Signs of Hope: A Radical Transformation
Dr. Jim Wilson, December 16, 2007 How much attention do you pay to the Christmas cards you receive? Perhaps, you are among those who quickly glance at the card, note who it’s from, and lay it aside. I must confess that I was guilty of the quick glance approach. After which the card was placed on the wooden sleigh sitting on the dining room table where it remained until the Christmas season had passed. It wasn’t that I didn’t enjoy receiving cards or didn’t appreciate the thoughtfulness of the sender. I did. I suppose it had more to do with the rush of the season, the demands on time. Then, about five years or so ago an abrupt change occurred. I began to pay attention to the cards we received, not just who they were from but, more importantly, the images of Christmas each card offered. Images, I believe are extremely significant. Images convey meaning and express our understanding of that which is imaged. Images of Christmas, expressed on Christmas cards, witness to what Christmas means for us. They point to the reality underlying the reason for the card. In fact, it was a card with a particular image that caused me to pay attention to the cards that arrived at the Wilson home. This card was deep blue in color and featured an outline of a First Century Middle Eastern village in silver. The sky above was filled with stars, one of which dominated the night sky. Its radiant light engulfed the village and a cave behind an inn. Written along the right hand side of the card was the message: “Hope Is Born Among Us.” The striking image grabbed my attention. The message resonated with me, theologically: Christmas---the birth of Christ Jesus, God in the flesh, truly is the hope born among us; hope coming to us from the outside. And that is, in my opinion, a critical distinction. The hope proclaimed by Advent is not a hope we create or manufacture, not a hope instigated by the marketing department, not a hope in some political or economic system. It is a hope in the One who comes to us to set us free and to bring us to new life. It is a hope in the God who comes to open a way when we are convinced there is no way. It is a hope that breaks in from the outside! That is the hope communicated by that memorable card. I believe it is also the hope imaged in the Christmas card sent to us by Isaiah, the prophet, in our text for this morning. And what a card it is! Once again, Isaiah shares his vision of God radically transforming all of life as He comes to bring Israel home from exile. As one writer put it: “The prophet assaults our imaginations with images of hope where creation is set right by the work of God” Whether “assault” is too strong a word, I will let you decide. Certainly, we can say he stacks image upon image in his attempt to bring to speech that future, promised reign of God. Come and see Isaiah’s vision. Come and hear his song of God’s transforming love. The prophet’s vision bursts forth in song celebrating God’s transformation of the parched desert. The desert breaks forth in new life, the wilderness rejoices in the glory of God. He calls us to see in our imaginations the desert blossoming like the crocus, dry parched land blossoming in new life so abundantly as to rival the beauty of Lebanon and the majesty of Sharon and Carmel. What a powerful image. The desert wilderness is the very image of death. The trackless Syrian Desert seems impenetrable. There is no way out of exile. Those in exile linger in despair, without hope. They are powerless. Now comes the poet, the prophet, singing a new song, a song of hope: now painting a new vision, a vision of the desert transformed, a way opened to new life. But there is more to both sing and see. Isaiah now turns to the people themselves, a people broken and weary, a people fearful and hopeless, a people imprisoned in despair. Exile does that to people. When spirits are without hope, hands become weak, knees become feeble, hearts become fearful. Now comes the prophet singing of God’s transforming love, painting a vision of that love at work: strengthening weak hands, making firm weak knees, freeing fearful hearts, opening blind eyes, unstopping deaf ears, causing lame legs to leap, loosening speechless tongues to sin for joy. Again, what a powerful image---God’s radical transformation bringing healing and wholeness to the broken and desperate! But there is still more! Isaiah sings of streams breaking forth in the wilderness, giving drink to the thirsty ground, fitting it for a highway, a highway that shall be called “the Holy Way.” Again, the vision is one of radical transformation. Where there was no way out, God comes to open a way, a way across the wilderness, a way through the desert. Now there is reason to hope. The Holy Way is for the faithful, God’s people. Their travel will be safe for those usual dangers in the wilderness---wild animals, dry ground, evil spirits---in that place the King James Version calls “the habitat of dragons”---will no longer pose a threat. I know that place. Many of you do as well. Now it has been transformed. Isaiah concludes his vision with a great song of praise and joy. “And the ransomed of the Lord shall return, and come to Zion with singing, everlasting joy shall be upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.” Such is the Advent hope, this hope that breaks in from the outside, this hope that comes as a gift, a gift of God’s presence with us. When I listen to Isaiah’s words and imagine his vision, the words of Emily Dickinson describing hope come to mind: “Hope is a thing with feathers, that perches on the soul and sings the tune without words, and never stops at all.” Dickinson, like Isaiah before her, reminds us that hope is not to be confused with optimism. Optimism is something we manufacture. We look on the “bright side,” or we trust that things will “get better.” I am always reminded of Adlai Stevenson’s definition of an optimist. Stevenson says, “An optimist is someone who jumps off a hundred story building and as he passes the 50th floor, says to himself, ‘So far, so good.’” There is much this time of the year in our culture that speaks of optimism, masquerading as hope. Optimism cannot transform. It cannot bring us out of “the habitation of dragons.” Only hope, hope that is grounded in the One who transforms all of life, can do that. The vision prompts a question. So, let me ask you: “Where do you live?” I don’t mean your street address. I can find that. I mean, “Where do you live?” spiritually. Perhaps, your real address spiritually speaking is “the desert” or “the wilderness.” Perhaps, you are experiencing something of an exile of the spirit, a sense of hopelessness, a sense that there is no way out. Maybe a job has been lost and the prospects are minimal. Or maybe it is a marriage that has withered from a lack of nurture. Or perhaps it is a test result that is threatening. Or maybe it is a concern for a daughter or son that somehow never gets resolved. Or maybe it is a sense of guilt that holds you in it grips. Where do you live? The desert is a spiritual reality. There seems no way out. If that is true for you, listen to the prophet, hear and see his vision. Let your imagination wrap itself around the vision he proclaims. God’s advent is drawing near. A radical transformation is about to happen. The desert will bloom. The disabled will be made able. Fearful hearts will find strength. Our God once again will come once again to make a way for us, away through the wilderness, a way from exile to new life. I have seen it happen. Bill and Susan lost their seven year old son to leukemia. Not quite six months after Tommy’s funeral, Susan was driving to an appointment when she was hit by a drunken driver who ran a red light. Susan died instantly. Bill was devastated, grief piled upon grief. He became severely depressed and then went into utter despair. No one, including yours truly, could reach him. He was paralyzed and didn’t care about anything or anybody. He even rejected help from long-time friends. Then, about two years after Susan’s death, their daughter gave birth to a son, just ten days before Christmas, the first grandchild. They planned to visit Bill on Christmas Eve. John, Bill’s son-in-law, called me on Christmas Eve morning and said, “Jim, I know it’s Christmas Eve and you have services to prepare, but could you meet us at Bill’s house at 4 o’clock. We are going to introduce Bill to his grandson and would like you to be present.” I agreed to be there. When John and Ann presented the grandson, named Thomas, to his grandfather to hold, I witnessed a man being transformed right before my eyes. Bill literally shook as he sobbed, not tears of sadness but tears of joy. His face lit up. Hope, as he told me later, was born again in his heart in that very moment. Once again, God made a way when there seemed to be no way. And that brings joy, real joy, authentic joy. You may have noticed that we lit the pink or rose colored candle this morning. There is a reason for doing so. And it is not what some might think. In a third grade Sunday School class, the teacher was explaining the Advent Wreath to her students. She asked, “Does anyone know why we have a pink candle?” Sally raised her hand and shouted “I know. I know.” The teacher called on Sally, “Why is there a pink candle, Sally?” Sally confidently replied, “Because Joseph and Mary were hoping for a girl!!” No, that is not the reason for the pink candle. The reason is that the third Sunday in Advent is Gaudete or Joy Sunday. It is a day set aside for rejoicing in the hope we have been given by God’s Advent. This is the Advent joy we celebrate. Note this is about joy, not happiness. Happiness tends to be momentary, tied to circumstance. Joy is eternal. It is a gift. It does not depend on circumstance. In fact, joy can be experienced in dreadful circumstances. It is, like hope which is its ground, a God-given gift. Isaiah has presented us with an unforgettable Christmas card, one that images God’s advent as a radical transformation of all of life---a blossoming wilderness, a healed community, a way across the desert from exile to new life. This is worthy of more than a quick glance! It is a sign of hope for us, each of us. May that hope be born in us. Thanks be to God! Amen! |
