Isaiah 2:1-5 Psalm 122 Romans 13:9-14 Matthew 24:36-44
I grew up with the soundtrack of the great heartthrob, Cliff Richard. My parents had all the records, and some of his classic hits were based on this morning’s gospel, so have been my ear worm all week. Don’t Get Left Behind talked about people disappearing from fields and beds and I remember panicking about being the one who got left behind, and then, switching to feel rather pleased with myself because I was pretty sure I wouldn’t be. Faith and fear make strange companions.
It wasn’t until theological college I learned the concept of the “rapture”— some people being whisked away while others were left behind — was pretty new, barely a couple of centuries old. That discovery was both a relief and a revelation and sent me straight back to passages like these, to discover what it might be about and this passage isn’t about escape; it’s about awareness. Jesus isn’t talking about being lifted out of the world, but about being awake to God within the world — awake to hope and noticing her as she breaks through the ordinary.
And that’s what Advent is about — not fear, but focus. Not quite penitential, like Lent, but a time for getting sorted – leaving things behind so we might be prepared and ready. A readiness for the kingdom that keeps arriving, whether we notice or not, whether we’re ready, or not. And all of that, says Jesus, is exactly where hope begins. And hope is our theme for advent 1.
Isaiah saw that hope long before it came. He dreamed of nations streaming to God’s Mountain; of swords melted into ploughshares; of people learning war no more.
It’s a vision of a world that is awake to peace — a world in which despair is not the final word. And he ends with an invitation: “Come, let us walk in the light of the Lord.” How much does the world need that invitation now? Put darkness behind you, great nations and world leaders, and walk in light. Wouldn’t that be incredible?
That’s the invitation of Advent — to wake up and walk – to walk out of darkness and towards and into light. To look for light, even when it’s faint and pursue it. To trust God’s dawn is always nearer than we think. We need that reminder more than ever. The news, the wars — they whisper that hope is naïve. But Advent whispers back, No — hope is holy defiance. Hope keeps our eyes open for God. And it might feel feint but, man, Hope is fierce.
In these verses Jesus is calling his followers – down through the ages – to be attentive. It’s a wake-up call: Notice what’s sacred right beside you. And that’s why this gospel is perfect for today. Because this morning Cecilia stands at this altar for the first time as a priest — a new beginning for her, and for us.
Priesthood, at its heart, is the ministry of staying awake to hope.
To lift the bread and see God in it. To bless the cup and taste grace in it.
To look at the gathered people and glimpse Christ among you.
Every time she stands here, she’ll be practising holy attentiveness; naming hope where others may see only habit. That’s what a priest does, and that’s what the Church is called to do: stay awake to hope.
There’s a phrase among priests about the privilege of standing at the altar to make present the body and blood of Christ. This first time is terrifying, and profound and incredibly precious. And priests commit to, and encourage one another, to make every time the first time. So Cecilia – may every time you stand before God’s people be like this first time. May you be awake to the hope God is entrusting to you, and awake to the holy surprises God has for your priestly ministry. Be awake to what is happening in the spiritual realm, because that is what is most significant, most real.
And that is our challenge too; being awake to what’s real: awake to injustice, awake to suffering, awake to possibility. That’s gospel wakefulness. A heart that won’t go numb. Keep awake, because God’s kingdom doesn’t akways crash in with trumpets; it more often slips quietly into everyday life, and only those who are open will notice it.
In the last year, we have learned a fair bit about what it is to be awake in the rectory. Friday marked the first anniversary of Kennie joining our family. This little ball of chaos and love likes to get up at 4 or 5 or occasionally 6am. We are, honestly, wrecked, bone-tired — but it’s good and holy. Kennie wakes up every morning as if the dawn happened just for her. No gentle stretch — just full attention, full curiosity, and joy, ready to see what good things might happen next. She’s a living Advent sermon: eyes wide open to everything, soaking in the world, trusting each new day will bring something good. She doesn’t question if the light will come — she knows it will. That’s hope; that confident, childlike trust that the world will be beautiful again and seeing where it already is. If Kennie can wake to the world like that — so can we.
So as we begin a new church year, as Cecilia begins her priestly ministry, we commit again to being a people of hope. Hope that rises early and learns to see. Hope that knows light is stronger than night. The world needs people who are awake —to beauty, to pain, to the nearness of God. So, let’s stay awake to what this world knows and offer more. Let’s stay hopeful in times of despair and kind when the world is cruel, because we are children of the Light. The night is far gone; the day is near. Thanks be to God. Amen.
Holy Adventures 