Be comforted, the exile is ending. Know that God’s Word holds your fragility together. And know this, most of all: God is with you, with this world.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Second Sunday of Advent, year B
Texts: Isaiah 40:1-11; 2 Peter 3:8-15a; Mark 1:1-8

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

“Comfort them. Speak to their heart. Cry out: prepare. Cry out God’s presence. Lift up your voice with strength.”

It isn’t often the preacher is given such clear preaching directives in Scripture. Seven times in these words from Isaiah I am commanded to proclaim, and I’m given what needs proclamation.

So, on this Second Sunday of Advent, I will do what God commands.

I proclaim to your very heart, to your inner being, this grace: Be comforted. Your exile is going to end.

For the first time for many of us, we now understand the ache of exile, the pain of separation, that God’s people knew in Babylon. We’ve willingly put ourselves into exile to care for our neighbor. We’ve kept away from gathering with loved ones. We’ve kept from worshipping together in person, a pain that is deeper because this also deprives us of God’s grace and strength we’ve relied on receiving in that worship.

But hear this: your exile won’t last. This comfort is a future hope. Israel didn’t go home immediately on hearing the prophet. But the comfort, the hope, the promise, is that the end of exile is coming.

There are now effective vaccines. This last Friday news of the first 24,000 doses coming to Minnesota was reported. Not enough yet, certainly. But two months ago we didn’t know when, if ever, vaccines would be found. Now we know there is light ahead.

You have served your term, your deliverance is coming, beloved of God.

Today I cry out to you this truth: God has something to say about your fragility.

I’m told to say you’re right when you feel how vulnerable you are, how vulnerable we are as a society, how vulnerable this world is. Surely the people are grass: the grass withers, the flowers fade, and so do we. You know this now.

Perhaps you know vulnerabilities you’ve never experienced before. The utter lack of ability to control your life, in the presence of something as destructive as a pandemic, especially since you can’t control what others do. The weakness and frustration of having a loved one whom you cannot be with to assist, to help, to protect. The reality that young and old, weak and strong, all potentially die from this. Even the realization over recent years that our institutions of democracy are vulnerable to collapse if we don’t keep watch.

But listen: God says, yes, you know how vulnerable you are now, if you didn’t before. You know you are like the grass. But I became vulnerable to death, to your human fragility, to show my life cannot be stopped by anything. Ever.

My Word, your God says on this Second Sunday of Advent, my promise of love for you in Christ, my grace that is sufficient for you, will stand forever. Will never be broken.

I climb high today, not in a pulpit because of our exile, and not on a mountain, but I stand and declare to you this day: Your God is here.

God is coming and has come into your life, into this world. As promised.

In the millions of people working for justice for all God’s children, for the dismantling of systems of violence and oppression, for the ending of the racism and sexism embedded in our society, in these, your God is and has been feeding God’s flock like a shepherd, as promised.

In the millions of care-givers and front-line workers, those working on vaccines and those dedicated leaders who seek to keep us all safe, keep you healthy, in these, your God is and has been carrying God’s flock in God’s own bosom, as promised.

In the millions who care for their neighbor in so many ways, who deliver goods and services to all who need it, who watch for any who slip through cracks (like those who used Mount Olive’s kitchen on Thanksgiving Day to feed 700 homeless people in encampments across the Cities), in these, your God is and has been gathering God’s lambs into God’s own arms, as promised.

And I say to you who are hearing this by yourself on a CD, or watching this on a computer alone in your place, or reading this a few days from now in your mailing, know this: you might feel alone and isolated. But your God is with you. Your community is praying for you, knows you, loves you, and is there for you. In these, your God is and has been with you. As promised.

And since your God is here, I proclaim this to you all: be prepared for God’s coming.

This is what our brother Peter says to you today: What sort of persons ought you to be in your patient waiting for God’s coming? People who lead lives of holiness and godliness, which will hasten God’s coming because you’ll become God’s blessing to others, a sure sign of God’s presence, God’s shepherding, in their lives.

John the Baptist calls this repentance for the forgiveness of sins. Out of your grace from God, out of your love from God, you turn from ways that harm and destroy, you straighten the crooked and level the uneven, and live into that grace and love in a new life. It’s sharing that extra coat, carrying another’s burden, John says elsewhere.

This is the highway you make in the wilderness of this world: the life of love you live because of the love you know from God, opens your eyes more and more to see God’s glory in your life, and witnesses more and more to others that God has come to them, too.

I need to repeat brother Peter’s word, though: be patient.

God is coming, but in a timing different from ours. God’s dream that all this shepherding and feeding and gathering of the lambs of God will be done through you and me and the others of God’s children means it’ll take more time than we’re always ready to be patient for. But Peter says, that’s because God wants all to come home, not by force but willingly, and will take all the time needed.

But good news: your patience is not in vain. God’s already doing this work, and you can know this glory and see it: Your exile is coming to an end. God’s Word holds your fragility together securely. And God is here, with you, and me, and this world. So be comforted.

And now this work Isaiah gave me today is given to you.

On this Second Sunday of Advent, you are now commanded to take up the cry, proclaim the comfort, the grace, and the presence of God to all God’s children.

So, get up to that mountain, or porch, or wherever you are called, and lift up your voice without fear, lift up your loving actions without doubt, and say, “Here is your God!”

In the name of Jesus.  Amen

It is the coming of God in Christ, this second coming into your hearts and lives, that helps you stay awake and even rest as you seek to be faithful in God’s work and world.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The First Sunday of Advent, year B
Texts: Isaiah 64:1-9; Psalm 80:1-7, 17-19; 1 Corinthians 1:3-9; Mark 13:24-37

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

The problem isn’t that we aren’t awake.

Every Advent we hear, “stay awake, keep watch,” and are encouraged to be about our work as we wait for the coming of God’s Christ. We’re exhorted not to get complacent, to be mindful that we are called to be God’s blessing to this world.

We know this. And frankly, our problem isn’t that we aren’t staying awake. Our problem is that we’re sleep-deprived.

The Prayer of the Day asks Christ to awaken us to the “threatening dangers of our sins.”

How could we be more awake to them? The past sixty years has jarred all of us awake to the interconnectedness of our world, how decisions we make or don’t make can harm people we’ll never meet.

“Sins” used to be only the things we did or didn’t do to people close by. We were harsh, or lied, or didn’t care for those in need next door. We still do plenty of sins like these today. But we know that there are so many more things we do or don’t do that our forebears never had to consider as sin.

Every purchase we make has the potential to support pollution or bad labor practices or corporations that abuse the poor. You can’t just buy something because it’s a good price, not anymore. We know this. We’re awake to this.

If our family is cared for and secure, housed in a good neighborhood, that’s not enough anymore. Now we know that if we’re safe and sound while others can’t earn enough to put a roof over their heads, and others face injustice and oppression that we don’t, but live in the same city we do, we can’t rest. We know this. We’re awake to this.

And we can’t decide whom to vote for every couple years and not think about the government in between, not anymore. Now we have to consider the state of our democracy, the security of the right to vote, the hidden agendas of leaders that work against the good of the most vulnerable without our approval. We have to pay attention all the time now. We know this. We’re awake to this.

Serving as Christ in times like these, with our global connectedness, it’s exhausting to stay awake for everything we’re aware we need to. Everything we want to stay awake for, make a difference in.

Awaken us to the threatening dangers of our sins? When was the last time you took any of this lightly?

Isaiah’s cry resonates deeply with me this Advent.

“O that you would tear open the heavens and come down, so that the mountains would quake at your presence,” the prophet calls out to God. “You used to act, God. You used to do marvelous things. Won’t you come down and help us?”

We know that all of us who are in Christ are anointed to serve God in the world. To love God and neighbor and be the presence of Christ to all in need, a part of God’s healing. We know God has no hands but ours, no feet but ours, no arms but ours, no voice but ours.

But with Isaiah we sometimes wonder, “God, when will you come? When will you act? Are we to do all?”

Sometimes, in these days of pandemic and serious social crises, of injustice and poverty and lack of compassion, it feels as if we’re outclassed and overcome. If we could just live for ourselves and those closest to us, keep it simple and let the world take care of itself, sometimes that sounds really good. We know we can’t, and in our hearts we don’t want to.

But it sure would feel better if we knew God was pulling some weight here, too, working alongside us, doing wonders.

We know God’s answer to Isaiah is in the child whose birth celebration approaches.

God tears open the heavens and comes down, but not with earthquake and fire. God tears open the heavens, sets aside divine power and glory, and becomes one of us. In Jesus, we see the Triune God’s answer to our plea to come and save us.

But to see how that helps today, remember that the season of Advent prepares for multiple “comings,” “advents”. One is our preparation to celebrate that tearing of the heavens 2,000 years ago at Christmas. On this First Sunday of Advent in particular, we see another is preparing for the coming of God in Christ at the end of time.

But in between, the second advent, the second coming, is what we need to hear most of all this Advent season. The coming of God in Christ to us right now, in our lives, our hearts, this world.

Today Paul says this coming is your promise.

 “God is faithful,” Paul says, “and will strengthen you to the end.” You will not lack any spiritual gift you need to serve your God in Christ.

Far from frightening you with the “threatening dangers of your sins,” Paul proclaims not only the forgiveness of your sins and failings, but the strength you need from God to be blameless before God. The advent of Christ for which you most want to pray in these days, Paul suggests, is God’s coming into your very heart. Giving you the strength, the courage, the hope you need to face today.

You know you’re awake, and trying hard. What you need to remember is that you’re not waiting for the master to return.

Christ has already come again, and lives in you. And in me. And in all God’s children. The mighty acts Isaiah asks for, the tearing open of the heavens to restore this broken earth, will happen. God has promised it. It will happen as Christ’s Spirit fills and strengthens more and more.

God is faithful, and will strengthen you  – and even let you rest at times – so that you may be blameless on the day of our Lord Jesus Christ. And through you, through all, God will restore all things. This is most certainly true.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen