Advent Sunday All Saints' 30 Nov 2003

Revd Mark Bonney

Waiting and the anticipation of something creates its own special excitement. Those few moments before the curtain rises at the theatre or before the conductor mounts the podium at a concert have a special frisson about them. 

One of the main themes of the Advent season is the excitement and anticipation of awaiting a great event. "The days are surely coming" said our first reading, "when I will fulfil the promise made to the house of Israel." "Be on your guard", said the gospel "be alert at all times" We can easily get caught up in preparations for 25 December and imagine that that is what we're meant to be alert about - but the great excitement and anticipation of these readings and of all those yearning lines in Advent hymns is not to do with Christmas at all - rather it's to do with the end of the world - the end times.

I was recently reading some words of the great Roman Catholic theologian Teilhard de Chardin. He was saying that an expectation of the end of the world had guided the progress of our faith like a torch. And, I quote, "we persist in saying that we keep vigil in expectation of the master, but in reality we should have to admit, if we were sincere, that we no longer expect anything. The flame must be revived at all costs. At all costs we must renew in ourselves the desire and the hope for the great coming."

It would be presumptuous of me to make judgments (another great Advent theme!) - but I wouldn't be surprised if talk of the second coming of Jesus and the end times leave many of us perplexed. "Lo he comes with clouds descending" is wonderful picture, but not one we can take literally in the light of our contemporary understanding of the universe.

The Scriptures speak of a cosmic disintegration resulting in anew heaven and new earth; but from our contemporary knowledge there's no indication that there could be a catastrophic end to the Milky Way without special divine intervention. It is possible that some catastrophic event could spell the end for humanity on this particular planet - 65 million years ago there was a collision that killed 90% of all species - I gather it's estimated that Comet Swift-Tuttle might hit the earth on 14 August 2126 - but even this highly remote possibility doesn't inspire in us the fervent expectation of the end times that are in the New Testament. Eventually in the far distant future many think that the sun will swell into a red giant and the earth will become too hot for life - others talk of the earth being sucked into a giant black hole. But this is all open for debate - whatever - it seems very unlikely that the End will come soon. 

But there are two abiding truths from the Scriptural talk of the End times which remain valid. In the first place, the decision of faith always confronts us with an urgency similar to that when faced by the end of all things; and secondly, Christian hope is not about the future of the planet or of the human race but about the hope of eternal life in Christ Jesus - something that begins with meeting him now if our eyes, ears and hearts are open. When we pray your kingdom come in the Lord's prayer, we don't have the same anticipation of the a transformation of this world as those of the NT did, but we do ask for God's kingdom to be more fully on earth just as it will be fully realized in heaven.

A story.

A tourist wandering along the shores of Lake Como in Italy happened to come to the castle known as Villa Asconti, and even at first glance he realized that it was one of the most gracious buildings he had ever seen. Presently a very old but friendly gardener opened the gate, invited the tourist to look around; so the two walked along the paths, under the tress and amid lawns and flowers, and no matter where they went everything was immaculate in spite of the curious fact that quite obviously the castle was deserted. No one sat at a window. Nobody walked in the grounds. No servants appeared. No dog barked. After some conversation the tourist enquired when the owner had last been in residence. "Twelve years," the gardener replied. "I suppose he writes?"   "Never"   "Then who give instructions?"   "His agent in Milan"  "Does the agent come sometimes"   "Oh, no, the agent never comes"   "But surely somebody visits the place?"    The old gardener shook his head. "Nobody" he said sadly. "Nobody ever sees the garden except an occasional traveller like yourself."

For a while the tourist said nothing. Captivated as he was by exquisite lawns, each perfect, the flowers, the borders in which he could find not a single weed. - he was puzzled. Moreover, he was aware of a hint of mystery, of a feeling that he had unconsciously walked into the middle of a parable. "But," he said at last, "you keep everything here beyond reproach as if you were expecting the master to come tomorrow ." 

Several years have passed since that tourist made that observation, but to this day he recalls the light which kindled in the old gardener's eyes, the excitement which brought a flush to his cheeks, the quiver in his voice as he cried passionately, "Not tomorrow - today sir!…may it be TODAY!"

Let's pray that this Advent our hearts may be filled again with that desire and expectation that we will meet with Christ - that if asked we would say not that we expect to meet him tomorrow or sometime in the future - but today. And, of course the truth is that he does come to us today - today and every day if our eyes and ears and hearts are open and expectant. He's there in the person that we haven't got time for, for the person we walked past - he's there in the painful silences that we try to fill with words and activity - an he's here in our worship this morning - and above all mysteriously, silently and gloriously beneath the forms of bread and wine at this Eucharist that we sometimes receive without recognising the awesomeness of what we're doing.

Come Lord Jesus, come quickly come!. Amen.