Episode 3: Advent 3 (A)

Episode 3 · December 6th, 2016 · 25 mins 33 secs

About this Episode 

<p>In our third episode we deal with the Lectionary texts for the Third Sunday of Advent, Year A: Isaiah 11:1-10, Romans 15:4-13 and Matthew 3:1-12. We consider what it means to look to these texts for real words of grace and hope, and what the nature of true joy really is.</p>

Show Notes:

With the words, “This text shouldn’t be here,” my colleague Barbara Lundblad begins a thoughtful presentation on Isaiah 35. After all, as she points out, it’s not just that this text doesn’t address anyone by name. It’s also that it almost immediately follows a poem that’s full of images of creational disaster: “Edom’s streams will be turned into pitch, her dust into burning sulfur, her land will become blazing pitch … Thorns will overrun her citadels, nettles and brambles her strongholds” (Isaiah 34:9, 13).

Into that promise of environmental devastation, Isaiah says, “The desert and the parched land will be glad; the wilderness will rejoice and blossom. Like the crocus, it will burst into bloom; it will rejoice greatly and shout for joy” (Isaiah 35:1-2a).

This text shouldn’t be here...Lundblad notes, “Isaiah dares to speak a word out of place. A word that refuses to wait until things improved.” Walter Brueggemann says something similar when he points out, “Israel’s doxologies are characteristically against the data.”

Patience with others is Love, Patience with self is Hope, Patience with God is Faith.
—Adel Bestavros

Hardly anything points toward God and calls as urgently for God as the experience of his absence...

Yes, patience is what I consider to be the main difference between faith and atheism...What atheism, religious fundamentalism, and the enthusiasm of a too-facile faith have in common is how quickly they can ride roughshod over the mystery we call God – and that is why I find all three approaches equally unacceptable...

One must never consider mystery “over and done with.” Mystery, unlike a mere dilemma, cannot be overcome; one must wait patiently at its threshold and persevere in it – must carry it in one’s heart … and allow it to mature there and lead one in turn to maturity...

If the signs of God’s presence lay within easy reach on the surface of the world as some religious zealots like to think, there would be no need for real faith.

But I’m convinced that maturing in one’s faith also entails accepting enduring moments – and sometimes even lengthy periods – when God seems remote or remains concealed. What is obvious and demonstrable doesn’t require faith. We don’t need faith when confronted with unshakable certainties accessible to our powers of reason, imagination, or sensory experience. We need faith precisely at those twilight moments when our lives and the world are full of uncertainty, during the cold night of God’s silence. And its function is not to allay our thirst for certainty and safety, but to teach us to live with mystery. Faith and hope are expressions of our patience at just such moments – and so is love.
-Tomas Halick, Patience With God

In contrast to the overblown rhetoric of so many Christian apologists – with their drastic naivety about the ambivalence of the natural world and the intractable difficulties of believing – Halík's account strikes me as a sensitive and realistic articulation of the difference faith makes. The best thing about his book – again, in contrast to the usual apologetics – is that it's actually a Christian response to atheism. Surely anything a Christian says to an atheist ought to arise not from an invincible commitment to being right, but from an understanding of the kindness of God, an awareness that there is room in God's family even for those who doubt – those for whom the word "God" cannot easily be deciphered from the dark hieroglyphics of the world.
-Ben Meyers, commenting on Halik's "Patience With God"

The entire Bible can be seen, in fact, as a story of betrayal, beginning with Adam and proceeding through the history of the Israelites, culminating in the cross. In an astonishing reversal the Romans’ cruelest execution device became the ubiquitous Christian symbol. “And I, when I am lifted up from
when I am lifted up from the earth, I will draw all people to myself,” Jesus had predicted. John adds by way of explanation, “He said this to show the kind of death he was going to die.” At the cross, hiddenness, ambiguity and strange beauty converge. Every one of Jesus’ followers, from the first disciples down through history to the present day, knows the feeling of betrayal. Sharp-edged gossip, the stab of envy, that colleague we humiliated, the racist comment that drew a laugh, a sudden and inexplicable cruelty, apologies to our children deserved but never made, a furtive fantasy, a stolen kiss, callousness toward another’s misery, an addiction to what demeans or even destroys— in ways small and large we too step on the fumi-e. Our only hope is the forgiving gaze of the betrayed Savior, the still point of Endo’s novel.

-Philip Yancey, from the forward to Makoto Fujimura's Silence and Beauty: Hidden Faith Born of Suffering (Kindle Locations 240-242). InterVarsity Press. Kindle Edition.