Sermon for Advent 3, Year A (12-14-25)

The Rev. Drake Douglas

"Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us; and, because we are sorely hindered by our sins, let your bountiful grace and mercy speedily help and deliver us..."

We're supposed to speak of joy this third Sunday of Advent. But I think that this sobering, sorrowful morning I - for one - need to be first reminded of God's power. Because when so many corners of the world seem totally shrouded in deep darkness, in dank, joyless violence; when so much seems impossibly broken and un-mendable; when young lives are ripped from this world  by the grasp of senseless, belligerent evil; when that violence comes to our own backyard how dare we speak of joy? What are we to do here on a day like today if we're being honest?

I - for one - am heartbroken. I feel small, and frightened, and furious. I need God's power today. Stir up your power O Lord - speedily help and deliver us.

I was napping after an absolutely joyful morning in Boston yesterday, celebrating and giving thanks to God as five new priests were ordained. One of whom is a very good friend of mine whose faith is an example to me, and who was truly born for this ministry. It felt so right, and so good. And the Spirit's presence and most importantly - her power was palpable. And while maybe not everything was okay in that moment,  man it sure felt like it would be.

A few hours later, Charlie woke me up from a nap to tell me that an active shooter was on campus at Brown. And just like we've heard so many say before my first thought was, "No, this can't be happening...not here."

How quickly joy can fade. No. How quickly joy can vanish - can be taken. I suppose that's why some say that joy is the most vulnerable of all human emotions. And why so many refuse to feel it at all. It's so easy to lose.

But nearly as soon as that sharp void of joy took shape something else began to hold that wound. To accompany the fear, and confusion and heartbreak I felt. It was God's guiding, protecting power; too honest to refute the hurt and pain, but too good, too big, to leave me there alone. Every phone call and text asking in on Charlie and his students and staff, the company of our friends who live near campus taking refuge with their toddler in our home as the search for the shooter was carried out in their neighborhood. God's power was clear in the presence of the good, and the right, and the loving, and holy. Not because of the evil that prompted it, but in spite of it.

Lord, high and holy, meek and lowly,

Thou hast brought me to the valley of vision,

Where I live in the depths, but see thee in the heights;

Hemmed in by mountains of sin, I behold thy glory.

Let me learn by paradox that the way down is the way up,

That to be low is to be high,

That the broken heart is the healed heart.

That prayer was penned by the Puritans, who were not particularly known for their strong charism of joy. But in some way, perhaps they had a more honest understanding of it. And to be fair, this paradoxical approach to faith in God's power and goodness is hardly original. Mary, the mother of Jesus, prays with the seeming opposites of our existence in the most glorious Magnificat:

He has shown the strength of his arm, he has scattered the proud in their conceit.

He has cast down the mighty from their thrones, and has lifted up the lowly.

He has filled the hungry with good things, and the rich he has sent away empty.

Because you see, one of the great gifts of our faith tradition is that it invites us to admit that as bad as things things are now, that they've been bad before, too. That there's been a people of faith who have in times past looked around at their world and personal reality and have similarly said, "This is too broken for us to fix.

Stir up your power oh Lord, we need your help!"

And we hear stories of when God has a reply to that plea. Sometimes we hear of mountain tops - of a booming disembodied voice of God that makes it clear that someone else is in charge here. And that everything will be okay in time.

But more often we hear stories of God speaking through people like you and me. Speaking through finite, fragile, humans. Even weirdos like John the Baptizer who throughout this Advent season has been bidding us, "Take heart, something is coming. Or rather, someone is coming. Someone who is a deliverer, a fixer, a savior, a messiah. The one who will bring joy into this world once and for all."

Although that joy - that light - will still have darkness to contend with, the darkness will not overcome it. And that is because the God of the universe did not put on our same human experience - become enfleshed - did not come into our world to push the difficult parts of our experience to the side. The holy Child of God, who would know pain, and grief, and fear, and anger, and great loss - that Christ child did not come to avoid and simply overcome those realities. But rather he came to sanctify them - to transform them into something true, even if it is a difficult truth.

Our present difficult truth is that the soul of this country is sick. And it's been made sick by the sin of violence, and the idolatry of guns and toxic independence. Better laws do, and will help, and it is equally sinful to refuse to pass them. But laws don't heal souls, even if they save lives.

Lucky for us our Great Physician loves to heal. It's a specialty of his, actually. Emmanuel - God with us. Not just in joy - but in all of it. Remember this, beloved family of God. The joy that is promised will come ... in time. While we wait together, bearing witness to each others' pain - never, never forget that God is indeed with us.

Amen.