Readings

And so we begin another year, with all the hopes and fears anything new brings. The readings and the liturgy can pretty much carry us along; perhaps what the sermon can offer is attention to three of the images in or behind our readings.

The first is that word “righteous” in Jeremiah. “A righteous Branch… execute justice and righteousness… Jerusalem… called: ‘The LORD is our righteousness.’”

“Righteous” and “Righteousness” are today pretty much restricted to religious contexts. That’s a pity, because ‘righteous’ (tsaddiq in Hebrew) is a remarkably useful word. A person who is righteous (a tsaddiq) is a person who does what needs to be done to fulfill the obligations of a relationship, even if it means coloring outside the lines.

In the Old Testament one of the classic examples of the tsaddiq is the widow Tamar. She owes it to her dead husband to have a son who’ll carry on his name. But her father-in-law, Judah, is standing in the way, and has shown no sign of budging. So, off with the widow’s garb, on with the prostitute’s garb, and she has the son by an oblivious Judah. Judah’s outraged—until she shows him the credit card receipt—but then has to acknowledge her as the more righteous: she’s done what’s necessary to carry on her husband’s (Judah’s son’s) name. She’s the Tamar who shows up in Jesus’ genealogy in Matthew.

The Lord, precisely in this sense, is righteous. It doesn’t matter how powerful Israel’s enemies are. It doesn’t matter how deep a hole Israel has dug herself in. The last thing the Lord will say is “Well, you brought this on yourself; what do you expect me to do?” The Lord is righteous. If that means bringing Israel out of Egypt, opening a way through the sea, the Lord will do it. If that means toppling the Babylonian Empire so the exiles can return home, the Lord will do it. If it means taking on human flesh to live as one of us, the Lord will do it. The Lord is righteous.

It’s that confidence in the Lord’s righteousness that animates the psalm. It doesn’t matter what combination of external enemies and self-inflicted wounds the psalmist is dealing with: the Lord can and will sort it out. That’s the confidence the psalm—and our tradition—invite us to share. The Lord is righteous, creative, stubborn; the Lord will sort it out.

The second image is from the Gospel, “the Son of Man coming in a cloud.” We heard those same words last Sunday in vision from Daniel 7. Recall the vision: Daniel sees a series of four beasts, each more terrifying than the last, with the last one hounding God’s people. But then the Ancient One comes onstage, the beasts are dealt with, and “the Son of Man coming in a cloud”—that one receives kingship. (And so we heard the text at the Feast of Christ the King.) It’s a remarkably hopeful vision: the face of the human future is not bestial, but human. The terrorists don’t win. The surveillance state doesn’t win. God bats last; God and humanity win.

You see, if the future that awaits us is bestial, then the dissipation and drunkenness Jesus warns us against in today’s Gospel sound like pretty good options. If the future that awaits us is bestial, then the invitation “to cast away the works of darkness” is futile. But the future that awaits us has a human face, Jesus’ face, so hope—with the swimming upstream that it entails—is the rational response.

The Lord is righteous. This Son of Man secures a human future. Two images from our readings. The third image lies just below the surface and serves as the motor. It’s captured in one of the carols that didn’t make it into our hymnal: “Tomorrow shall be my dancing day: / I would my true love did so chance / To see the legend of my play, / To call my true love to my dance: / Sing, O my love, O my love, my love, my love; / This have I done for my true love.” That’s the story we’re in, “we” as the human race, “we” as each individual. How the Nicene Creed manages to summarize this romance, this love story, without using the word ‘love’ is a head-scratcher. Anyhow, as love is necessarily a joint project, God’s standing invitation: let’s write this story together. And in that spirit the Church invites us into this season of Advent.