Romans 13: 8-14
Good morning, grace and peace—and I would say as well, “Happy New
Year!” Advent Sunday. The great story, the year of the Church and
the pattern of our Christian lives now again to be renewed and refreshed. Lots happening
in the patterns of our worship to mark the New Year, as we hear new themes and
language in the collects and prayers, the hymns, anthems, and readings.
I tend to think of Advent as in some ways the richest time of the year,
because it is centered in this sense of deep Christian hope. We prepare ourselves to hear again the story
of Jesus, his incarnation, his birth in Bethlehem on Christmas, his teaching, his works of power, and then his
death, resurrection and ascension—all about to unfold between now and Easter,
the journey again from the Manger to the Cross.
And at the same time Advent explores what God is about to do, in our
lives and over all creation. When Christ
will come again. Someone has described
this as a season of “already, but not yet.”
A season of assurance and anticipation.
Catching us leaning forward for the fulfillment of the victory that has
already been accomplished. The four
candles on the wreath not intended mainly as a countdown to Christmas, but as a
reminder of what are sometimes called “the Four Last Things.” To cut through the superficialities of life
and to turn to the concerns that we need to deal with now, before the Great Day
of his coming. So, four candles, the
four weeks traditionally: Death and
Judgment, Hell and Heaven. The world
around us in this season in so many ways seems to say, “let’s just have our
party now, eat, drink, and be merry--and we can worry about the collateral
damage and the credit card bills some other time.” But Advent says, “pay attention.” He will come when we least expect him. Sleepers, wake up!
As I approach Advent every year I like to find different ways to
explore it, to tease out different perspectives, images, vocabularies, new
layers of meaning. This year I’ve found
myself drawn in our Sunday lectionary to the four Epistle lessons for the four
Sundays, three from St. Paul’s Letter to the Romans, one from the Letter of St.
James. These readings in Year A of our
lectionary seem very rich as ways to frame our spiritual reflection. I’ve printed up a set of the readings
together. What I thought I would be
doing personally would be taking the handout and simply keeping it by the chair
where I do my devotional praying and reading in the morning and evening, and during
the next four weeks reading the Epistle for the week over from time to time and
to allow it to have some space to influence how I approach my day to day life. Kind of a self-guided mini-retreat. Anyway, there are copies out in the narthex
and over in Brooks Hall if you’d like to join me in this. (And as aside, I’d encourage you also to put
the morning of Saturday, December 10th, on your calendar, as a time
to come together for what in the past few years we’ve called “A Quiet Morning
in Advent.” Carving out two or three
hours in what sometimes is such an over-programmed and busy season for a time
of reflection—and I’m very pleased that Susy Robison has agreed to lead the
Quiet Morning this year. )
So to turn to Romans 13. Paul is
writing to the Christians of Rome before he comes to visit them for the first
time. When he writes to Corinth or
Galatia or Thessalonica or Ephesus he is writing to congregations that he
founded or helped to found or at least has visited on his missionary
journeys. They know him well, and he has
an established pastoral authority. But
as Paul prepares a mission to Rome he writes to introduce himself to the Roman
Christians. We might say that he
presents his resume. He offers an
expansive overview of the great themes of his preaching and teaching of the
gospel and of his understanding of the implication of that gospel in the lives
of individual Christians and in the life of the Christian community as a
body. He writes to assure the Roman Church
that even though they haven’t met him yet, and perhaps have only heard of him
by reputation, the gospel he will preach when he arrives and the pastoral
direction he will offer will be in accord with what they have already heard and
known in the preaching and teaching of the other apostles.
Our passage from Chapter 13 comes toward the end of the Letter, and it
has been since 1549 the appointed Epistle reading for Advent Sunday in Anglican
Prayer Books. So if we do spend some
time with the passage during this week we’ll be connecting with some pretty
deep roots in our tradition. The critical point of the reading in verse 12,
which includes the phrase that Archbishop Cranmer uses in his Collect for this
first Advent Sunday. Paul says, “Let us
then cast off the works of darkness and put on the armor of light.” The armor:
Paul uses similar imagery in Ephesians 6 when he encourages the
Christians of Ephesus to “take the helmet of salvation and the sword of the
Spirit, which is the word of God.” The
image of the Roman soldier dressing in preparation for battle. Stripping away whatever would be unhelpful or even dangerous, then strapping
on his battle gear. A particular take
on the phrase, “dress for success.” The
Advent Sunday Collect recasts the same language as prayer: “give us grace to cast away the works of
darkness, and put upon us the armor of light, now in the time of this mortal
life when thy Son Jesus Christ came to visit us in great humility.” And something deep in our imagination about
turning to this image as a metaphor in our lives as we approach the dark season
and the longest nights of the year.
Contrasting the works of darkness with the coming of the bright morning
star, the one in whom there is no darkness at all.
So what we might call an ethical Advent. Not simply ideas and images, but an
invitation to a certain practical discipline.
A way to live our lives: what we
take off and lay aside, and what we put on.
Works of darkness, on one hand, armor of light on the other. Paul gives us some examples to think about in
terms of what we might call our practices of this season and of our Christian
lives. Reveling and drunkenness,
debauchery and licentiousness, which all seem to go with the sins of the dark,
sins of the night—but then also quarreling and jealousy. That’s something to think about. Even as we may find it fairly easy to
differentiate ourselves from the first set of sins, this is harder, especially
with Facebook and Twitter and all the rest.
Sins of the flesh and of the spirit.
What we now set aside to prepare the way for his advent. And the
“armor of light” on the other hand. A
little more conceptual here, just offered by implication—though I would connect
to a passage from Paul in Colossians 5 to get a sense of what he is thinking about
when he speaks about the right wardrobe for the season and the battle ahead—the
armor of light. “Put on then,” he says,
“put on then as God’s chosen ones, holy and beloved, compassion, kindness,
lowliness, meekness, and patience, forbearing one another, and if one has a
complaint against another, forgiving each other. As the Lord has forgiven you, so you also must
forgive. And above all these put on love,
which binds everything together in perfect harmony.” Which
we might say is about dressing like Jesus.
The armor of light.
So the question, the topic for reflection, this Advent morning, and the
first week ahead, for our little self-guided Epistles of Advent mini-retreat, is
about our wardrobe. Making sure we are
dressed for the occasion that is about to be upon us. Of course each one of us in the end needing
to sort out what this means in terms of application in our own lives. Our seasonal attire: reindeer sweaters and
Santa Claus ties, and armor of light.
Walk in love, as Christ loved us and gave himself for us, an offering
and a sacrifice to God.
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