Welcome Home?

Sermon for Sunday, Nov. 30 -- the First Sunday in Advent. Scripture is Mark 13:24-37.

I remember coming home from college for the holidays. In particular, I remember that first Thanksgiving. My parents had dropped their baby boy off at Ohio Northern University on Labor Day weekend, and had only seen me once since then, for parents weekend. So this was my first trip back home since going away to college.

I hadn’t even made it to the door, and my mother was already out of the house hugging me. She had heard the car door slam and couldn’t wait to greet me. When I got in the door, my father was coming down the stairs. He was excited to see me as well. Dinner was ready, and they were so excited to hear my stories about how school was going, what friends I had made, how the trip home was. They also wanted to share their stories with me: They had gotten a new dishwasher. We were going to Grandma and Pap Pap’s on Thanksgiving Day. Our dog, Shadow, missed me so much that she wouldn’t come upstairs at night anymore, instead laying by the front door all night, every night – waiting for me to come home.

Do I even have to tell you how loved I felt that day? I knew my parents loved me, but sometimes I felt it more than usual. This was one of those times. But as the years passed, this happened less and less often when I came home from college, and then came home from seminary in Atlanta. I’d come home for Christmas break, and there’d be no one at the house. My dad would be at work and my mom would be shopping for gifts. Or, they’d be at the house, but my dad would be upstairs writing his Christmas Eve sermon and my mom would be in the basement wrapping gifts. Instead of them rushing to greet me, I had to find them to say hello. Sometimes, I’d be home for awhile before they even noticed.

Other times, I’d come home for a weekend for no particular reason, and I’d meet the same result. It seemed that as time went on, I was greeted less and less when I walked in the door, and it was less and less of an event that I had returned home. My visits were no longer as exciting as they used to be for my parents. And I didn’t get that same greeting of love that I used to get. I know they still loved me as much as they always did, it’s just that they now forgot to hit the pause button on their lives when I arrived. I no longer felt special. I no longer felt loved in the same way.

But you know, we all do that. It’s not my parents fault. Sometimes they just got so caught up in their lives and their to-do lists and their holiday preparation that they forgot to make my arrival something important in their lives. I wonder if this is why Jesus tells us the parable of keeping awake. And I wonder if this is the reason that this text is the assigned lectionary text for the First Sunday of Advent.

Of course, at this point in Mark Jesus is talking about his second coming, about his return. It is the last public teaching he gives before the passion account begins, before the story of his crucifixion begins. And I would assume the people who are hearing it don’t fully grasp what he’s talking about with this “coming again in glory” business, because he hasn’t died yet.
Well, Jesus likens his leaving and subsequent return to that of a master. A master leaves his estate for a long journey, one in which he himself doesn’t even know when he’ll return. He pulls together all his servants, says, “I’m leaving and I don’t know when I’ll be back. In fact, it might be awhile. But while I’m gone, keep doing your work. But while you’re working, keep watch on the horizon. Keep looking for me to come back. And always be ready for me when I come back.
The beauty of this being our lesson for the first Sunday in Advent is that it teaches us how to wait in the season of Advent. It teaches us that Jesus will return home – Jesus will re-enter our lives, as he does every year around this time. We’ll celebrate that arrival – that incarnation – on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, but Christ comes into our lives throughout this season. When he does, he will be like the master, coming at an unannounced, unknown time even to him, and entering into our lives while we are busy working.

When the master does show up in our lives during this season, what kinds of work will we be doing? Will he come to our house, only to find that we’re out shopping for gifts? Will he find us too busy wrapping presents upstairs to even notice his arrival? Will we be so preoccupied with our baking that we won’t have time to sit down and hear his stories? Will we be busy working overtime so we can afford all those needless gifts? Will we demand he take his salty, snowy shoes off and push him out of the way as we frantically clean for all of our soon-to-arrive guests? Will we have our favorite Christmas movies turned up so loud that we can’t even hear him arrive? Will we be stuck up on the roof turning our household into an exact replica of the Griswolds’ home? Will we be having too much fun getting drunk on egg nog at our company Christmas party to be willing to say hello when he arrives? Will we be too busy or too embarrassed to show Christ how much we love him this year?

Or will it be different this year? Will Christ come to our house and be greeted at the door with a warm embrace? Will we have time to eat a home-cooked dinner with him and listen to his stories? Will we greet him with wagging tails, like a dog that has missed its master? Will we bound down the stairs like a kid at Christmas, desperately wanting to receive the most precious gift of all?

When Lisa and I first moved here, we didn’t sleep very well the first few weeks. The trains kept waking us up. We noticed every single one that came through town, day and night. It always burst into our lives as an unannounced interruption of whatever we were doing. But after awhile, we started getting used to it. Now, trains hardly ever wake us up. And we don’t often notice the sound of them during the day, either. The sound of the whistle doesn’t interrupt our life. After only a few short months, the trains no longer disrupt our lives. They have become so ordinary, so typical, that we’ve learned to tune it out.

Lillian Daniel, Senior Minister of First Congregational Church in Glen Ellyn Illinois, says Christ has become like a train to us that we have learned to tune out. She says, “Like people who have lived by the train tracks for years, we no longer hear the sound of the train. After years in church, we get used to the noise in Advent, to the coming of Christ, so much so that we no longer notice it. Or if we do, it has ceased to jolt us awake and has become instead a low, dull rumble.”

Have we turned Advent into a low, dull rumble? Do we go through the motions, having the same Christmas events we’ve always had for no reason other than it’s tradition? Do we light the Advent wreath because it’s always been a part of Advent? Have we allowed the hope, the joy, the love, the peace of Christmas to become so commonplace that it doesn’t excite us any longer? I’m willing to bet those of you who have lived here all your lives never had trains jolting you awake as Lisa and I did. You’ve never lived in an environment without trains rumbling through. Now consider how that translates to our Advent and Christmas traditions. Consider someone who is experiencing Christ in Christmas for the first time, or maybe the first time in several years. They will surely take notice of Christ’s arrival in the midst of all this preparation, the midst of all our activities and events. And that’s something we might be able to learn from them – maybe we need to approach Advent and Christmas with fresh eyes. Maybe we need to get excited about the arrival of the Christ child again. Maybe we’ve become too preoccupied with lighting the Advent wreath for Christ, or preparing for his arrival. Maybe we get so caught up in preparing to love the master that when he finally arrives, we forget to actually love him. When we light our Advent wreath, do we actually take notice of Christ’s presence? Or does he pass right by without us seeing him, because we’re too focused on making sure we do everything right?

Perhaps we’re guilty of loving Christ so much that we’ve turned his arrival into routine. We no longer stop and take note of his arrival during this time of year. Christ has become the low, dull rumble of a train, which we have become so adept at tuning out. We have made Christmas about community events, company Christmas parties, gifts for co-workers, family, and friends, shopping, baking, cleaning, decorating, and traveling. And we’re able to do this because we know that Christ will come on Christmas. We’ll go to church and hear the birth story again – unless we tune out its low, dull rumble as well – but nothing in worship will jolt us awake.

Keep alert! Keep awake! For you do not know when the master of the house will come. Don’t let yourself fall asleep spiritually to the lullabies of shopping, wrapping, decorating, baking, and cleaning. Don’t be caught spiritually asleep when Christ our Lord comes into your life. Keep alert! Keep awake! And let yourself fall in love with Christ all over again this Christmas. Let him jolt you awake in the dead of your holiday slumber, and stay awake all night listening to his stories. Keep alert! Keep awake! And be ready to welcome home the master of the house, the Christ child, into your life with open arms this year. In the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.