Sermons

pastorEric aug2014Mt. Olive Lutheran Church
Sermon for 3rd Sunday of Advent 
By Rabbi Neil Comess-Daniels -

 

 

 

First, I offer my early, heartfelt wishes to you all for a happy, healthy, hopeful and merry Christmas.

 

My father served in the army in World War II. He was a Warrant Officer, having a specific administrative and active responsibility. He primarily served behind the front lines, organizing and leading truck caravans bringing supplies near enough for others to funnel goods to the frontline troops. For the lines of trucks to accomplish their mission with the slightest possibility of detection, they mostly moved at night. When my dad told those stories about nighttime convoys, I couldn't imagine how dark it was for my dad and those he commanded. It was a dark I had never known, with no ambient or reflective light. I got a taste of it when the camp where I was a counselor took the kids on an overnight outside under the stars. However, that was an intense darkness in relative safety. Years later, when the Northridge Earthquake hit, we all had a more intense experience in the dark. That was darkness coupled with fear. Fear was the component I couldn't envision when my dad recalled his time in the war. If you recall, it was mid-January, and the quake struck at 4:30 in the morning, less than a month after the Winter Solstice, so the nighttime was still much longer than the daylight. We had two young children and two dogs. My wife leaped out of bed. Speaking loudly above the noise of the rolling and rumbling, she said, "You get the dogs! I'll get the kids!" It was completely dark in the house and outside. I heard crashing glass, but I couldn't see where it fell. Somehow all six of us found our way under the kitchen table to wait out the aftershocks. We could barely see each other. We received the gradual dawn as a real blessing when it finally arrived. Some of our fear started to dissipate as the darkness retreated.

 

This is an amazing time of the year. The shorter days have an inherent beauty, but the lack of sunlight takes an emotional, physical and spiritual toll. Our most ancient ancestors felt the impact more viscerally than most of us. For them, these were days of dread. For them, it felt as if the life force of the Universe itself was fading. It is not unlike what the Talmudic rabbis tell about Adam, the first human, as the days began to get shorter when Adam experienced the first Winter Solstice.

 

quote gentilnessOur Rabbis taught: When Adam saw the day getting gradually shorter, [Adam] said, 'Woe is me, perhaps because I have sinned, the world around me is being darkened and returning to its state of chaos and confusion; this then is the kind of death to which Heaven sentenced me!' So, [Adam] began keeping an eight days' fast and praying. But as [Adam] observed the winter solstice and noted the day getting increasingly longer, [Adam] said, 'This is the world's natural course.'"

 

        Similarly, according to the rabbis of the Talmud, Adam experienced something akin to this when he witnessed the first sunset. Paralleling his response to the Solstice, he began to weep and mourn when he first saw the Sun seemingly sink into the horizon. The rabbis envision that God gave Adam two flints which somehow Adam instinctively knew to strike against each other to produce fire. My colleague, Rabbi Noah Cheses, notes that Adam responds to these two encroachments of darkness in two different ways. In the first, Adam takes initiative, striking the flints - forcing light into the dark. In the second, Adam waits to see if Adam's worst fears will come true and when they do not, Adam gains a new, comforting understanding.

 

        Our Jewish and Christian forebearers knew well the experience of intense darkness and the trepidation and anxiety it produces. Surrounding both communities was a vast majority that still commemorated the Winter Solstice. In fact, among the more assimilated Jews and the still-evolving early Christians, many adherents acknowledged the Solstice along with the majority. Most people were not willing to risk believing what was an apparent permanent conclusion for Adam, that the Solstice was part of the natural rhythm of the Universe. So, they "hedged their bets," as the saying goes, participating in sacrificial ceremonies that reached out to the forces of the Cosmos, begging the Sun, light, and warmth to return. Early on in their development, neither Judaism nor Christianity institutional leadership thought it was essential to address this primal fear of so many Jews and members of Christianity's fledgling communities.

 

        Today's texts from the lectionary reveal the beginnings of how both religious bodies ultimately developed canonical responses to Winter Solstice rituals that combined historical events and spiritual conceptions. Speaking from the heart of the oppression and "darkness" of the Babylonian Exile, the prophet Isaiah speaks boldly to the Jewish people. He encourages them to hold firm until the coming of the Mashiach, the anointed king of Israel, a descendent of the Davidic line, who will defeat our captors and return us to the "light" of our sovereign land. The prophet Tz'fanyah prophesies similarly. As a mouthpiece for God, he says:

At that time (meaning the end of the Exile), I will gather you,
And at [that] time I will bring you [home];
For I will make you renowned and famous
Among all the peoples on earth,
When I restore your fortunes
Before your very eyes
—said the LORD.

      

  In a corresponding pattern, the Christian texts for this third Sunday in Advent are anticipatory texts for the spiritual light that Jesus's presence will bring to the world. In the Philippians text, Paul tells the Philippians:  

 

Let your gentleness be known to everyone. The Lord is near.  Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.  And the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus.

 

Isn't it wonderful how Paul highlights "gentleness" as Christian behavior and declares it a virtue?!

 

By comparison, the words of Luke come out as pejorative, taking the Jews to task for holding on to their Jewish spiritual legacy and not becoming Christians:

You brood of vipers ... Do not begin to say to yourselves, 'We have Abraham as our ancestor;' for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.

      

  Honestly, it's difficult for me, as a Jew, to reconcile Luke's choice of the word "vipers" to describe my people. It is also challenging to hear Luke say that Jewish loyalty to the spirituality and laws of Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Sarah, Rebekah, Leah, Rachel, Moses, and Miriam makes them (and me) no more worthy of redemption than a bunch of stones. Finally, the image of Jews as chaff that Christians will throw into the fire is anything but an apt reflection of the faith and faith-in-action of Christians I know like those at Mt. Olive Lutheran Church.

 

        Eventually, themes like those of Paul about the power of gentleness prevailed. Motifs of peace, calm, and, of course, light predominate the celebration of Jesus's birth. Likewise, for the Jewish people, we turned a military victory over Greco-Syrian conquest into a celebration of a miracle from God. We represent that miracle with light. Our cultures took the light used at this season by ancients to assuage their superstitious fears and repurposed it into a symbol for possibilities of hope, peace, and love. Transcending even those essential virtues was an understanding that a divine spirit exists that undergirds and unites the entire Universe. Call that divinity Jesus, call it Adonai, call it Allah or whatever you will. Judaism and Christianity gifts this reinterpretation of light to all humanity. We deliver the gift, not by coercion but by becoming active exemplars for how that light dispels hatred, anger, suspicion, prejudice, divisiveness, and doubt. May we all so live.

 

Rabbi Neil Comess-Daniels
Rabbi-in-Residence - Mt. Olive Lutheran Church
Santa Monica, California
Sermon for:
December 12th, 2021


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