A Season of Humility

Texts: Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11; 1 Thessalonians 5:16-24; John 1:6, 8, 19-28

Shirley Murray has written a wonderful Christmas carol called "Upside-down Christmas".  I'm not sure if we've sung it here in St Barnabas, but we certainly have in Holy Trinity.  The point of the carol is that all the traditional imagery associated with Christmas is drawn from the Northern Hemisphere, so it has to be "translated" for us in the south.  And she does that in the carol.  The point is well made, and well dealt with.

But there is a sense in which talking of an "upside-down Christmas" is a bit of a tautology, because the whole thing about Christmas - the real Christmas, that is, not the commercial one, nor the sentimental one we try so hard to create – the whole point about the real version is that it turns everything upside down, beginning with commonsense!  The whole idea of the Incarnation – of the Creator of the whole universe appearing among us as a helpless babe - is a bit topsy-turvy, to say the least.  And then there is the list of characters who are entrusted with the news of this astonishing event, such as a bunch of shepherds who are the first to see what's going on.  The choice of Mary to be the baby's mother is also a bit of a departure from the norm – a teenage nobody instead of a queen or some other high-born aristocrat.  And when the babe has grown up and is ready to begin his public ministry, some slightly-crazed weirdo comes out of the desert to warm up the crowds.  Not a PR guru anywhere to be seen or heard!

 I thought of Shirley Murray's song while watching the TV News the other night.  I'm always on the look out for a new illustration or image for a sermon, and here before my very eyes was a wonderful Advent image.  The three top bananas in the American car- manufacturing industry – representing Chrysler, Ford, and General Motors – had come to the US Congress in Washington to beg for a few billion dollars to rescue their companies.  It was their second trip for this purpose.  On the first occasion, each of these three very rich and powerful industry leaders had come to Washington in their own private jets, and simply demanded economic aid from the US taxpayers, warning of dire economic consequences if they were refused.  They were refused; they were firmly told to go back, work out a realistic plan for reshaping their companies to fit the realities of the 21^st century, AND to come back with a little more humility.  The politicians were not impressed by the private jets.

So there they were back in Congress on their second attempt.  This time, as they were at pains to point out, they had driven to Washington – in small, efficient hybrid cars, and they had even car-pooled!  They assured the politicians that they had learned their lesson; they had returned with proposals for modernising their companies, to stop producing cars for which there was no longer a market, and to start producing cars that were kinder to the environment.  AND, each of them was prepared to waive his own salary while his company was in receipt of taxpayers' funds!  Each of these rich and powerful men was now going to have an annual salary of $1 – before tax!

There's a wonderful illustration of the Advent message.  Help is coming – for the poor.  Those who exalt themselves shall be humbled; those who humble themselves shall be exalted.  Everything is turned upside-down: with Advent everything is the opposite of what might be expected.  Advent is the Season of stark contrasts.

We see that in our readings this morning.  Isaiah has a whole string of contrasts as he looks ahead to the Advent: healing for the broken-hearted; freedom for captives, and release from darkness for prisoners; comfort for those who mourn; a crown of beauty instead of ashes; the oil of gladness instead of mourning; and a garment of praise instead of a spirit of despair.  And, as he surveys the state of Judah after national defeat and exile, he sees a time of rebuilding ancient ruins, and the restoration of places long devastated.  In short, a great reversal of national fortunes is to take place.  Everything is to be turned on its head; everything is to be turned upside-down.  The proud shall be humbled; the oppressed shall be raised up.

And we see all this in the Advent drama around John the Baptist.  It is now time for Jesus to come out of obscurity and carry out his mission.  And the first sign of this is the emergence from the wilderness of this strange man called John.  And there's the first contrast.  He comes out of the wilderness, the place of death and nothingness, to the Jordan, the river of life in that country.  And he calls people out of their own wilderness, their own places of death and nothingness, their own spiritual dryness, to join him in the life-giving waters of the Jordan, the waters that each one of us enters in our baptism.  Why should people take any notice of him – who does he think he is?

He thinks he's no one, no one of any importance.  He makes only two claims about himself, one sort of positive and the other very clearly negative.  When asked who he is he says he is a voice (not a whole person) crying in the wilderness.  In other words, he is nothing but the message he has been given to proclaim.  He has no agenda of his own, and no other purpose to exist.  He is the most humble of men.  So much so that he is at pains to draw attention away from himself: he is not the One to whom they should pay attention, the One long promised by God through Isaiah and the other prophets.

And there's another contrast.  Can you imagine any of our leaders playing down their own importance – "Don't vote fore me, there is one far greater than I?"

In his great gospel, St John gives us another famous Advent image to reflect on, the image of light and darkness.  He says that Jesus was the light coming into the world's darkness, and stresses that John the Baptist was not himself the light, but only a witness to it.  Some time during the Advent Season a good exercise is to sit in a truly darkened room for some time, and perhaps attempt to find some small object there.  To enter into the darkness, to experience the blindness of such a situation; and imagine the whole world in that state of darkness.  Then light a candle or put on a torch, and reflect again on this image of Christ as the light coming into our darkness.  Recall the words of our liturgy: You said, 'Let there be light'; there was light.  Your light shines on in our darkness.  They are wonderful words, and their full weight, perhaps, needs a period of darkness for us to feel it.

Which gets us back to Shirley Murray's carol in a way.  There is a sense in which the Northern Hemisphere has a distinct advantage over us at Christmas: with our long daylight hours, it is very difficult to symbolise the Christ-light coming into our darkened world at Christmas.  But perhaps Advent is rightly a Season of growing light, rather than increasing darkness as it is in the north.  As the light draws ever nearer, as the light comes more and more into our world, so the darkness slowly gives way.

Upside-down or right way up, should make no difference to us.  St Paul sums it up this way: Be joyful always; pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; and Shirley Murray ends her carol with this verse:

            Right side up Christmas belongs to the universe

            made in the moment a woman gives birth;

Hope is the Jesus gift, love is the offering,

            everywhere, anywhere here on this earth.

Even Isaiah couldn't have put it better!