Advent Hope and Refugees
1992 (Year A) 29 November / Advent Sunday
St Peter de Beauvoir Town
Russian dolls have smaller dolls inside them. You’ve all seen them. You take them apart there’s one, then another. You keep doing it until you get to the core doll. That’s the one that can’t be separated – the indivisible one. Now it occurs to me that we’re all like Russian dolls. Normally we only see each other’s outer shell. Sometimes if we’re brave and vulnerable we allow the outer casing to be taken away and we reveal something deeper. To a few people we show more but very very few people are allowed to get to the core – perhaps even we don’t know what’s there – maybe only God knows that.
And it’s interesting to think about what might be there. At the very centre of our being, when everything else has been stripped away. We’re given glimpses of course, when we watch the television and see people in particular crisis. When we or our friends face life changing or life- threatening experiences and suddenly all our defences come tumbling down. Then if we’re quick, we can see something of our core. And what do we see?
I have seen hope. Sometimes is just desperate, but it’s hope. I have seen hope in parents who want something different for their children. I have seen hope in the face of those standing round the bed of a lover whose is terminally ill. I have seen hope on the face of those undergoing pain and distress. And hope is the only thing that some refugees have left as they leave homes and families behind. And when I have seen that hope I believe that I have been blessed, because hope is divine.
At the end of one particular story in the Old Testament there is a picture of supreme poetic beauty. ‘I set my bow in the cloud, and it shall be a sign of the covenant between me and the earth. When I bring clouds over the earth and the bow is seen in the clouds, I will remember my covenant which is between me and you and every living creature...’ Against the dark and threatening clouds of a coming annihilation, the rainbow appears as a token: a reminder to God, a recollection of his promise. A sign of hope for a frightened people. Because of that promise’ I will never again curse the earth’, we all have a chance to live. We are given hope.
And indeed we are a people of hope. The church is a community of hope. Founded on a promise. Blessed with a hope. Hope for the coming of a child who will be called Emanuel, God with us. Looking forward in hope to the coming of the Kingdom, the New Jerusalem, the Heavenly City.
Hope sustains life. It creates the possibility of a future to a person or a community who have none. So let’s look at our hope for this New Jerusalem, this Heavenly City. ‘Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away ... And I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘Now the dwelling of God is with men, and he will live with them ... He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.’ The city does not need the sun or the moon to shine on it, for the glory of God gives it light ... on no day will its gates ever be shut, for there will be no night there.’
Our hope, the hope of our Christian community, gives hope to the world. And we are certainly a privileged collection of people for as we seek to establish the Kingdom, to build the New Jerusalem, our hope can give futures to those who have none. This week, when our Church Council meets, we will look again at plans to enable this church to be more responsive to the needs of strangers, welcoming those without hope, without future.
And the discussion will be informed by our hope. And if the hope for the New Jerusalem is that there will be no more tears then it’s hallmark will be doors that are shut neither by day nor by night. It will be an open city, where people can come and go in freedom.
One person has written, ‘Lift up your heads, O ye Gates; so that the Lord of Glory may come in, with grace for the people who ask it. Open the doors in the world, in this city and in this church so that the Lord of Glory may enter, with justice for all and peace for everyone. Open hearts like this are beautiful open churches are lovely. They make life vital, receptive and expectant. They make the earth habitable.’
But open doors are costly. The person who lays themselves open becomes vulnerable, the church which trusts can be disappointed. But to close ourselves to others in hardness of heart and to live with clenched fists, would be to deny our hope, to deny the divine gift which is at the very centre of our being. It would surely mean not living any more. It would mean being buried alive, with no future.
So, ‘Lift up your heads, O ye Gates; so that the King of Glory may come in. Who is the King of Glory?’ He is the Lord, strong in his love and mighty in his self-giving, the Lord, lovely in the way he comes to meet us. His beauty will redeem the world and his gift of hope will give every person a future. AMEN