The Cry of Emmanuel: Isaiah 64:1-9 - First Sunday of Advent

"O that you would tear open the heavens and come down, so that the mountains would quake at your presence-- as when fire kindles brushwood and the fire causes water to boil-- to make your name known to your adversaries, so that the nations might tremble at your presence! When you did awesome deeds that we did not expect, you came down, the mountains quaked at your presence. From ages past no one has heard, no ear has perceived, no eye has seen any God besides you, who works for those who wait for him. You meet those who gladly do right, those who remember you in your ways. But you were angry, and we sinned; because you hid yourself we transgressed. We have all become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous deeds are like a filthy cloth. We all fade like a leaf, and our iniquities, like the wind, take us away. There is no one who calls on your name, or attempts to take hold of you; for you have hidden your face from us, and have delivered us into the hand of our iniquity. Yet, O LORD, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand. Do not be exceedingly angry, O LORD, and do not remember iniquity forever. Now consider, we are all your people." (NRSV)

The Deafening Delight of Dawn by tomraven on flickr. CC BY-NC-ND 2.0

Not everyone has come down with the Coronavirus, but everyone has been impacted by the pandemic in some way. This is especially true for the young, the aged, and society’s most vulnerable people.

 

At the beginning of time, God said, “it’s not good for the man to be alone.” Relationships and community are as vital to your well-being as exercise and good nutrition. And they are especially important in your life of faith. Faith cannot exist in isolation. Hope cannot thrive in isolation. No matter how hard we try to make things feel “normal,” Zoom gatherings virtual classrooms, livestreaming, and Facetiming are no substitutes for “the real thing.”

 

With the prophet Isaiah, we cry out, “O that you would tear open the heavens and come down;” O that you would deliver your people from this deadly virus; O that you would end the devastation of lives and livelihoods; O that you would restore us to each other once again.

 

On this Advent, perhaps more than any in our lifetimes, we cry to Jesus for salvation. To a degree, we are sharing in the desperation of God’s people over 500 years prior to Christ’s birth.

 

Today’s reading from Isaiah takes us back to the time immediately following the ending of the exile in Babylon. King Cyrus of Persia, who conquered Babylon, permitted the exiles to return to Jerusalem and rebuild their city. But how do you start over with nothing? How do you move beyond so much devastation?

 

They knew their history—that the exile was direct consequence of their sin. (Covid-19 is not that kind of punishment. No just God would punish a sinful people by visiting such devastation on the poorest and most vulnerable.)

 

Nevertheless, for the survivors of the exile, God was their only hope.

 

Right now, all eyes are on the big pharmaceutical companies—to deliver a vaccine that will destroy this accursed Coronavirus for good, so that life can get back to normal. But salvation isn’t delivered by injection. A vaccine is not going to fix everything that’s been broken over the past year.

 

But Jesus is tearing open the heavens and coming down. He is not the kind of God who sits up in heaven, watching over us. When we cry, “O Come, O Come, Emmanuel,” Jesus lives true to that name. Jesus comes down from heaven and dwells with us—particularly those for whom the present crisis has been especially devastating.

 

Your challenge this Advent is to keep crying out, even when it seems as though your pleas are falling on deaf ears. Crying out to God may be the only act of faith you can muster up—but it’s enough. Jesus will answer. But that doesn’t mean that Jesus will fix everything or make things the way you want them to be.

 

When congregations made the agonizing decision to suspend in-person worship, there is fear that “this will kill the church.” How can we be a congregation if we cannot congregate? We’ve had a dreadful year, and this is Advent! We need to be here now, more than ever!

 

Human souls are wounded. The Body of Christ is wounded. We do ourselves and the world no favors if we deny severity of the present situation.

 

But remember: your wounds are the very same wounds Jesus suffered on the cross—and by his wounds we are healed. Therefore, Jesus’s power will not be diminished in this moment. If anything, his power will be magnified.

 

That doesn’t mean that he’s going to give you back everything you’ve lost. It does mean, however, that Jesus will do awesome deeds that you do not expect.

 

Therefore, as Jesus tears open the heavens and becomes present with you, you must tear open your inner resistance to the way things are and the way they must be. You must meet the persistence of Jesus with a persistence of faith. Hunger, exhaustion, loneliness, grief and fear are at an all-time high right now. Therefore, as Jesus tears open the heavens and becomes present with us, you must tear open yourself for Christ to act through you in ways you would not expect! Jesus, our Emmanuel, comes to transform this season of crisis can be a season of healing and hope, whereby we can truly be more connected to Christ and to each other through the love that is both given and received. He will make a way for you to worship; to share his love with others; and for us to show this hurting world that salvation has come.

 

Every Advent, the temptation is so strong to leave the gift of Emmanuel aside to gather dust, because we’re so consumed with trying to make the perfect Christmas. This year, we’re hurting like we’ve never hurt before. Yet this is why Jesus comes to be Emmanuel. Covid-19 is not going to stop Jesus. He’s not going to turn around and go back to heaven if the churches are empty.

 

Do not forsake the gift of Emmanuel for anger, bitterness, fear, or defeat. Tear yourself open and be awake for Jesus to do awesome deeds that you do not expect—something different, something new, something necessary—to raise this weary world into life renewed.