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2 Advent
December 4, 2005
Sermon by Rev. Sue Deetz, Deacon
Readings
As so often happens, what started out as a small way to get some morning exercise turned out to be so much more than that. Every morning I take my students with an assortment of adults out on a path through the woods by school for about ten minutes. I was looking for a way to loosen the tight muscles of some of my students at the beginning of each day. On these walks, we have experienced the changing seasons in a close personal way, ten minutes at a time, taking in the scent of decaying leaves, hearing the sounds of geese flying south and other birds flocking up, and the sumac turning a deep red while the leaves on the trees were still green. We identified the leaves and found out there are some oaks among the pines and popples.
One day we saw a bald eagle soaring low above us. There's a hole about eight feet up one of the trees, and in the ground near another, homes to some kind of critters. There was the time we had a picnic of trail mix and hot cocoa on a brisk day. Another day we had to stage that picnic because we forgot to get some photos for our newspaper. But the student in charge of pictures spotted a deer, and went crashing through the woods, camera in hand in search of the great shot, leaving us on the rock pretending to picnic. Eventually, he came back and we not only had pictures of the picnic, but of two deer for the newspaper.
We sometimes walk all the way through to the grocery store on the other side. A few weeks ago, we made bird feeders with pine cones and oranges that we refill every few days or so. Once we came out to the chatter of chickadees dining right out of the oranges, we just stayed very quiet and watched. Now that there is snow on the ground, some of the kids have noted the whole new look, same woods, just fresher, cleaner. Our morning walks, regular visits show us other things besides the birds. There is much litter along the trail, even a street sign lying amongst the trees partially covered with leaves.
One day we found a set of
golf clubs, after locating the owner, we learned they were stolen out of
a neighbors garage that same morning and stashed near the trail. The
particular area we walk in, is known by most people who grew up in the
neighborhood as "The Rock", a place where people party late into the
night. Just the other day, while filling the bird feeders, we
discovered a wounded deer, it's hind leg just dangling from a bloody
kneecap. Probably hit by a car. Ten minutes a day isn't much, but over a
long period of time, we've discovered we are quite fond of this urban
wilderness, and find ourselves retelling the stories of our adventures,
repeating them again and again. Did I tell you that most of my students
have severe cognitive and physical disabilities? Some use wheelchairs,
some are so unsteady on their feet they need someone next to them at all
times, and some go crashing through the woods in search of that great
shot of a deer. Yet we accidentally stumbled on something we all have in
common, that is a shared history, seen through different lens,
nonetheless, shared-growing and changing daily like the seasons, yet
still pointing us to who we are, bringing us together.
At the 10 o'clock service this morning, we will be reminiscing about our
history as Christians, the history of God's love throughout the
generations, as told through the Jesse tree -- taken from the great
prophet Isaiah's words (Isa 11:1), "A shoot will spring forth from the
stump of Jesse, and a branch out of his roots". The children of St.
Paul's will recall our history with ornaments for the tree. They will
bring forth rainbows recalling God's promise with the great flood, a
tent representing God's promise to Abraham. Tablets for the Ten
Commandments and Moses leading the way to safety outside Egypt. We are
given wheat in honor of Ruth, lions and bears for David. Scrolls will be
hung on the tree for the prophets throughout history, bringing us back
to God when we stray. We are moved into the time when we prepare for
Jesus' birth, with a loaf of bread, shepherd's crook and angels.
There are others kinds of history too. There's the family stories we
bring up at holiday celebrations, there's the history of our country,
the history we learn in school, and there's history that is so
disturbing, we try very hard to deny or convince ourselves we are not a
part of it. I sometimes wonder if our strong connection to the
wilderness here up north, makes us more keenly aware of, say wounds to
our lands, or global warming, distancing us from wounds to a people.
Maybe not.
This past fall, we came face to face with our past and present systemic
injustices, racism in particular. One just had to open up a newspaper
after Hurricane Katrina, day after day, the paper was full of faces of
sorrow, pain, anger, and fear. And the vast majority of them in the
pictures were African Americans. I saved those newspaper articles to
remind myself, I suspect most people of color didn't need to save them,
they cannot forget, and they came as no surprise. Why is it that the
predominantly African American neighborhood just happened to be by the
weakest points in the levees? Why is it that the country was slow to
initially react with help? Why was it that the residents of that lower
ninth ward were the last ones to have their neighborhoods cleaned up to
the point where they could return to assess the devastation? Closer to
home, we could ask some of the same questions. Right here in MN, a state
known for high standards in education, why is the achievement gap
between white and nonwhite students so wide? How many people of color do
we have in leadership roles in our community? Does this reflect the
makeup of the population? Coming face to face with our histories can put
us in a wilderness of sorts. A different kind of wilderness.
In today's reading from the great prophet Isaiah, we hear reassurances
to a people who are in captivity in Babylon, distanced from their land,
and feeling distanced from their God. Much different from his earlier
harsh prophetic words. The people had strayed, fallen into sinful ways.
A series of frightful kings reigned during this time, sin and debauchery
were rampant. Isaiah was full of fiery oracles to bring back the people
to God, the all powerful, exalted king...the God that has always been
there. Typical of the prophets back then, they had a tough job. But now,
the people are in a different kind of wilderness, far from what they
know, geographically and in their hearts, they are longing for home.
Listen to the words of Isaiah "...the people are grass. The grass
withers, the flower fades; but the word of our God will stand forever.
Get you up to a high mountain, O Zion." These are words we can hear,
maybe words we are hearing in those little ten minute walks in the
woods.
Better yet, who comes walking out of the wilderness to prepare us? But
John the Baptist, scruffy clothing, dreds and all. He didn't come from
the nearest castle, didn't come from the county seat, but from off in
the wilderness, right where the majority of the people are at. Right
where I often think we are at. He's come to say, hey, pay attention,
heed the call -- Jesus is on his way, he's coming to continue God's
salvation history in a new way, a way of hope and forgiveness.
So I end with the beginning of Mark's gospel. A good place to begin each
time we light the candles of the Advent wreath this season. He cuts
right to the chase, getting to the heart of the matter in the very first
verse of the first chapter. "The beginning of the good news of Jesus
Christ, the Son of God."
Amen