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Devotional for the week of March 22nd, 2020
Toward the end of today’s lengthy gospel reading, religious leaders summon, for a second time, the man who was blind from birth and whose sight Jesus restored one sabbath day. Confounded by Jesus’ disregard for the sabbath, they judge him a sinner and ask how a sinner could have worked such healing. They cry to the newly sighted man, “‘Give glory to God! We know that this man is a sinner.’ He answered, ‘I do not know whether he is a sinner. One thing I do know, that though I was blind, now I see’” (John 9:24-25; emphasis added).
It is such a radically simple answer. But this clear testimony does not align with the preconceived judgment of the religious leaders, who won’t rejoice that the man’s eyes have been opened. Instead, the blame game initiated by Jesus’ disciples rages on in altered form. While the disciples wondered if it was the man’s or his family’s fault that he was blind to begin with, the religious leaders focused on a way to discredit the one who had restored his sight. Neither the disciples nor the religious leaders seem empathetic about the man’s blindness, nor joyful about the new possibilities for his life and participation in community now that he can see.
As we listen to the narrative unfold, perhaps we recognize some of the voices blaming, accusing, or (as with the man’s parents) seeking to withdraw from the controversy. The story stands in John’s gospel as another important sign, identifying Jesus as “light of the world” (John 9:5). But it also serves to remind us of ways we are blinded by our judgments and critiques of others and of ourselves. To what and whom are our eyes closed? What mixture of mud and washing might open us to see differently and, in so doing, restore us in and to community?
From sundaysandseasons.com Augsburg Fortresss
The following was written by Karoline Lewis who is an Associate Professor of Preaching at Luther Seminary in St. Paul Minnesota. It was written two Advent seasons ago, but still resonates today. I wanted to share it with you as we journey through the season of the church year called Advent. This year, Advent starts on December 1, 2019 and ends on Tuesday, December 24, 2019.
Happy Advent. A new Gospel. A new Start.
In Christ, Pastor Gary Leking
I have always found it interesting the new church years begins roughly a month before the new calendar year. Much rides on the turning from December 31 to January 1— new resolutions, new starts, new beginnings. I suppose there is a less consideration given to the move from Pentecost to Advent. But perhaps this is the year to make a change. If we take these liturgical seasons seriously, these seasons of the church that mark our times as believers, they should, on many levels, shape how we view time, how we make sense of time. After all, the Gospel texts designated for this Sunday most certainly signal a change in time. When apocalyptic shows up in biblical writings, you know time is changing, and it’s time to pay attention—not prepare for the end of time, as this genre is so frequently misunderstood, but to expect the revelation of God in our time. And not just God’s arrival, but God’s ongoing presence and God’s certain reign that transforms our time. God’s control of time. God’s directing of time and God’s directing of time toward all that is good and perfect and true.
A sermon on the first Sunday of Advent can be a reorientation in time and of time toward God’s times. For Mark’s audience, the destruction of the temples was certainly such a moment—a moment that forced time to stand still, or that changed time entirely. All of sudden, the presence of God who oriented time and shaped time was in jeopardy. What do you do when the worship of God, that which gave meaning to time, is in peril? Perhaps a variation of the question is necessary for us on the first Sunday in Advent—what will we do when we begin to realize, fully, that the worship of God should be that which gives meaning to time here and now? To answer this question might make us move through Advent a little differently, and think of our time a little differently. Of course, there’s all kinds of advice for how to observe adequately the reason for the season. But such sageisms miss the point entirely—Advent asks us not to treat this time differently, but to live in time differently altogether. Time is strange, isn’t it? It goes by extraordinarily fast when you want it to take its time or painfully slow when you need it, so very desperately, to move forward as fast as possible. There are moments that seem to suspend times, as if the world itself is circling your own orbit. We can recall plenty of quotable quotes about time, in which we want to believe, but are often not born out in reality: “time heals all wounds;” “all in good time;” “time will tell;” “stand the test of time;” “time is of the essence.” All of which appear to be attempts to make our mark on time or to regulate time to our benefit.
I think this first Sunday of Advent is a reminder that our time is not our own. We like to present that it is; that we can manage it efficiently, plan accordingly. That by our sheer determination we can will it to bend to our needs and desires. We strive to turn it back, and for so many reasons. To re-experience time with someone we love. To relive times with someone we’ve lost. To recreate a moment in time we want to remember again or that we wish we had handled differently. We wonder if we can alter time in some way, change the course of time. The charge to keep awake during this Advent season is not just about waiting and anticipation. It is not just about getting ready or being ready because can you ever be ready for Christ’s coming? Can we ever be ready for God entering into humanity, into our sinfulness and brokenness, into our pain and loss, into our joy, into our love, into our longing? The answer is no, and Advent will never be long enough. That’s the point. God arrives, regardless of our readiness. God shows up, despite our determination toward manifesting our own destiny. God will come, no matter what kind of stipulations or conditions or provisions we make to persuade God of our timeliness. Our time is oriented by God’s time—always has been and always will be. God entered into our time, forever changing it. God lived time with us, forever altering what time really means. Ultimately, God’s entering into time disrupts time, displaced time, disorients time. Not always comfortably. Not always helpfully, Not always desirable. And never how or when expectable. Why? Because divinity took on mortality, eternity entered temporality, and love eliminated death.
This is the meaning of Advent time.