure they can know and unlock all the mysteries of the universe. Others can use knowledge of a more scientific or academic sort to make their point, or to get their way. In their own way they can be scary too, just like the end time prophets.


Clearly we live in a time where knowledge is honored, where knowing and understanding is highly valued. ``Knowledge is power,'' we say. Students go to school for a long time to gain knowledge. But we know too that knowledge can be slippery. When do we really, truly, finally know?

Colin Powell told the United Nations that we know Iraq is harboring weapons of mass destruction. But it turns out we really didn't know that, he had it wrong. Johnny marries Susie and everyone is smiling as they meet at the front of the church. But a few years later they can hardly look at each other as they say, ``I thought I knew you, but I don't know you at all.''

Anna Carter Florence of Columbia Theological Seminary writes about a Protestant pastor friend in Hungary. With the fall of Communism he gained the right to go read his file, to read about what people said about him. But this man refuses to read his file. ``What would I gain with this knowledge?'' he asks. ``Perhaps I would learn that a friend, a colleague, denounced me? That a friend betrayed me? What would I do with that knowledge? Would it make a difference in how I live? No, I do not want that knowledge. I leave it to God.''

I listen to those words and I think, you know, this man has a point. Knowing can be really dangerous. It can eat away at a person. It could cause me to decay from within, beginning right at my very heart. Therefore, I don't need to know everything. I don't want to know everything. I should just leave it to God.

But then think about lessons learned in South Africa, out of Bishop Tutu and the Truth Commission. As I understand it, this painful, laborious process in South Africa gave the powerless the opportunity to learn the truth of what had happened, of what had been inflicted, upon their loved ones. It obliged the perpetrators to share their knowledge buried within. And in these cases, in the knowing, and in the granting of forgiveness, people were empowered to begin to move on with their lives.

It seems to me that in the realm we live in, the very human environment we live and breathe, knowledge that leads to forgiveness and compassion is far superior than knowledge used for the sake of vindictiveness and revenge. So the spirit with which we receive and employ knowledge makes all the difference.

I think what Jesus would suggest is not a head in the sand approach. We don't say, we can't really, finally, ultimately ``know'' so let's not try to know anything at all. Maybe it is better to approach knowing with a sense of wonder, and amazement, that somehow even as we appropriately continue the quest for knowledge, we are constantly reminded how much we really don't know at all. We live right at the cusp of knowing, yet not knowing.

I'm recalling some of my last visits with Marden and Marianna over at their apartment. As I reconstruct it, Marden would reflect rather objectively, like the doctor he was, upon his own physical condition. His heart, his stamina, the test he just had, his ability to walkhe could step back and analyze himself. But at the same time there was this wonder, this amazement, that he had made it as long as he had. He was hoping for more, but, ultimately, he didn't know.

Be ready
There are things that happen in life that defy explanation, situations where we are forced to say that we just don't know. We don't know why an innocent person has to suffer so much. We don't know why a loving parent has to bury her young. We don't know why good and pure intentions sometimes crash and burn.

The counsel we are given is not to embark on an endless search for knowledge, nor is it to embrace fatalism, and just say it is all up to God. The word to us is, simply, be ready. Stay alert. Keep your focus. Remember the important things. Practice the important things.

Being constantly ready means possessing a consistent openness to God's in-breaking into our lives, into our world. The suggestion here is that we will be surprised. It is curious that the text likens the coming of the Son of Man to the unexpected appearance of a thief in the night. Now a thief breaking into your house in the middle of the night is a decidedly bad thing, a very bad thing. But God's surprising in-breaking into our lives, busting through the barriers, is a good thing, a very good thing.

If we are alert, if we are ready, our eyes are opened to see God all about us, even in the simplest of circumstances. We become alert to God in the neighbor, in the physical environment, in the music, and in the stranger.

In the midst of not knowing, our job is to watch and wait, and finally, to love. We don't know why it is that children have to watch their mom slowly, agonizingly, slip away. But we can be ready, and alert, to love. We can make sure her forehead is dabbed with a wet cloth, that songs are sung around her bed, that the dishes are done in the other room.

We don't know why we have to watch a loved one slip away as if into another world. The body is still here but the person we knew is practically gone. But we can be ready, and alert, to love. We can speak of the ordinary events of the day, we can sing the old, old songs, and we can put a cup of warm tea to our loved one's lips.

We don't know completely why someone has to land in jail for giving an undocumented person a ride. And we don't know why others have to live in a garage. But we can be ready, and alert, to love. We stumbled, and we are unsure we are doing the right thing, but in our groping to understand better we are better prepared for God's surprising arrival into our lives.

Ours, finally, is not so much to know as it is to be ready to love. Thanks be to God. Amen.

--December 2, 2007