Advent

Sermon by the Revd Dr Brutus Green

In my early twenties I started a phd in theology and literature, which took the best part of four years. In that time I met with my supervisors usually once a month – except in the summer. I went to a couple of conferences to give papers; Taught an undergraduate class for two terms and did a bit of private teaching; Led a normal student life; Spending all day in a coffee shop nursing a cold cup of coffee, hoping someone would come along and buy me another one. Spending all evening in a pub nursing a warm pint of beer, hoping someone would come along and buy me another one. I still can’t afford coffee and beer out, but happily now I don’t have time to go to coffee shops and pubs. But then I did have the most enormous amount of time. The joy of an arts doctorate is that it’s just you, your thoughts and a library. It’s kind of hard looking back to imagine having that scale of time. Vast oceans of time not tidying up, picking up poo or looking for cash under the sofa to pay for childcare.

Time. I remember someone saying as we were awaiting Secundus (as I would have preferred to call him), and seeing me looking harried and worrying about the future demands awaiting delivery, that you shouldn’t worry about the increased demands of a second child: You have no more time, so you just do everything a bit more badly. Which I found helpful, and I think is largely true.

But Time. Advent is all about time. We look backwards to remind ourselves of the promises of God. We look forwards to the return of Christ and the restoration of all things. We try to attend to the present moment, in order to ask ourselves that question: Are we ready? Are we right with our God and neighbour?

Advent reminds me of a favourite expression in the army: “Hurry up and wait.” – Said because no one cares about private soldiers’ time so it’s easier to get them on to a parade ground an hour early – even in the dead of winter – than to risk any disturbance to decorum at the arrival of a colonel. And to be fair, God – at 2000 years – is a more careless commanding officer than most. O, come quickly; [They have been singing for centuries.] If you want a slightly baroque meditation, consider how on D-Day 330,000 soldiers, airmen and sailors – That’s an entire city’s worth of people – crossed the channel – in different ways on different schedules, but all exactly co-ordinated, between midnight and morning. The secrecy was so successful it was a total surprise. The logistics of making that happen, with no leaks, is kind of staggering. The reckoning of lives is also staggering. But you can just imagine the waiting involved. Stood next to your wooden glider: “is it today?” A metaphor for Advent, perhaps.

But in faith it’s all in the waiting: TS Eliot, in chapter five of my thesis which will only ever be read by 5 people, was quoted:

‘the faith and the love and the hope are all in the waiting.
Wait without thought, for you are not ready for thought:
So the darkness shall be the light, and the stillness the dancing.’

For Eliot the movement of God is only found only in stillness. The illumination of God is found only in darkness.

If you want to know the presence of God, it begins with waiting. So yes, this Advent, turn off your phone, close the door; take your hearing aid out. Find your stillness. Discover Time, as it’s passing, not in apprehension and anxiety ahead, or regret and nostalgia behind. And I say all this as a sinner – one of us all – who is not only busy but deeply attached to his busyness. Deeply attached and deeply wailing.

Rhiannon took a last-minute gig in Kidderminster yesterday, a town known for its museum of carpet, and a via dolorosa up the M40 if ever there was one; My purgatory was to take both children to a party in a leisure centre – abandon all hope ye who enter here – submerged for two hours in the angry hiss of a bouncy castle, having interrupted half conversations while a pack of wild boys hurled themselves at each other and sugary drinks, sometimes in combination. That is the worst possible kind of waiting – of constant distraction. The boys of course adore it even when they sustain life changing injuries, and scream like foxes when they’re told we’re going.

But let us assume – for a moment – that we have found time. We are in this Advent season of waiting. What is it, as Gwen Stefani asked, what is it you’re waiting for? Isaiah reminds us that we are waiting for peace. A peace, which we are constantly reminded under the conditions of humanity, is impossible; Not least the peace of Jerusalem for which the psalmist sings; The epistle and Gospel look for the return of Christ – the day of Salvation – And end to darkness and conflict. The emphasis of these passages is readiness.

For a while in the army I was with a high readiness unit – ostensibly on 4 hours notice to move. I remember the commanding officer bringing up at a staff meeting his concern over the number of dogs he was seeing around, which might strike you as odd. But his concern was, if 500 men suddenly had to get on a plane to South Sudan, what’s going to happen to all those dogs left behind. He had great attention to detail. And perhaps we need more attention to detail. What are the things we can’t leave behind? What is it that we cannot bring before God? These are things to be discovered in waiting.

Advent is the time to look yourself in the mirror. See the receding hairline, the grey, the marks of time. Not to lament the passing of youth, but to avoid getting caught up in the little things; our pride and vanity over small accomplishments, our fear and insecurity of what we don’t want taken away. Advent reminds us that at the last everything is taken away, every scrap of civilisation, all our illusions, however honourable, clever or impressive, dispersed — every medal, certificate, reference and cosmetic addition. We will stand simply as who we are and what we have done before God. And what is more, we pray for this. O Come, O Come, Emmanuel, Come Thou long expected Jesus. These are hymns, prayers for the final resolution. Be careful what you wish for.

How is our spiritual readiness? Looking at that human animal in the mirror, accepting it for what it is, and asking how it can be better, more alive to its own suffering and the suffering of others; more honest about what really matters. Now this might all sound like boot camp – But spiritual readiness is really equanimity. peace.

Our last hymn this morning is without doubt the most rousing expression of Christian hope, penned by the great Anglican Charles Wesley. I wonder as we hear day after day of horrors across our world in another bad year, if we can raise our voices a little more than usual; Find within our hearts a little more prayer and praise to sing out our “O come quickly”. There is so little peace in our world at the moment. It’s not easy to achieve in any form; For our own hearts it needs our attention; at the very least, a once a year Advent check-up. Above all it needs time. Time not spent in doing or distraction; And that time is always hard to find. So give yourself time. Give your partner time. Not just in Kidderminster or the joy of spending time with your beloved children; But time to rediscover yourself. Your hopes, your fears, your unrealised dreams, your faith.

 I said to my soul, be still, and let the dark come upon you
Which shall be the darkness of God.