Sermon:
December 12, 2004
Sunday Night Alive  

Scripture:
Isaiah 35:1-7

Joy to the world, the Lord is come! 
Let earth receive her King;

let every heart prepare him room, 
and heaven and nature sing,

and heaven and nature sing, 
and heaven, and heaven and nature sing! 

This song, perhaps more than any other, tells me that it is Christmas. Its energy and enthusiasm seem to capture both the spirit and deepest yearnings of this season. “Joy to the world, the Lord is come!” Its emotion jumps right off the page. It grabs us…it startles us…it wakes us out of the sleepiness of winter and dares us to fill the world with color and light. “Joy to the world, the Lord is come!” 

This is the third Sunday of Advent. It is Pink Candle Sunday. It is the Sunday of Joy. Joy: a simple word, but not a simple emotion. Our scripture tonight tells us that when the Messiah, the anointed One of God, comes, joy is what we will experience. The first and last lines of this reading sandwich all of the imagery in words of joy. Verse 1: “The desert shall rejoice and bloom.” Verse 10: “They will enter Zion with singing and everlasting joy will crown their heads.” Joy for the world…when the Lord does come. 

Before we go much further here, though—before we get caught up in the mushy, touchy-feely stuff so easily thought of when we talk about joy—a bit of a disclaimer is in order. Joy is another one of those themes whose deepest meanings can so easily get lost in the sentimentalized and commercialized expressions of the season. The deepest meanings of the joy that Christmas brings can easily get lost, confused or forgotten. Just as Carl reminded us last week that the Peace of Christ is so much deeper than peace and quiet, the joy of Christ—the joy found in Christ—is also much deeper and richer than we have come to expect. 

First and foremost, joy is not to be confused with happiness. We don’t sing, “Happiness to the world, the Lord is come!” There is a reason we do not light the candle of happiness this week.  Joy is not to be confused with happiness.  Oh, they are related, I suppose. Maybe they’re cousins. But joy and happiness are not identical twins. The root of the word happiness is hap, meaning chance (as in happenstance or haphazard.) Happiness depends on what is happening. Certain things need to be happening in order that there might be happiness.  

Joy is something different. For Christians, joy is deeper than happiness, because while happiness is dependant on what is happening, joy springs forth from a knowledge of what has already happened. Happened to us. Happened around us. Happened among us. Happened within us. And what is it that has happened? “Joy to the world, the Lord is come!” Our joy comes from the knowledge of the presence of God-with-us at all times. Joy is the way of life that comes from trusting that, in Christ, God has joined us on this journey, will not abandon us on this journey, and will bring us through whatever happens in the midst of this journey. Joy is something we have even when what is happening brings sadness or grief. Barbara Brown Taylor describes it like this: “The only condition for joy is the presence of God. Joy happens when God is present and people know it, which means it can erupt in a depressed economy, in the middle of a war, in an intensive care waiting room.”     

While happiness is dependant on things going well in our lives, joy is not dependant on outside forces. Happiness requires positive conditions: good health, right relationships, a good job, shelter, food and clothing. Joy, on the other hand, can be found even when these other conditions do not exist. As Frederick Buechner writes: “God created us in joy and created us for joy, and in the long run, not all the darkness there is in the world and in ourselves can separate us finally from that joy. Whatever else it means to say that [we are created in God’s image], I think it means that even when we cannot believe in [God], even when we feel most spiritually bankrupt and deserted, God’s mark is deep within us. We have God’s joy in our blood.”  

Wendy and Scott Baker told me a story recently, and although they did not ever use the word “joy,” by the story’s end it became clear to me that they had experienced the deepest sense of what this third Sunday of Advent is all about. Wendy and Scott told me about when they were pregnant with their twins. This was a hard pregnancy, and when it came time to give birth, the time was early. Two months early. After the babies were born, the next two months were touch and go, and there were moments when the doctors were not sure if both would make it. These clearly were not happy times. But Wendy told me that she never worried, because she never doubted, not for a minute, that God was with them on this journey. She knew that God would not abandon them nor would God abandon Kyle or Lauren. No matter what was going to happen, whether they were to live or not, God would bring them all through this, and even in death, God would be present to them all. Well, we know that Kyle and Lauren are with us, and to see them and their shining faces each week is a reminder that miracles still happen. Yes, Virginia, miracles still happen. This assurance that brought Scott and Wendy through tough and unhappy times, this trust that God was with them, is joy. It is in the hope that the world might know this same kind of assurance that we light this pink candle today. “Joy to the world, the Lord is come! 

But lest we forget that Christmas is a season to expect the unexpected, this joy—this Christmas joy—does not always show up when and where we expect it. In fact, our scriptures take us to a strange place to wait for the joy of Christ’s coming into our midst, a place that seems far removed from the abundance of our culture’s Christmas expression. Our scripture today details the most unexpected place to find the Messiah. Where does Isaiah foretell Christ’s coming? In the stark, secluded statuary of sand called the desert.    

The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom… Say to those who are of a fearful heart, “Be strong, do not fear! Here is your God…” 

It is into the desert that we are called on this third Sunday of Advent. We are called there by this word: “When the Messiah comes, your deserts will bloom with joy.”  

What was the historical situation that caused the prophet Isaiah to write these words about the blooming deserts? The year was 700 B.C., and life had become like a desert to the people. Life can be like that. Life can become a desert—brown and burned out, dead and dry, with no roots to keep the sand from going any way the wind blows.  

What happened? The people of Israel—exiled. Their capital city—incinerated. Their religious temple—destroyed. Their sons—killed. Their cities and farms—burned. The duration of their captivity—now going on fifty years. God’s chosen people were feeling burnt and brown and broken down. It was into this place—the most dried up, the most barren, most stark, most empty, the unhappiest of places—that the prophet proclaimed a word of joy. It was there that the prophet wrote these incredible words: “When the Messiah comes, your desert will bloom with joy.” 

Deserts are not just places. They are states of being. Inevitably, life takes us through the desert, through times that are dried up and cracked. Life after the loss of a loved one can be like journeying through the desert: empty and barren of the companionship of a parent, grandparent, child or friend. Death can cause us to journey through the desert. There are times when we find our marriages are in the desert when somehow, slowly, the love you once shared has all but dried up. Illnesses like cancer or multiple sclerosis can dry up all our strength until the desert is the only place we seem to find ourselves. Job loss can be the desert of not knowing where to turn because there seems to be nowhere left to turn. Too many walk the cracked and dry land of the desert—cracked by depression, cracked by addiction, cracked with loneliness.  

And as hard as it is to admit, Christmastime can be the worst time of the year for people who feel life is like a desert. I know there are many who pray for Christmas to be over. Christmas begins two or three weeks before Thanksgiving, and these desert people further wilt under the Christmas pressure to be happy. (Oh, but if they knew something about our joy!) I am sure that many of us are aware that Christmastime is the number one time for depression and suicide.  Why? Because for many people, life is a desert, and life seems even more deserted at this time of year. But if we are to take our scriptures seriously, then the road to Christmas runs right through this place, right through the desert. “When the Messiah comes, your deserts will bloom with joy.” If you have ever traveled through a desert, then you know what a sight—what a sign of life and hope—flowers in the desert are. 

But not just that the desert will bloom, but how the desert will bloom is important for us to remember. It tells us right there in the second verse: “Like the crocus, [the desert] shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing.” Like the crocus? I have to admit, when I thought of a miraculous desert in bloom, it was full of roses, orchids, violets, lilies, carnations, sunflowers and tulips. If God is going to make a desert bloom, then I figured it would be lush and colorful, full of many different kinds of flowers. But the scripture tells us that it will be a crocus that signals the blooming of the desert. It is the crocus that signals to the world that Christ is coming. It is the crocus that will proclaim this joy to the world. 

Crocuses are not glamorous. You have probably never sent a bouquet of crocuses to anyone. They are seldom planted in flowerbeds or gardens. But more than any other flower, the crocus is the tough little plant that signals the true ending of winter. There is perhaps no hardier flower, surviving frost and late snowfalls, waiting to bloom on an unexpected world. Crocuses don’t wait until June like the wise roses, when the hazards of drought and dryness are safely behind them.  Crocuses knife up through hard ground, sticking their necks out, because they believe in signaling the change of seasons. They know, long before any of the other flowers, when spring is in the air and the world is in need of some fresh color.  

The joy that comes with Christmas is a crocus kind of joy. Tough and courageous, sticking its neck out when others would just as soon wait for a sunny season. Truth be told, I am not by nature very crocus-minded.  Even when I have studied the situation and know there are wrongs that need righting, affirmations that need stating….well, mostly I’d rather wait until June when everything is coming up roses. But the joy of the coming Christ comes in the season of barrenness and dryness, and its first sign is the crocus. Maybe the joy of Christmas will be made known to the world when Christians become more crocus-minded. Crocus-minded Christians:  those willing to stick their necks out, those who care enough to think through and work through hard ground, because they believe it is time to signal a change in season. Crocus-minded Christians are those who will find the folks who feel stranded in the desert, pick up those who can’t walk, and carry the thirsty to the pools of living water. You will find these crocus-minded folks living out this joy among those who anonymously ring the bells, work the soup kitchens, man the shelters, deliver the toys, and answer the hotlines these weeks. Crocus-minded Christians are those who know that deserts need some color.  

Jesus Christ came into the world much like the crocus comes into the desert. Not as colorful or fancy as some would have liked was this baby born in a manger. Many never even noticed his arrival because it came so suddenly, without much warning, without the signs that a change in season was about to take place. And yet, like the crocus, Jesus came. And like the crocus, Jesus enters the scene, breaking through the dry and unfertile soils of our lives, signaling to us and to the whole world that a new season has begun. When the Messiah comes, your desert will bloom with joy, crocus-like—small, colorful, surprising—unexpected joy. Joy to the world, for in Jesus, the Lord has come.  

Note: I am always grateful to the works of Barbara Brown Taylor and Frederick Buechner. They both offer great insight, creativity and clarity to otherwise confusing theological matters. The Taylor quote came from a sermon she preached entitled “Surprised by Joy” that I read in a back issue of The Living Pulpit. The Buechner quote came from his classic, The Longing for Home. 

Crocuses 

It takes courage
to be crocus-minded.
Lord, I’d rather wait until June,
like the wise roses,
when the hazards of winter are
safely behind
and I’m expected,
and everything’s ready for roses.
But crocuses?
Highly irregular.
Knifing up through hard-frozen ground and snow
sticking their necks out,
because they believe in spring
and have something personal
and empathic to say about it. 

Lord, I am by nature rose-minded.
Even when I have studied the situation here
and know there are wrongs that need righting,
affirmations that need stating,
and know also that my speaking out might
even rock the boat...
Well, I’d rather wait until June.
Maybe later things will work themselves out,
and we won’t have to make an issue of it. 

Lord, forgive.
Wrongs don’t work themselves out.
Injustices and inequalities and hurts
don’t just dissolve. 

Somebody has to stick their neck out,
somebody who cares enough
to think through
and work through hard ground,
because they believe
and have something personal
and empathic to say about it. 

Me, Lord?
Crocus-minded?
Could it be that there are things that need
to be said, and you want me to say them? 

I pray for courage.  

                     -- Author Unknown