Sermon — November 27, 2022
The Rev. Greg Johnston
What is it that keeps you up at night?
Is it anxiety or fear about the state of the world, about mass shootings or car crashes or the small-but-real chance that the already-horrible war in Ukraine might escalate even further? Is it the midnight realization that it was Bill from accounting, who was laid off last week, who always filed Form 4562 before the end of the fiscal year and that it was Bill, and Bill alone, who knew exactly how to calculate (and I quote) “the portion of the basis attributable to section 263A costs”—and that now that responsibility is yours? Is it the grief of a difficult loss, or the memory of a painful conversation, that keeps you up at night? Or is it, perhaps, that one glass too many, one hour too late, disturbing your sleep? Or that extra helping of late-night Thanksgiving leftovers now sitting like a brick in your stomach as you lie in bed?
Maybe it’s something else. Or maybe like me, you sleep like a log all night and then wake up at 5am with your heart pounding, and you don’t know why. But I suspect that most of the adults in this room occasionally address their souls in the night with a variation on Paul’s words: “Do you know what time it is? It is not the moment for you to wake from sleep.”
Of course, there are better reasons to be up in the middle of the night, and for them we have to turn to the lives of children and teenagers. It’s one thing to wake up with your heart pounding the middle of the night worrying about Bill’s secret formula. It’s another to stay up late into the night, whispering with your friends by flashlight-light at a sleepover. It’s one thing to be up at 3am because you’re worried that the world is falling apart. It’s another to be up at 3am because you’re simply so excited that Christmas is finally here.
So what is it that keeps you up at night? Is it fear or anxiety or grief or pain, friendship or excitement or joy—or just the late-night shift at work?
Whatever it is, it’s an Advent kind of thing.
In our gospel reading today, Jesus exhorts his disciples to practice constant vigilance. I am going away, and I will return, he warns, “but about that day and hour no one knows.” (Matthew 24:36) Just as Noah’s contemporaries knew nothing of the Flood that was about to wipe them away, “so too will be the coming of the son of Man.” (24:39) Two will be in the field; one will be taken and one will be left. Two will be grinding meal together; one will be taken and one will be left. (24:41-42) “Keep awake, therefore, for you do not know on what day your Lord is coming.” (24:42) “Be ready, for the Son of Man is coming at an unexpected hour.” (24:43)
I’m not sure how they make you feel, but over time, Jesus’ words have evoked a number of different emotions among his followers. Some feel that adult anxiety and fear: will I be the one who’s brought along with Jesus when he comes, or will I be the one’s who’s left behind? Others feel that child-like excitement and anticipation: this world is good, in many ways, but the promise of “days to come” in which we “beat [our] swords into plowshares” sounds so much better that it keeps us up at night. (Isa. 2:1, 4)
But if I’m being honest, I mostly find Jesus’ words exhausting, which is its own kind of Advent emotion. You cannot, after all, keep awake indefinitely, if you do not know the day on which your Lord is coming; not for two nights, let alone for two thousand years. And I’m not just being overly literal: spiritual alertness, practiced indefinitely, is exhausting. There’s a reason that our weeks and our years and our lives come with a certain rhythm of spirituality. There are times in which we need a more active spiritual practice, and there are times in which we need to take a break, just as there are times to sleep and times to be awake.
I could stand here and urge you to practice constant vigilance, to stare out into the darkness keeping watch for God to appear, and let’s be honest, I’m a pretty charming guy. I could probably inspire one or two of you to really dive into a new spiritual rigor this Advent, an extra hour of meditation every day, or whatever it may be. But by the end of the week, you’d be worn down. Your soul needs rest just as much of your body. So “keep awake,” Jesus says. But how?
Luckily, Paul has an answer. (As usual.)
His charge to the Romans begins on a similar note to Jesus’ words, with this exhortation to wake and keep watch, for “it is now the moment for you to wake from sleep.” (Romans 13:11) Salvation is close at hand, Paul says. “The night is far gone, the day is near.” (13:12) So “let us lay aside the works of darkness and put on the armor of light. Let us live honorably as in the day… Put on the Lord Jesus Christ.” (13:12-13) And it sounds just like Jesus’ message: “Keep awake.”
But there’s a difference. The picture we get from the Gospel reading is one of Advent darkness. It is the middle of the night, and it is your job to stay awake, for you do not know when the Lord is coming. Paul gives us Advent light. It is no longer nighttime; it is day. It is no longer the time to strain to stay awake; it’s the time to wake from sleep.
Jesus warns us to stay awake in the night, because we do not know when he will come. Paul reminds us that it is no longer night, because Jesus has already come. And we are not left alone, our eyes straining in the darkness. We are left with the Holy Spirit, with the presence of Jesus, with God’s light shining out all around us, to show us where God is in the darkness.
We “put on the Lord Jesus Christ” every time we turn our minds to prayer, and the light of God that is within us seeps out through us. We put on Jesus Christ when we come to worship, to sing his praise and to receive his Body and Blood. We put on the Lord Jesus Christ when we reach out to help our neighbors in love, within this church community or outside it. And when we put on this “armor of light,” it is as if it is both day and night, because his brightness is as bright as the sun, and it drives away the darkness before our eyes.
And so we live, as always, in that “now and not yet” of Advent: in that “day and yet night” of a world in which Jesus has been born, and the Holy Spirit is among us, and yet God’s vision of a realm in which we shall learn war no more is not yet fully real. And even while we wait and watch in the dark night of this world for God to make things right, we know that it is already day, and God is already making things right in and through and for us.
So “keep awake,” this Advent. I don’t mean keep awake with anxiety or fear—at least not for Jesus’ sake—but with excitement and anticipation. Keep awake like a five-year-old on Christmas Eve, desperate to catch a glimpse of Santa’s reindeer. Keep awake and watch for what God is already doing all around you.
But remember that it is not your sharp spiritual vision that will show you the way. It is not your exertion or caffeination or even your excitement that will make this a holy Advent for you. It’s only the grace of God that will slowly turn on the lights and show you the beauty of the things that are unfolding all around you.
So put on the armor of light. Put on the Lord Jesus Christ. May you know what time it is when it is the moment for you to wake; and may God give you a peaceful night’s rest when it is time for you to sleep.