Advent reminds us of the flow of time. We are all bound by time. Time is our teacher, our boss, our constant companion. Time locks us into the march of life and forces us to wake up each morning in a place we’ve never been before, in a place we can never return to again.
All our lives we struggle with time. When will we ever have enough time? When will I be old enough? When will time stop long enough for me to love you? One woman went through a great period of depression when her husband died. The grief slowed time for her. A year later, somewhat recovered, she talked with her pastor. “How long did it last for you,” he asked, “these months of loneliness in the wilderness of your grief?”
She said, “Longer than I had hoped, but not as long as I feared.” Bound by time, she wrestled alone in the deserts with it, captive to its march of dictation. We can call it “Wilderness Standard” time, the time of struggle, the time of depression, the time of empty hands. Some of us linger in that time zone today.
But today’s lectionary passages remind us that there are many kinds of time. “Time marches on,” we say. Sometimes it paces. Sometimes it races. The poet (attributed to Henry Twells) put it like this:
When as a child I laughed and wept, Time crept.
When as a youth I dreamt and talked, Time walked.
What I became a full-grown man, Time ran.
When older still I daily grew, Time flew.
We know what he is talking about. Time that flies when we’re having fun. Time that races and teases and stalls and hurries. Time that lingers during the week, but rushes through a Friday night of partying. Time that charts the weeks of courtship and organizes the plans for the wedding. Time that counts nine months meticulously in pregnancy and steps year-by-year through the grades of school. Time that changes babies into children, and children into teens, and teens into young adults, and young adults into newlyweds, and newlyweds into parents, and parents into middle-aged folk, and middle-aged folk into seniors.
Along with calendar time, the Bible also calls us to face something we might call “crisis time.” It is the time of significance in our lives; the kind of thing Billy Graham has termed “The Hour of Decision.”
T. S. Eliot said this kind of time is “the moment that gives the meaning.” It is the sense of time held by the prophets of the Old Testament when they spoke about the coming day of the Lord.
Isaiah helps us think about the blessing of having our times in God’s hand. Peter urges us to make the most of that time, especially in days of Advent when we expect another divine invasion. Mark’s gospel opener bridges Old Testament and New, pointing to the intrusion of Jesus as at least one fulfillment of the prophetically announced day of the Lord. Sometimes it is in the unlikely places of our lives that we begin to find time stopping or moving or changing, and then we know that God’s time is both the moment of opportunity for us, as well as the moment of judgment, but it is also always the moment of choice. Whoever we are and whatever we will be is found in the choices we make in the moments of our lives. This preaches well during Advent.
Isaiah 40:1-11
This passage stands at the beginning of the second part of Isaiah. All of the prophecies gathered into our book of Isaiah chart the fortunes of Israel from the eighth through the sixth centuries. For this reason many scholars think there were different people who championed the “Isaiah” cause over several hundred years, and their writings comprise either two books (pre-exilic Isaiah, chs. 1-39; exilic Isaiah, chs. 40-66) or three books (splitting exilic Isaiah between chs. 55 and 56, forming post-exilic Isaiah as well). Others believe that the Isaiah of historical contexts who makes appearances through chapters 1-39, wrote all of the prophecies in this book, seeing from a distance those future events predicted in chapters 40-66.
One’s stance on these issues of authorship need not enter the pulpit. Instead, the distinctions between sections ought to inform homiletic intent and style. Whereas Isaiah 1-39 speaks much of coming judgment, the theme and tone changes markedly here at chapter 40. Whether seeing the judgment and its aftermath in a future trance, or experiencing it firsthand in the person of “Second Isaiah,” the prophet begins to depict the changing times when violence and destruction give way to restoration, reconciliation, and rebuilding.
This passage cannot be understood apart from two major themes of the Hebrew Bible: covenant and the day of the Lord. The prophets spoke out of a covenant context. They never envisioned Israel as a nation similar to her neighbors. Invariably they saw Israel as formed and nurtured out of the redemptive events described in Exodus. Israel was wrestled from Pharaoh by Yahweh, bought through the bloody battle of the “ten plagues,” married to Yahweh at Mount Sinai, and guarded through wilderness wanderings until life could begin again in the promised land of Canaan. Whether one views this as a historically accurate picture or not, the careful biblical exegete cannot escape the normativity this perspective holds over the prophetic imagination. The prophets saw Israel as the special nation of God, bound to God by the suzerain-vassal covenant of Exodus 20-24, and elaborated in the rest of the Pentateuch.
Thus Israel was expected, by covenant strictures, to live in a particular way. Violations of covenant lifestyle or loyalties would result in the coming of the curses that made up one section of the covenant document (see Exodus 23:20-33).
In this setting, Israel’s recent experiences pushed it directly into the path of covenant judgment. The northern kingdom rebelled openly against Yahweh and lost both its place in the land and its identity (see 2 Kings 17). Now the southern kingdom was following the same path. This is the reason for all of the judgments expressed in Isaiah 1-39. Under Hezekiah’s recent leadership, bringing about a national repentance, the curses of covenant disobedience were averted for a time. They would, however, return as subsequent kings lost sight of Yahweh’s unique place in the national identity.
Over the years, the prophets developed some code phraseology. Most widespread was the term, “Day of the Lord” (yom Yahweh). It had come to denote the impending violent interruption of Yahweh into history, similar to Yahweh’s stirring appearance when Israel was still enslaved in Egypt. This time around, however, Yahweh would strike with anger against Yahweh’s wayward people. Thus, the day of the Lord would come in vengeance.
Over time, three specific dimensions of this terrible day of the Lord began to emerge in prophetic utterances. It would be, they said, 1) the time of judgment when God would address the evils of both Israel and the surrounding nations; 2) the time of salvation for a faithful remnant; and 3) the time of the messianic kingdom, when peace and prosperity would be restored, and Yahweh would live in harmony with the people in the glorious kingdom that would never end.
While Isaiah 1-39 had much to say about the first of these three “Day of the Lord” attributes, Isaiah 40 launches into both of the latter dimensions. The remnant is to be pardoned and comforted, and a path leading toward the growing eschatological messianic kingdom is to be prepared. Verses 6-8 are a brief recollection of the judgment dimension of the day of the Lord, but spoken in a way that serves to remind Israel that condemnation and punishment are not God’s last word to them.
2 Peter 3:8-15a
It is not helpful to probe too far into theories of origins with this letter. If tradition stands, this is a communication from the apostle Peter in his last years before being executed at the hands of Nero around 64 AD. There are a number of challenges to this view (none insurmountable), and any good commentary can provide highlights. Still, the similarities between 2 Peter and Jude add mysterious questions surrounding the writing of this letter.
What is clear, however, is that external persecution, the death of the church’s first leaders, growing moral challenges, and the expanding delay of Jesus’ return have stirred a restlessness among the original readers of this letter. They want action — either from Jesus by way of coming quickly, or in divine judgment on the wicked around them, or some easing of lifestyle restrictions that keep them on edge.
Peter’s words do not really help. Instead, he affirms all the difficulties these people face. Then, however, he reminds them that the ultimate source of reality is not these passing circumstances but the eternal plan and love and promises of God. If Peter’s readers keep this in mind, although the current concerns threaten, they will not overwhelm or undermine (see also Isaiah 43:1-7).
When we know that our times are in the hands of God we understand that every moment is a moment of opportunity (v. 14). Malcolm Muggeridge understood that. Shortly before he died, he penned a book called Confessions of a 20th Century Pilgrim. This writing includes a reflection that returned to him often as he faced the prospect of death. He was not so troubled, he says, about the many things that he did wrong, and the sins that he wished he had not done. Instead he regretted that he had not lived out all of the opportunities that God had set in front of him during the times of his life. “Let me tell you the worst thing that haunts me,” he wrote. “It is that when I could have had the first rate, the very best, when that’s the thing that God wanted to give me, I took tenth rate.”
Peter is trying to nurture the same reflection. Peter’s master, Jesus, pledged at one point in the gospels, “I came that you might have life, and that you might have it abundantly.” Yet, so often, we fritter away the times of our lives with second- or third-rate stuff. We take processed cheese when we could have had cheddar. We wrap our shoes in brown paper bags instead of receiving the family shoes of the kingdom. We ask for artificial flowers when primroses and crocuses and tulips are in bloom.
Like the prodigal son in Jesus’ story we always look for the good things of life in the wrong places. Yet the time of God never leaves us. In the moment of opportunity God always comes to us to offer again a choice between good and ill, between grace and gravel, between heaven and hell. Of the prodigal son Jesus said, “But when he came to himself....” And when we truly come to ourselves in the moment of God’s time, there is only one place to go — back to the Father.
Mark 1:1-8
Mark grew up in the city of Jerusalem (see Acts 12). His father may well have been a priest. That could be why his family was counted in the wealthy, upper class of society. Early Christian traditions say that when Mark was only a teen, his father died. For a time, according to one early source, Mark planned to become a priest like his father, but then things began to change very rapidly. First, Mark’s mother, Mary, became enamored with a rabbi named Jesus, who had caught the nation by storm with his teachings and healings. Then Jerusalem was turned upside down by news of a successful assassination plot that ended with Jesus’ execution on a cross. The killing was followed by more chaos when reports circulated that Jesus, who had been crucified, was now alive again. It wasn’t long before Mark’s mother decided to invite those who believed that Jesus was alive to use her home for a meeting place and headquarters.
Next, cousin Barnabas from Cyprus came to town and brought along a former terrorist named Paul, who now spoke of his devotion to Jesus. Suddenly the energy swelled again when Barnabas and Paul asked Mark to travel with them on a mission trip to distant lands (Acts 12:25). Although he was excited at first, Mark soon left the travelers and returned to Jerusalem (Acts 13:13). Paul got very angry, calling Mark a runaway (Acts 15:36-40). Maybe Paul was right. It did take Mark a few years to grow up, and to gain the courage of a leader, and to travel once more as a Christian missionary. Finally Mark ended up in distant Rome, where Paul claimed him again as a valued friend (Colossians 4:10; 2 Timothy 4:11), and where Peter called him “my son!” (1 Peter 5:13). When Peter was executed by Emperor Nero, tradition has it that the church in Rome asked Mark to write down his recollections of Peter’s teachings about Jesus. The result is with us today in the gospel called by Mark’s name. It begins with the good news (“gospel”) of changing times.
God’s time is both the moment of opportunity and of judgment. This is why the writer of Ecclesiastes balances the times of our lives (Ecclesiastes 3): “a time to be born and a time to die... a time to kill and a time to heal... a time to build and a time to tear down.” Missed times of opportunity turn against us in judgment. That is also why Mark ties the coming of Jesus specifically to a prophecy about the day of the Lord. Both dimensions of time are found in it. And John’s appearance as a prophet emerging out of the wilderness further confirms this connection.
This tension was symbolized well by the ancient Greek sculptor, Lysippus, who carved a statue of marvelous beauty — a man with wings. Most striking was the man’s hair. A great wave of hair flowed down the front of his head, cascading in a single hooked lock over his forehead. But the back of his head was completely bald.
On the pedestal, Lysippus had chiseled the figure’s name, “Opportunity,” and a series of questions and answers: “Why do you have a lock of hair on your forehead? So that people might seize me as I come. And why are you bald on the back of your head? Because, when I am gone, no one can lay hold of me again.”
Once the moment of opportunity is missed it becomes a moment of judgment. As Whittier put it: “Of all sad words of tongue or pen, the saddest are these, ‘It might have been.’ ”
This mirrors the urgency of Mark’s opening words. While some hoped for the day of the Lord to bring joy and meaning and blessing, those who ignored it would find themselves facing a future of terror. At the same time, the “good news” is that Jesus broke into our times to bring the blessings of the kingdom long before any hint of judgment would darken the skies. This is why we can know that death is coming and yet face it unafraid. We know that Jesus went through the blackness for us, and that his light beckons from the other side. Even the moment of our death can also be the moment of God’s good grace.
Application
Harry Emerson Fosdick once said that it would be nice to find God in all the beautiful things of life — poetry, music, gorgeous sunsets, and the like. Yet, so often we don’t give it a thought when life rolls along through sunlight and smiles. We’re too busy enjoying ourselves at that time to look at the clock and hear the urgency of God’s time. Unfortunately, it is often only when a crisis grinds us to a halt, or when death takes a friend, that suddenly time stops and we must face God.
Where did Charles Colson find God? Not in the White House, but in a prison cell when his life was shaken apart. When did Martin Luther write “A Mighty Fortress Is Our God”? He wrote it when he was on the run for his faith and his life. Listen to Helen Keller, blind and deaf from her early years. She wrote, “I thank God for my handicaps, for through them I have found myself, my work, and my God.”
As Advent unrolls this year, it might more clearly measure God’s time for us. Today might be the day that Jesus breaks into our tick-tock time and rides into the middle of our lives. We have let the clock on the wall carry us along, but now, in this moment, comes the call to find the meaning of our lives.
An Alternative Application
Isaiah 40:1-11. The Isaiah passage carries with it so many good themes for Advent. One is God’s care and the need for people to know it even as they live through changing and challenging times. A second is the anticipation of eschatological blessing. Isaiah’s poetic words point in a future direction, but do not fully flesh out that picture. Part of the vision is, of course, the ministry and message of Jesus. But much is still to come, as Peter reminds us, and in the anticipation itself there is growing energy and hope. This is what people need every Advent season.
Third, there is in this passage the dynamic call to participation in the process. We hear voices over distances engaging in urges toward action. “Prepare!” “Cry out!” “Make a road!” This section of Isaiah’s prophecy has a very engaging feel. How are we invested in the process of the coming of the Messiah? What is your task? What is mine? How do we know when we are doing it, and who can help us assess the ongoing outcome? This is Advent in motion.