Scriptures:  Isaiah 40:1-4 & Mark 1:1-8

Serene Jones, theologian and minister in the church, tells this story about a Christmas pageant at her church in New Haven.  Just about everybody went to this particular church, and I mean everybody.  And it just so happened that in the pageant on this one particular year the part of the innkeeper was being played by a homeless man named Reggie. 

Jones writes that Reggie’s direction was to stand in the center aisle.  When Mary and Joseph knocked on his door and asked him for a place to stay the night, he was supposed to say no.  This was understood, everyone thought.  But during the performance, Reggie greeted the young couple with a grin and said, “Come in.” 

Not only did this threaten to derail the entire pageant, but it also thoroughly confused Mary and Joseph, who seemed strangely unable to recognize a good thing when they saw it and decided to ask again:  “Is there any room for us in the inn?” Joseph stammered nervously.  Again, Reggie the innkeeper repeated his quiet welcome. 

“At first,” Jones writes, “people were nervous.  What will we do if he doesn’t give the right response?  Then, looks of recognition appeared across the congregation.  Reggie was not confused about his role; he understood his part very well. Through his response, he had reminded [them] of the harsh reality that this was a story of homelessness—and of the surprising ‘yes’ that breaks through in its midst.”  [1]

It’s almost time to tell that story again—that story that we tell every year about God’s particular coming into the world in a manger because there was no room in the inn.  Today after church our children will be rehearsing for our own pageant two weeks from now and we’ll tell it again on Christmas Eve. 

The nice thing about Christmas pageants is that something’s always bound to catch us off guard.  The innkeeper invites the couple into his own home.  A shepherd forgets his lines and looks genuinely star-struck before the congregation.  I know of a pageant where Mary was being played by a teen-age girl in the church.  She and Joseph were up at the front of the sanctuary, sitting on bales of hay.  The second grade Sunday school class came forward and sang, “Away in a Manger,” which was Mary’s cue to take the baby Jesus doll from behind the hay and hold it in her arms.  But when she did, she began to cry.  “The little Lord Jesus, no crying he makes,” the children sang, but there was Mary, a sophomore in high school, quietly weeping, clearly touched by something in that holy moment. 

The power of it all is that we don’t hire professional actors to come in and execute a polished rendition of the Christmas story for us.  No, the power is always that we enter the story; our children enter the story, which is really what it’s all about to begin with:  finding ourselves in the sacred story of God’s coming.

So I had this idea this week, and as is often the case with good ideas, they come a little late.  But then the nice thing about church life is that there’s always next year.  I was thinking we could put together a little “Advent pageant.”  Advent being, you know, different from Christmas (though the two are often confused or just mushed together) we’ve taken strides here to distinguish Advent as a particular season—a season where the focus isn’t just the Christmas story of Christ’s birth, but rather of God’s coming into the world.  So don’t you think we should have an Advent pageant next year?

An Advent pageant would have a hint of Christmas, that’s true.  But there’d be parts for the Old Testament prophets.  We’d have an Isaiah, comforting God’s people in exile.  And I’m sure our costume department could stitch together some camel hair for John the Baptist.  He’s another Advent character, out in the wild, eating locusts and wild honey, shouting out to anyone who’ll listen, “Prepare the way of the Lord!”  There’d be a part for Jesus, too, reminding the disciples that the world would see him again one day—that the world’s ultimate reality would include the coming of God’s kingdom.

So if you’d like to be in next year’s Advent pageant, let me know.  It could be fun!   But remember:  Christmas may call us home and inspire wonder and joy, but Advent tends to push us off balance and upsets the notion that God is predictable.   If the purpose of a Christmas pageant is “O come, let us adore him,” the purpose of an Advent pageant is, “Ready or not, here he comes.” 

It’s too bad, really, that December is such a frantic month—that we rush more, spend more, consume more, and eat more than we do at any other time of year—because Advent should be a season of reflection.  These Advent days ought to be days when we block off huge chunks of time in our schedules to simply sit still, take stock, pray.  The Advent message, “Prepare the way of the Lord,” is one that needs time to soak into every pore of our being.  But we rush through it. 

You’ve heard me quote Frederick Buechner, one of my favorite authors, before.  Given that there will be no Advent pageant this year, I’d like to share some good Buechner words with you now, and invite you to receive them as an Advent invocation…

“Today is the last day of your life.  The house is coming awake because you who are a part of the house are coming alive.  And you will see this day as the first and last and most holy time.  Whatever promises you have to keep, if you don't keep them today, they will never be kept.  Whatever it is you are to say, if you do not say it today, it will never be said.  And the people—the ones who you love, and those who bore you to death—whatever life you have in you to live with them, if you do not live it today, it will never be lived!  This is the last day of your life because you will never see it again.  So, be as alive in it as you can."

An Advent message.  Ready or not, be awake.  Be alive.  “And you will see this day as the first and last and most holy time.”  This was Isaiah’s message to the people in exile, and it was John the Baptist’s word in the wilderness.  “Be awake.  Be alive.”  God is coming.  Christ is coming!  You can never be fully prepared, but still—prepare!  Be awake.  Be alive!”

Today we share Communion at the table and also invite you to receive a blessing of healing and wholeness—an Advent blessing, really—an invitation to be more awake and alive to the love and power of God, ready or not. 

You may have arrived this morning bearing a burden.  You may feel the sting of a part of you that is in need of healing.  Maybe the hurt you’re carrying today is noticeable, and maybe it’s not.  Maybe some aspect of life simply feels broken.  Whatever it is that’s weighing you down or causing you to feel less-than-whole, the invitation stands this morning for you to come forward, share bread and cup at the table, and then to receive a blessing for healing.

“Every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low; the uneven ground shall become level, and the rough places a plain.”

At times we are a people of rough places, and the good news to the exiles ages ago is good news to us today.  And so maybe we’ll get our Advent pageant after all.  Together we’ll play the parts of faith pilgrims, remembering Christ’s life, receiving Christ’s healing, and preparing for Christ’s coming.  Amen.

1.  Serene Jones, Feminist Theology