Ja 5:7-10

12 December 2004

3rd Sunday of Advent

“Patience and Presence”

            I remember having a kind of saying that I would think to myself.  “At night, all things are possible.”  Some of my best—and strangest—thoughts have occurred at night.  I’m sure I’m not the only one to feel this way!  Well into the dark of night, into that land, that realm, that the light of day never sees, ideas emerge in that nocturnal world.

            It may seem that anything is achievable under the light of the moon.  But then…we sleep on it.  We carry our plans into another realm, that of slumber.  And with the cold glare of the morning sun, we awaken to a sobering thought:  “What on earth was I thinking last night?”

            There is a reason I’ve begun with all this!  As I was turning over today’s epistle reading in my mind, I was especially gripped by the first part of verse 7:  “Be patient, therefore, beloved, until the coming of the Lord.”  I’ve thought about that, and I’ve wondered:  do we at Westminster need to hear this?  Do we even look for the coming of the Lord?  And what does that mean?  What does that look like?  What does that look like in our own lives?

            We Presbyterians, and others who follow the lectionary for the church year, tend to focus on the return of the Lord during the season of Advent.  (By the way, Advent means “coming,” both the first and second coming of Christ.)  But as I’ve been thinking about today’s reading, I’ve thought of my time in the Assemblies of God, in which the second coming of Christ seems to be mentioned in every sermon.  At least, that was my experience.

            I especially remember the evening services, when the return of Jesus Christ was being preached.  (“Soon and very soon, we are going to see the King!”  That was a frequent theme.)  There were times during those occasions of worship at night when the coming of the Lord seemed imminent.  We experienced moments of presence—of expectation—that were almost tangible.  It was like…the veil that is this reality was about to be parted.  It’s hard to explain; the feeling would be almost palpable.

I suppose I had just a little sense of how James’ audience might have felt.  For them, of course, there was a degree of urgency that I know nothing about.

When the apostle says, “Be patient, therefore, beloved,” that word “therefore” indicates he’s following up on something he’s already been talking about.  The first part of the chapter shows him warning the rich about what he calls “[living] on the earth in luxury and in pleasure…[and fattening] your hearts in a day of slaughter” (v. 5).  You know, he needs to quit sugar coating it and just tell them what he really thinks!

Anyway, the urgency of his audience is very much related to being beaten down by those with wealth.  James’ words may sound extreme, but they reflect the emotional state of the poor people he’s addressing.  Folks going through that kind of suffering are likely to want the Lord to hurry up and return—like now!

Still, James advises patience.  He gives the example of the farmer, waiting for the crop to emerge from the earth.  Getting impatient won’t make the plants grow any faster.  (In those days, they didn’t know about genetic engineering!)  Instead, the apostle tells them, “Strengthen your hearts” (v. 8).  Strengthen your hearts.

Staying with the image of the farmer, it’s been observed, “The notion that we can make the seed grow by worrying about it is an accurate enough [takeoff on] the way we sometimes behave.  Our anxieties will not add anything.  They will diminish us and those around us.”[1]

When anxiety and impatience for the Lord’s return get mixed together, people really do get diminished.  We can probably think of some extreme cases in which individuals or groups—maybe even members of cults—were so restless about the second coming of Christ that they took their own lives.  You know, a way of speeding up the timetable for the reunion?  Some have gotten it into their heads that God was calling them to do this.  Friends, that is some serious diminishment!

Of course, things rarely get to that point.  Much more common is something James addresses in verse 9.  “Beloved, do not grumble against one another, so that you may not be judged.”  During times of suffering, times of oppression, people will often turn on each other.  Elie Wiesel, winner of the 1986 Nobel Peace Prize, has written of Jews in the Nazi concentration camps who were literally at each other’s throats.  And the history of black Americans is filled with these kinds of stories.

An Australian minister named Bill Loader has said, “The alternative to patience is some kind of panic.  This usually assumes that everything is in my control or should be.  So I become anxious and I fear that not everything will get done.  I then push myself and others around me.”[2]  Obviously, that’s something that effects all of us, whether or not we’ve been subjected to the kind of treatment as the people I just mentioned.

            One very effective remedy for impatience is presence.  It doesn’t have to be the kind of presence I spoke of earlier—that…encounter in worship in the dark of night.  That presence doesn’t even have to come by means of worship.  It may be understood when we are truly present with each other.  (And how rarely that happens!)

            In the weeks before Christmas, we tend to be both hurried and harried.  The hustle and bustle of the countdown of the “shopping days ‘til Christmas” doesn’t exactly set the stage for a meaningful Advent.  It prompts some people to ask the question, “Whose birthday is it, anyway?”

            Still, I think all of us—regardless to what extent we get caught up in the commercialized frenzy—all of us want to do better.  We want to know the meaning; we want to live the meaning.  And I certainly put myself in that category.  We want to experience something beyond the same old empty shell that we fill with “stuff,” whatever that may mean for each of us.

            We want to know that presence.

            In the current issue of Weavings, Robert Morris, an Episcopal priest from New Jersey, says this:  “Presence is a wonder just begging to be prayed into awareness.”[3]  In chapter 4 of his letter, James reminds his readers, “You do not have, because you do not ask.  You ask and do not receive, because you ask wrongly, in order to spend what you get on your pleasures” (vv. 2-3).

            We receive so little of what God wants to give us, because we simply don’t ask for it!  We simply don’t pray!  We avoid it like it’s the ebola virus!  And when we do pray, our priorities tend to be all messed up.  You know, I wish I had the wisdom of this apostle whose name I really like!  (But then, James starts off his letter by telling us to ask for wisdom!)

            I don’t think our friend Father Morris or the apostle James is claiming that God is some cosmic vending machine.  Being in relationship isn’t merely a question of exchanging one thing for something else.  Patience and presence change us.

            This past week, while trying to avoid succumbing to a potentially nasty sinus cold, I happened to listen to a CD that came out last year.  It’s by the band Evanescence.  I could tell you that their music has a kind of hard-edged, almost Goth sound with noticeable classical influences, but you have to hear it to really appreciate it.  Evanescence was founded by Amy Lee, who has a hauntingly beautiful voice, and Ben Moody, a guitarist who’s no longer with them.  (I read somewhere that those two met at church camp.)

            Anyway, it’s the song “Bring Me to Life” that I want to mention.  It’s such a powerful piece of music that, I’ll admit, a couple of times it’s brought tears to my eyes.  It’s not likely that my quoting of lyrics from the song will have that effect on you, but if it does, go with it!  (And I won’t attempt to sing this!)  “Wake me up inside / Call my name and save me from the dark / Bid my blood to run before I come undone / Save me from the nothing I’ve become / Bring me to life.”

            The entire song is an extended prayer.  Lines like, “Breathe into me and make me real,” suggest that flow of the Spirit which is the presence of God.  If we find ourselves wanting more than that empty shell I spoke of, we too will pray, “Save me from the nothing I’ve become.”  Save me from being the empty shell I too often become.

            Still, returning to the heart of the apostle’s message in our text, such things require patience.  And revisiting the question I asked at the beginning:  do we at Westminster need to hear this?  Do we look for the coming of the Lord—in the world, in our city, in our own lives?  Or are we content with the empty shell?  Don’t answer too quickly!

            When we look for the coming of the Lord, we’re unable to ignore—to refuse to welcome—signs of life.  Instead, we choose to participate in what God is doing.  When we look for the coming of the Lord, we lay aside stinginess of spirit.  Instead, we freely give—both our time and our money.  When we look for the coming of the Lord, we heed the apostle’s warning and stop grumbling, because the Judge is at the door.  Instead, we tell people that there is hope—and that hope is in the Lord.

            Unless and until God breathes into us, we aren’t real.  Remember, “Presence is a wonder just begging to be prayed into awareness.”

Lectionary readings aside, Advent is the perfect time of year for these questions.  People need to know that the coming of the Lord, both as the baby of Bethlehem and as the soon and coming King, isn’t just more of the same.  If we, the church, don’t show them that, who will?

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