The First Sunday of Advent, Year C
December 1, 2024
Jeremiah 33:14-16, 1 Thessalonians 3:9-13, Psalm 25:1-9, Luke 21:25-36
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“Waiting in Hope”
The Very Rev. Kathleen Murray
Historic Beckford Parish, Mt. Jackson & Woodstock
Today marks the beginning of Advent, a season of anticipation and preparation.
We begin the church year anew, and, more importantly, we await the coming of Christ –
both the child in the manger and the triumphant One who will come again. Advent
invites us to pause, to hold the tension between what is and what will be, to dwell in the
"already" and the "not yet" of God's reign. It's a time to recalibrate our hearts, to orient
ourselves not just to what we see in the world but to the promises of God.
The Gospel passage from Luke is strikingly apocalyptic, full of signs in the sun,
moon, and stars, roaring seas, and fainting hearts. At first glance, it might feel out of
place as we light candles and sing about peace and hope. Yet, Jesus' words call us to
reframe our understanding of these unsettling images. Advent is not merely about cozy
nostalgia but about bold, unshakable hope – the kind that can weather even the darkest
storms.
Amid the chaos described in today's reading – cosmic upheaval and fear – Jesus
tells his followers to "stand up and raise your heads, because your redemption is
drawing near." 1 It's a striking contrast: where the world sees terror, Jesus sees a sign of
hope. Where others shrink back, Jesus calls us to stand tall. Advent is not a season for
passive waiting but for active, hope-filled vigilance, trusting that God's promise of
redemption is sure.
This invitation to stand tall resonates deeply with me because I've experienced its
truth in my own life. Thirty years ago, right before my birthday, my mother died. We
buried her the day before my birthday. Just 11 months later, my grandfather – her father
– died. Seven months after that, my father died. Those months were some of the
hardest in my life, marked by grief upon grief. How could I be hopeful when I was
surrounded by loss?
And yet, Advent came anyway, with its message of hope that refused to be
extinguished.
Three months after my father's death, something unexpected happened. I met
Marty. Through that meeting, I found myself attending an Episcopal Church for the first
time. When Advent came later that year, in the quiet beauty of the liturgy and the
promise of Emmanuel – God with us – I felt a flicker of hope return. It wasn't dramatic or
overwhelming, but it was real. That flicker taught me something essential: Advent
1 Luke 21:28, New Revised Standard Version (“NRSV”)
reminds us that God's promise still stands even when everything seems lost, or the
world feels impossibly broken.
How, then, do we wait in this Advent hope? Paul gives us some guidance in his
letter to the Thessalonians. He prays that the Lord may increase our love and abound
for one another and all. 2 Paul reminds us that love is not something we wait to feel; it is
something we practice. Advent waiting is not idle or indifferent; it is active, shaped by
acts of love that mirror God's overflowing love for us.
This active love is something we see alive in our community. Jesus tells us to "be
on guard" in Luke 3 , but his call is not to fear. It's a call to attentiveness. We are to watch
for signs of Christ's coming not only in dramatic events but also in everyday moments of
courage, compassion, and grace. Consider, for instance, the simple act of gathering for
our community Thanksgiving meal.
In 2019, 23 people shared in fellowship. Then COVID-19 disrupted our
Thanksgiving tradition, isolating many of us. Yet, in 2023, we cautiously resumed our
gathering and had 46. This year, attendance grew to 69. Each meal shared represents
more than nourishment; it is a sign of hope – of connection overcoming isolation, of
community rebuilding its bonds. Here, in a meal shared among neighbors, we see the
light of Advent breaking into the world.
We see this same light in the work of Emmanuel's Table. This ministry recently
received a $3,000 grant from the Food Lion Feeds Charitable Organization. With these
funds, we can expand our offerings and serve even more families. What is this but a
tangible sign of God's provision, flowing through the generosity of others? It's a
reminder that Advent hope is not abstract; it takes shape in the love we share and the
care we extend to one another.
Reflecting on these examples brings us back to Paul's words. When Paul urges
us to let our love increase and abound, he calls us into a life that actively participates in
God's ongoing work in the world. This participation isn't just about the grand gestures
but the daily acts of care and generosity. It is the countless, small ways we choose love
over fear, hope over despair, and community over isolation.
These moments also help us reframe what it means to be watchful in Advent.
Too often, when we hear apocalyptic imagery or talk of the end times, it's framed in fear
or anxiety. But Jesus' words offer a different perspective. He calls us to see the signs of
God's reign breaking into the world not as warnings of doom but as promises of hope.
The signs of Christ's coming are not always found in the grand or catastrophic, but in
the quiet, persistent ways God's presence becomes visible: a shared meal, a generous
grant, a family served. These moments are Advent moments, where hope takes root
and love transforms the world.
2 Cf. 1 Thessalonians 3:12, NRSV
3 Cf. Luke 21:34, NRSV
As we continue our journey through this season, we are invited to deepen our
attentiveness. What are the signs of hope and love around us? Perhaps they are in the
resilience of our community, gathering again after years of isolation. Maybe they are in
the generosity of those who support ministries like Emmanuel's Table. Or perhaps they
are in the quiet, unassuming ways we show kindness and compassion to one another
each day.
This season also challenges us to reflect on how we might embody the hope and
love we await. How can our lives become Advent signs for others? How can we bear
witness to God's presence, even amid uncertainty? Advent reminds us that we are not
only recipients of God's promise but also participants in God's unfolding reign.
Remember that this work of love and hope does not depend solely on us. Advent
teaches us that God is the primary actor, moving through us and beyond us. God's reign
is unfolding, even in ways we cannot yet see. And we are invited to participate in this
sacred work not out of obligation but out of joy.
So, as we light the candles on our Advent wreaths and lift our prayers for the
world, let us stand tall. Let us raise our heads, even amid uncertainty, and open our
hearts to the God who comes to us time and again with love that cannot be contained
and hope that cannot be extinguished.
Together, as a community, we are called to reflect the light of Christ. This is the
heart of Advent: living as people who await Christ's coming while bearing witness to
Christ's presence here and now. The days are surely coming, my friends. And by God's
grace, we are already part of their unfolding.
Amen.