Sermon: The Geography of Faith
Sermon preached by Rev. Emily Tanis-Likkel
Isaiah 40:1-11 and Mark 1:1-8
December 7, 2008
I recently bought a book called Don't know much about geography. Because I don't, and I want and need to learn more. Geography – literally meaning “to describe the earth”-- is crucial in understanding ourselves and the world. The author wrote, “It is impossible to understand history, international politics, the world economy, religions, philosophy, or 'patterns of culture' without taking geography into account.” Today's reading in Isaiah we hear geography as a metaphor for God coming into our lives and hearts. Isaiah 40 prophesy’s, “A voice cries out: “In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God. 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. Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all people shall see it together, for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.” One reason that I don't know much about geography is that I don't always pay attention to my surroundings. I am not bound to the earth like a farmer. I spend a lot of time indoors and in the car, driving from one place to the next. The Hebrew people in the time of Isaiah were inextricably tied to the land. Throughout the Bible we read of a geography of faith. The desert was the place of paradox. It was devoid of life, and yet was so often the stage for God interacting with humanity. Moses, Elijah and Jesus all had profound spiritual experiences in the desert. Maybe God chose to speak in the desert, or maybe it was in the desert where it was quiet enough for them to listen. In Isaiah, we hear that it is in the wilderness that the voice of God is heard. In the Gospel of Mark, the people flocked to the desert to hear John the Baptist preach about the One who is to come. They went from the center of the city to the margins. They arrived in the wilderness, and turned their lives around.
So where is your wilderness? What paves the way for God to intersect with your life? In this season of Advent, as fear and greed and anxiety are offered up as main courses, intentionally slowing down may help pave the way for Christ. As a society, many of us feel caught in a gigantic hurry-up, which can be a spiritual hurdle. In his book In Praise of Slowness: How a Worldwide Movement is Challenging the Cult of Speed, Carl Honore describes the Slow Movement, which sounds like an oxymoron, but the attitude of slowness is gaining speed. He asks the question: “What is the very first thing you do when you wake up in the morning? Draw the curtains? Roll over to snuggle up with your partner or pillow? Spring out of bed and do ten push-ups to get the blood pumping? No, the first thing you do, the first thing everyone does, is check the time. . . Right from that first waking moment, the clock calls the shots. And so it goes, on through the day, as we scurry from one appointment, one deadline, to the next.”
Our days are made up of decision-making about how to make use of our time. While working on this sermon I found myself being more aware of this. I have an hour before I pick up Eva from school – should I use the time to keep writing this sermon, should I go to the grocery store, should I have a cup of coffee, should I pray? Maybe I should whittle away the time, vacillating between the options? I am often restless, second-guessing whatever decision I have made. I wish I could be more efficient, work more hours, clean the house more thoroughly and spend more quality time with my children. Our bodies, minds and hearts can be restless when not fixed on our eternal compass. Preparing the way for God means a change in attitude. Setting our eyes on eternal time is like hand-knitting a sweater instead of grabbing one at the mall. It is a surrender to something more organic, more alive, more risky than what the world offers. The change in our attitudes comes from hearing the good news of Christ, of God among us. As John proclaimed, “The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”
In Dakota: A Spiritual Geography, Kathleen Norris wrote, “Living close to such an expanse of land I find I have little incentive to move fast, little need of instant information. I have learned to trust the processes that take time, to value change that . . . grows out of the ground of experience. Such change is properly defined as conversion.” Conversion is a turning around, a change of perspective. John the Baptist proclaimed the need for conversion. The first several verses of the book of Mark serve as a prologue for the rest of the Gospel. It is like a Greek Chorus, making meaning and explanation for what is happening on stage. Mark says, this is the good news that prophets have been talking about through the centuries. Isaiah told us about a man who will cry out in the wilderness, and here he is. He is telling people to repent – turn around and be changed.
Clearing the path for God to come into our lives takes hope. The book of Mark, the first written of the four Gospels in the New Testament, does not begin with Jesus, but with John the Baptist. This wilderness prophet announced the good news embodied in Jesus, and in telling of John, Mark placed the incarnation within the sweep of God's revelation to humanity. It is the fulfillment of the prophet Isaiah, to “prepare the way of the Lord.” Our hope is not for a thing or an idea, but in the One who sets us free.
Preparing space in our lives, welcoming God among us, is a holy hospitality. John the Baptist announced to prepare the way – turn around, repent of sins, here the Greek connotes a change of attitude – clean out the clutter and extraneous stuff to make room for God. Really experiencing Advent is like preparing for the birth of a child. Mary and Joseph had to take their time getting to Bethlehem. Preparing room for Jesus takes setting aside time, making room for prayer, for acts of compassion, for spiritual practices, and putting on the lens of slowness. Henri Nouwen wrote about the pressure many of us feel to appear very busy and important. When given a moment to sit in a chair, people usually reach for the remote or reading material or the telephone. He wrote, “empty space tends to create fear.” Yet it is empty space that is needed. It is breathing space, a welcoming space in our lives to make room for God. Make God's pathway smooth – remove obstacles such as our own restlessness. Preparing – not about the stuff, but about preparing your hearts, giving up some of the extra things on your schedule. A poem by a United Methodist minister, Lauren Kay Shock, reads, “How shall I decorate my life for your coming – with baubles and garlands and wreaths? Rather, enlighten me with your Spirit, O God, that my being would shine with your light. Decorate my heart with kindness and love. Adorn my life with garlands of joy! And may your peace be a wreath upon my head that I might glorify you forever.”
Being with children is such a lesson in slowing down. Whether it is waiting for a child to put on socks, or stopping with them to observe every interesting thing at our feet when walking, it takes time. Slowing down is inevitable for all of us. Our bodies force us to slow down as we age. This can be incredibly frustrating for many, especially when so much of success is wrapped up in how much we accomplish. But slowing down can help us be more attuned to God's presence in our lives.
Preparing the way for God does not require haste but a slowing. It is a mindful shift. There is a lot to do, but have you ever found that the faster we go the less we get done? Providing hospitality to the Christ-Child means that we take the focus off of ourselves and look to the light. In the slow movement, it doesn't always mean that one literally does things slowly, but that one puts on an attitude of slowness. It is operating from grace and not from haste. In our house this past week, each evening we lit the first Advent candle. Each night, my daughter Eva asked if we could light another candle. Not yet?! What about the pink one? Can we light that one? It is so countercultural to draw out the waiting. Despite all of the decorations to the contrary, it is not Christmas yet. Advent emerges from a crock-pot -- not a microwave.
In Seminary I suffered from terrible migraines, and I'll never forget a meeting I had with the director, Rich Ericksen, who prayed for me, and treated me with such grace. When I expressed frustration about taking longer to complete my degree than I had originally planned, he asked, “Do you have a limited time to fulfill your calling to ministry? Or do you have forever?” In that moment I felt freed from the need to hurry through school. That moment has stuck with me, and I am reminded of it when I feel that time has too much power over me.
An Advent slowness is beautifully captured in a wreath. Advent wreaths come from an ancient tradition. When the days of winter stretched dark and cold and the work days shortened, folks would put away their tools, remove a wheel from their cart, and bring it in the house to decorate it with greenery and lights. The wreath served to remind them that there are rhythms in life, and they were in the rhythm of slowness. The symbol has carried over into Christian tradition, because Advent is a time not to speed up but to slow down, to be not hasty but deliberate. In an age where we hear of a man who was trampled to death by greedy shoppers, we would do well to remove the wheel from the cart – to pause and breathe and look around us and within ourselves. Do you find yourself saying year after year – this time Advent will be different! This year, I will be mindful, and I will keep perspective – remembering that the Season is about Christ and not the latest deal on blu-ray players. I find myself saying it – I think we need to say it intentionally every year, because every other message distracts us from our core faith. Each Advent we need to recall the words of Isaiah and the words of John the Baptist, to clear a path, to prepare the way for God to show up in our very lives. To clear a path that we may see Christ. As you receive communion this morning, I encourage you to imagine that God has made God's way through the path in your life, to enter in, sustain you and nourish you.
May the geography of our faith be vast and wide. May we turn around, and slow down. As we leave the flurry behind us and head to the margins, the wilderness, may we open ourselves to receive Christ. Then perhaps the first thing that we do in the morning is not to look at the clock, but to say thank you. There is a light shining in the darkness. An advent light – the light we are waiting for, it is hope, it is promise, it is Jesus.
Kenneth C. Davis. Don't Know Much About Geography: Everything you Need to Know About the World but Never Learned. New York: HarperCollins, 1992. p. 17. In Praise of Slowness. New York: HarperCollins, 2004, p. 19.
Dakota. New York: Houghton Mifflin, 1993, p. 145.
Reaching Out: The Three Movements of the Spiritual Life. New York: Doubleday, 1975, p. 73.