Second Sunday of Advent 2004

Speaking Index

Delivered 6 December 2003, the Saturday service based on the readings for the Second Sunday of Advent.

We have come from our homes, some from our labors, perhaps some from shopping, to gather beside the waters of baptism, to gather at the foot of the cross. We are called here to worship together. It is good that we are here.

This is the second week of Advent, time to light the Baptist’s candle in honor of John the Baptist. But there is another entry on the calendar of the church for today, so I think I’ll preach two sermons tonight. They’ll both be short, I assure you.

We’ll cover a lot of time. The book of Malachi was written between 470 and 460 BC, Christ was born between 2008 and 2010 years ago, so it was not long after that that the Baptist was wandering around preparing the ground for Jesus’ work. Nicholas lived from 280 to either 345 or 352. We, of course, live now, and the end of time that Malachi makes us think of is some unknown time in the future.

Malachi
Luke

Grace and peace to you from God our Father, and from his son Jesus the Christ, and from the Holy Spirit. Amen

I’m frequently a pain in the butt, an irritant to those in charge. Some would say that always is more accurate than frequently. One of the things that has always earned my scorn has been jumping the gun on the calendar. For example, most of the world celebrated the end of the second millennium a full year early. The Twelve Days of Christmas are twelve very specific days, starting on the 24th of December and extending until the 5th of January. It’s very hard to properly observe Christmas during those days, when everyone around you is returning their ill-fitting gifts to the mall and taking their lights down, and every year it irritates me.

So what are we to do with the early part of December? This is Advent, completely contrary to the season the outside world seems to be enjoying. In my youth, churches used the same paraments in Advent that would later be used in Lent. Both were “penitential” seasons, equally inappropriate for partying, shopping, joyous carryings on. Of course, if you look closely at many of the people at the mall this time of year, you may see more despair than joy in their eyes.

But there is one day in Advent that is actually appropriate for gift giving, and that happens to be the 6th of December, the Feast of Saint Nicholas.

Nicholas was born into a wealthy family at Patara, a city on the south west coast of Turkey, probably in the year 280. Very little is known of his life, but in time he entered the priesthood, and was subsequently named Bishop of Myra, a town about fifty miles to the east of Patara.

The Roman emperor Diocletian, the penultimate pagan emperor, decreed that he was to be worshipped as a god, as had most of his predecessors. Although his early reign was marked by a rather tolerant attitude toward Christians, political pressure led him to decree a suppression of the church that was the most severe of the ten persecutions the church endured at the hands of the Romans. This started in the year 303, and was greatly alleviated in the west when Diocletian abdicated in 305, but continued in the eastern realms of the empire until Constantine, the first Christian emperor, came to power. Nicholas spent five years in a small cell, and was only released when Constantine ended the persecutions in 313.

The legends suggest that, despite the status of his family and his position as bishop, Nicholas was a shy person. On the other hand, his insistence on anonymous gift-giving may have been his responding to the Gospels by giving alms to the poor without calling attention to himself.

There are many stories about Nicholas calming the sea, raising three boys from death who had been murdered and their bodies pickled in brine, and other miracles. He was known to travel, and some have claimed that he attended the Council of Nicaea in the year 325, although his name doesn’t appear in any of the written record of the gathering that gave us the Nicene Creed.

The one story that puts Saint Nick in the heart of children around the world relates to a family in Myra. The family comprised a father and three daughters. Apparently the father was a minor noble who had fallen on hard times. The daughters were approaching marriageable age, but there was nothing to pay dowries from. Times were very different from today and the future was bleak for the three girls, very likely including a life of prostitution.

One night, Nicholas wrapped some gold coins in a cloth bag, walked past the family’s home, and dropped the bag through a window. In the morning, the family rejoiced, and the eldest daughter was soon married.

Again, Nicholas took gold coins, wrapped in a cloth bag, and dropped them through a window, and the second daughter was soon married.

The poor nobleman then started the long tradition of waiting up for Saint Nick, and kept watch on the approach to his home by night. According to pious tradition, he did catch Nicholas sneaking into the yard to deliver his third gift, and charged the father with keeping the incident secret. “Tell no one” never worked when Jesus said it, and it didn’t work for Nicholas, and the word spread throughout Christendom.

In Holland, Saint Nicholas became Sinter Klass. As in other northern countries, open windows weren’t part of the story. Sinter Klass dropped the bags of gold down the chimney and into the stockings the three girls had put out to dry by the fireplace. Dutch children can still expect gold coins on this day, although they are chocolate wrapped in gold foil.

The Dutch carried the tradition of Sinter Klass to their colonies in North America, and when Niewe Amsterdam became New York, the tradition continued with a slight change in spelling, our Santa Claus.

Nicholas is the patron saint of Russia, Greece, and Sicily, thousands of churches are named for him, particularly in areas served by the Orthodox Church. He is the patron of pawnbrokers, the three bags of gold having become three gold balls that are part of the traditional logo of their trade. In addition, he is patron to virgins, the poor, children, mariners, and coopers, the last apparently because of the boys whose bodies were stuffed in the pickle barrel. And today is his feast day. Amen

The readings for the day were read, then begins the second sermon:

Annette has been talking about apocalyptic prophecy in the last few weeks. Apocalypse means either the great battle of good and evil at the end of time, or a prediction of those events. And the language in which such prophecy is delivered is as stirring as it is frightful.

When Charles Jennens chose the scripture that would become the libretto for Handel’s Messiah, it was reasonable that the stirring imagery of apocalyptic texts would make up a big part of the text. For me, it’s one of the greatest features of Advent that so many of the readings come to mind as music based on the hundreds of times I’ve sung or listened to Messiah. I hear the lessons read, and find myself humming Handel’s music. Sometimes to the amusement of those worshipping near me.

Two of the forty-four parts of Messiah come from today’s Malachi text:

For he is like a refiner’s fire.
And he shall purify the sons of Levi.

Another comes from the Isaiah text that John quotes:

Every valley shall be exalted, and every mountain and hill made low; the crooked straight, and the rough places plain.

That one is enough to make you want to be a tenor.

Almost ten years ago, Larkin and I had never heard of the Gruenewald Guild, but we knew of Richard Caemmerer’s work. In those days this church used bulletin covers based on his interpretation of the lessons for each week. Since then, of course, Rich has designed our altar, the font, the mural down the sunwalk, and these amazing windows along the courtyard. We were interested in a banner workshop that the Guild was presenting, and with help from Trinity, we attended. That investment was repaid many times over by Larkin’s contributions in fabric to our worship, I haven’t done anything myself other than cheer on Larkin and help hang her banners up.

But I remember that banner class well. For the first day, we each took a text and make a small banner from colored paper. I don’t recall if I chose today’s Malachi text or it was just handed to me, but my very first attempt at Christian art was centered on it.

I made a black ring, which stood on three legs. Suspended in the ring was a crucible, and the entire bottom of the banner was flames. The flames weren’t very good, but there was credible smoke rising from the crucible!

You couldn’t see inside the crucible, but I hoped anyone seeing the image would know that what was within was dross and liquid gold and silver. That the irrelevant and sinful parts of my life were burned away in the smoke, or left behind as slag, and that what would be poured out would be precious. Too hot to handle, perhaps, but of great value.

And there was the moment of revelation. Sure, there was much of my life that was worthless. The efforts devoted merely to feed, clothe, and shelter myself and my family don’t amount to much. My temptations and diversions amount to much less and I can never pretend that there aren’t more than a few black marks against my name in the Book of Life.

But He shall purify, not only the Sons of Levi, but all mankind. Even me. Those black marks will vanish in smoke above the fire, or stay behind in the crucible after the refiner has carefully ensured that all that is good and valuable is poured out for His use.

The fire itself may not be appealing, but I really do cling to the image of the result. All of us can, for who can imagine any person who has done nothing of value in his entire life? Okay, so perhaps we can imagine it, but is it true? I doubt it, my experience is that there is good everywhere, mixed up with evil, perhaps completely obscured by it. But we can know that we will be purified at the end of mortal days. We will be silver and gold, and our very being will give praise. Amen.