A sermon on Philippians 4:4-7
It poured cold rain all day long on Wednesday. The lawn flooded, and our walkway to the fellowship hall became a lake.
It was still pouring cold rain when the first of the women appeared with the food and the supplies needed for the evening. It was still pouring, and by now it was pitch dark as well, when the kids arrived to put on their costumes and have one last chaotic rehearsal. It was still pouring when Mark arrived with the sweet buns. It was still pouring when the Deagles drove first to Pat and Bob’s and then to Jean Ward’s to pick them up and bring them because they so wanted to be a part of things. It was still pouring and pitch black when the Fellowship Hall filled with members and friends and the families of the children, and the food was served and the hymns were sung and the testimonies were given, and the children performed perfectly.
It poured cold rain in the pitch darkness of a winter night, and we laughed with joy, and sang praise to God.
That’s Advent.
Advent always comes in December, when temperatures plummet along with the last of the brown and brittle leaves, when healthy people start getting sick, and when the sick start getting worse. The winter solstice, the longest night of the year in the Northern Hemisphere, comes almost every winter on December 21.
And this is when Christians dress their churches in evergreen and holly, throw parties and celebrate, because the winter solstice is the time early Christians chose to celebrate Christ’s birth. The bible gives us scant clues about the exact date of his birth, but those they do give lead most scholars to speculate he was likely born in the Spring. Why the winter solstice?
Many know that pagans under the Roman Empire celebrated the birth of the Sun God on the winter solstice, so a lot of scholars have said that Christians wanted a holiday then too, so they coopted the Sun God’s holiday for the birth of Jesus. But I think this is only partially true.
Christians chose the winter solstice because the coming of Jesus was in a deeply dark and troubled time, and they expected things would get even darker before he came again.
Rejoice, Paul writes, as he languishes in a Roman prison, to a congregation under vicious persecution. “Rejoice in the Lord always! Again, I say rejoice!”
For Paul, to be “in the Lord” is similar to what Jesus meant by entering the kingdom of God. It was to be animated and driven by Christ’s spirit, which leads us to his same fate, to suffering first, but after the suffering, a new creation and eternal life.
So, he says rejoice! The facts of his imprisonment and their persecution meant that they were fully “in Christ.” They were sharing, Paul was saying, in the suffering of Christ, which was the revelation of divine righteousness, the suffering love of his perfect faithfulness to us. Their suffering was proof of the nearness of the Lord.
It’s pouring cold rain and there is nothing but darkness. That’s the time, above all others, to rejoice in the Lord. Because there’s no better time to light a candle than when everything is dark.
Paul says, “Let your gentleness be known to everyone.” Particularly when you are hated and reviled falsely by those who are afraid, when you are being arrested and tortured and murdered because you put God over Caesar, you are joining Christ in death, and you will rise with Christ’s resurrection. This is exactly the time when you must demonstrate your gentleness to everyone.
The Greek word translated “gentleness” literally means “reasonableness,” which seems pale, perhaps. But there is something really perfect about it: reasonableness is precisely the quality of people who live in hope, who are at peace with themselves and the world, no matter how messed up either might be, and who find giving of themselves to those in need a joy.
Reasonableness. The ability to calmly reason, to let people be who they want to be, to trust that God is finally in charge of them, just like God’s in charge of us. In a time of insanity and chaos, what a light in that darkness would be simple reasonableness!
In a time of deep darkness, among a people swept up in fear and anger, with terrible violence threatening everyone, dread of disaster pouring down like a cold rain on a December night, that’s when Christ shines brightest, when the good news of his coming is most desperately needed, and the works of heaven done on earth mean the most.
When everyone else is hating, Christians love, shocking the system like chlorine in a bacteria-infested pool. When everyone else despairs, Christians hope, telling everyone who will listen that there’s light at the end of this dark tunnel. When everyone is grieving and sorrowing, Christians share the joy that is coming in the morning.
Things have changed a great deal since Jesus’ time and Paul’s. The United States, as often as it is compared to the Roman Empire, really has very little in common, beyond being an empire. The problems of being an empire are similar, but ours is marked by two thousand years of cultural change effected on a very deep level by the faithful core of the Christian Church, who, over the centuries, have instilled in the world of humans a great deal more compassion and respect for human dignity through the power of the gospel of Jesus Christ.
Like every empire since Babel, ours will likely become more fragmented as we find our languages more and more deeply confused, as they have sorely been by the advent of the internet and other forces. We may recover, find once again a common narrative to unite us for a time. History and the scriptures don’t hold out much hope that our empire, like all the others, won’t finally collapse under the weight of so much wealth and power. But we certainly have a far higher standard of living than most subjects of the Roman Empire experienced, have far more personal rights and privileges than they did, and we certainly don’t have to worry about being arrested for our faith. At least not yet.
What hasn’t changed is that the power of the gospel works at a different level from human power. Human power is like a back scratcher. It gets at an itch and scratches, but whatever is causing the itch doesn’t get addressed. The power of the gospel operates like a deep-tissue massage. It gets under the skin, working in its own mysterious way on those things hidden in the darkness of the human soul.
God has sent each one of us into a world of relationships: parents, children, siblings, co-workers, partners, spouses, internet followers, all in particular locations and at particular moments in time. Each one of us comprises a world of people, places and things unique to ourselves. God gave each one of us particular gifts and skills that we are meant to apply in the world we have been given.
In each of our worlds, and sometimes in all of them, there comes from time to time darkness and chaos. It might happen to us, or to those around us. In either case, in all cases, Paul says, rejoice in the Lord, for he is near, full of his glory and power. Rejoice that you are there for that person in your world who is despairing, agitated, fearful or even full of rage and hate. Rejoice that the Lord is there to guard your heart from becoming infected with such feelings, and to equip you to love and support whoever has found themselves in the outer darkness, weeping and gnashing their teeth. Rejoice when the economy goes into free-fall, particularly if you are in a position to help those who are truly suffering because of it. And if you are one of those people, rejoice that you have been given an opportunity to suffer as Christ, and the little ones he loved, suffered. Rejoice that you have an opportunity to demonstrate just how powerful faith can be.
In the cold, pitch black night, when freezing rain is pouring on our heads, rejoice in the Lord!
Amen.
