2 Peter 3:1-18 · The Day of the Lord
Why Matter Matters
2 Peter 3:1-18
Sermon
by Leonard Sweet
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The 1935 comedy “A Night at the Opera,” starring Groucho Marx, Chico Marx, and Harpo Marx, has been given the honor of being selected for preservation in the National Film Registry by the Library of Congress. A smash hit at the box office, “A Night at the Opera” was the first film the Marx Brothers made after Zeppo left the act, and the first film they made for Metro-Goldwyn-Mayer after leaving Paramount Pictures.

There is a moment in the film when Groucho Marx, in the character Driftwood, says, “It’s all right. That’s that’s in every contract. That’s — that’s what they call a sanity clause.” Whereupon Chico Marx, in the character of Fiorello, snaps back: “You can’t fool me. There ain’t no Sanity Claus.”

Maybe Chico was right . . . there ain’t no “sanity clause” to this time of year. Even Advent is crazed with contradictions.

During the season of Advent so much of what we do and celebrate is all about ritual and tradition, doing the same thing over and over again. The decorations come down from the attic, as the Christmas tree goes up from the stand. Christmas decorations are hung, strung, and perched on a particular date. There is the traditional hanging of the greens, the cookie-baking weekend, the office Christmas party, the ear-candy of Christmas carols, and caroling in the streets.

Who can resist Christmas carols? If you want to start a fight with musicians and liturgists, ask for Christmas carols in worship before Christmas. One reason the Advent Wreath tradition is making a comeback is that it sneaks in through the back door the singing of carols ahead of Christmas. There is a reason all during Advent no one can escape being soaked and slathered in carols no matter how much one wants to save them for Christmastide.

W. H. Auden was arguably the greatest writer of the 20th century. Auden came to America in 1939. He found himself lonely for family. In New York he was befriended by Ursula and Reinhold Niebuhr, Reinhold whom some would say was the greatest theologian of the 20th century. Auden would often spend holidays – Thanksgiving and Christmas – with the Niebuhrs and their children. Auden loved to play the piano and sing hymns and carols, belting out 19th century Anglican hymns and songs that Ursula Niebuhr knew and could sing along with him. Reinhold Niebuhr didn’t like the old-fashioned English hymns, or the singing of carols before Christmas, so he would go into the study and close the door to drown out the noise, refusing to succumb.

While the season of Advent is steeped in tradition, Advent craziness is such that we also prepare ourselves and our communities for the newest, most revolutionary changes ever experienced on earth.

This week’s epistle lesson reminds us of the “insane,” preposterous nature of Advent. First, this 2 Peter text challenges our human understanding of time and space, asserting that “with the Lord one day is like a thousand years, and a thousand years are like one day” (v.8). Our 24-7 days, no matter how much we try to pack into them, do not coincide with God’s timekeeping. Divine Time does not keep in step with Daylight Savings Time or Standard Time.

Then the epistle author continues to challenge our worldly wisdom by reaffirming the unsettling divine promise that all we find familiar and unchanging “will pass away.” This promise is not just to bring about a new order on earth. It refers to a new order in heaven as well: “for new heavens and a new earth” will be brought about by God’s own form of affirmative action. Both human beings and angelic beings are going to have to learn how to pack up, move over, and generally adjust, as God’s new design for the universe unveils itself. And it’s not a “traditional” design at all.

In the midst of Advent, our season of great traditions, we receive this announcement of newness. Everything is going to need to change. The arrival of this baby changes everything. This child will change human history and transform the heavens and the earth, because in this child God joins the human race and becomes one of us. Do you realize how incredible an announcement this is?

Advent, and all our pre-Christmas activities and traditions, need to be celebrated with our sneakers on. We need Advent stability and tradition to prepare us for what is coming, to ready ourselves for the inbreaking, indwelling presence of God. Advent is prep time for the momentous, and sometimes momentary changes, God makes for each of us in this world.

One of the most “different,” and some would say “difficult” things about Christianity as a religion is that Christians affirm that “matter” matters. We acknowledge and embrace physicality as integral to the integrity of the divine-human encounter. God made this physical world. God made us physical beings. God obviously likes physical “stuff.”

This earth is filled with so many ”material” miracles — human beings as different as Inuit and Indian, amazing creatures from blobfish to blue herons, landscapes as diverse as mountains, oceans, deserts, skies — all of which reflect the divine pleasure in physical matter. “Matter” is a bridge, not a barrier between ourselves and God.

There is a growing gnosticism in this digital, cyber culture where matter is seen to be a handicap at best, something evil at worst. For example, we think we can capture memory in digital form so that we don’t need “stuff.” We have all sorts of technologies of memory that can create a “remembrance of things past.” Why should material for memory be material, we think? Well, you can capture the photo of your old baseball glove, but the smell of that old baseball glove may trigger memories that photos and digits can’t match.

Advent helps us break down the barriers between the sacred and the profane, the spiritual and the material. Holiness is not anti-matter. When God acted to redeem this world from its brokenness and sin, God determined that it was a new incarnation, a new being in the flesh, a new matter that mattered, that was the recipe for redemption. For the redemption of humanity God did not opt for the ethereal, antiseptic and diaphanous option. God chose a crying, stinky baby to be born in a noisy, messy, smelly stable.

Advent is the anticipation of a birth, the arrival of a baby baptized into humanity by Mary’s blood and water. Emmanuel means “God with us” or “The Right Stuff.” The stuff of human existence became forever yoked to the divine and hallowed by the divine presence. God’s creativity results in incarnation. The two hands of God’s self-giving love are creation and incarnation. Advent prepares us to receive the gift of actual “matter” that matters. Christmas is at its essence a “material” celebration. We can never again be matter-of-fact about matter.

Of course we have completely marred and messed up materiality over these twenty centuries. In the twenty-first century being “material” means owning matching BMW’s, an Imelda-Marcos-worthy collection of extremely expensive shoes, lots of prime real estate, and a bank account in the Cayman Islands that no one knows about. Those things are definitely NOT what we celebrate as “matter that matters” during Advent.

The miracle that 2 Peter unfolds is not that everything will be “better,” or everyone will be “richer.” Rather, the miracle of incarnation is that everything — heaven and earth, and all that live in heaven and earth will be “renewed,” that is, recreated and reborn. We will be completely liberated from the snaggles and snafus that bind us up and bear down upon us in this Old Adam incarnation. With the coming of the New Adam, the Last Adam, a new heaven and a new earth offer up a new universe of possibilities, if only we will open ourselves to receive them.

There is an ancient tale of three horsemen riding across the desert one evening. As they crossed the dry bed of a river a loud voice called to them out of the darkness, commanding: “HALT.” They obeyed. The voice then told them to dismount, pick up a handful of pebbles, put them in their pockets . . .. And remount.

Again they obeyed.

When they remounted, the voice said, “You have done as I have commanded you. Tomorrow at sunrise you will be both glad and sorry.”

Mystified, the horsemen rode on. When the sun rose, they reached into their pockets and found that a miracle had happened. The pebbles had been transformed into diamonds, rubies, and other precious gems.

They remembered the voice, and they were both glad and sorry. Glad they had taken some . . . Sorry they had not taken more. God’s gifts are only gifts if we receive them and open them.

Advent prepares us to accept the sacrament of matter. With the birth of Jesus, physical matter doesn’t just “matter,” but is deemed good. Even more than that, this incarnated physical matter is not just good, it is as sacred. As Paul put it (Romans 5:5), “the love of God is poured into our hearts.” God poured the divine essence into human flesh.

The birth of Jesus blows apart any division between the “sacred” and the “profane.” The promise of the new heaven and the new earth that 2 Peter reminds us of is fulfilled by one small physical bit of “matter” that mattered beyond all human reckoning. Jesus’ arrival brings together matter and spirit, physicality and spirituality, and melds into one human vulnerability and divine victory. “Matter” becomes “sacred” because God made spirit matter. Spirit Matters. That is the miracle of Christmas.

Cyril of Alexandria, one of the early church theologians whose formulations guided the fledgling church forward, relentlessly insisted upon the true humanity of Jesus. Arguing against those who tried to make Jesus into a more divine figure and somewhat less than human figure, Cyril pounced upon the gospel of John and refused to step back from the apostle’s pronouncement that “the word became flesh.” The gospel does not say “the Word became human,” Cyril repeated. The gospel says “the Word became flesh.”

Thanks to Cyril of Alexandria Jesus did not become some kind of angelic super-hero who walked among us for a few years. This Alexandrite bishop realized that the power of Jesus’ incarnation was in his actual fleshly incarnation in matter. Less is truly sometimes more. What kick-started the greatest story ever told? Just a real live baby, lying on a straw mattress is a cradle made of rock, a cradle that rocked the status quo and rolled open the future. Just a real live person. Just matter that mattered more than anything has ever mattered in the universe. The Jesus story Gis written in flesh and blood, in wood and stone.

I love how Ronald Rolheiser puts it in his masterful book “The Holy Longing” (1999), 97, which explores why Jesus used the fleshy word “sarx” rather than the more cleaned up word “soma” when it came to talking about the “body of Christ:”

The God of the incarnation tells us that anyone who says that he or she loves an invisible God in heaven and is unwilling to deal with a visible neighbor on earth is a liar since no one can love a God who cannot be seen if he or she cannot love a neighbor who can be seen. Hence a Christian spirituality is always as much about dealing with each other as it is about dealing with God.

No wonder Cyril of Alexandria’s argument sparked a theological fist-fight and spoiler-fest that went on for a century. Who would possibly want to claim that redemption and reformation, on both heaven and earth, could be accomplished through such a crass form as matter, as sarx. A fleshy, frail baby could never be the source of such divine power and authority as could save the world.

And that is why Advent is all about both loving our traditions and embracing the possibility of extreme change.

Put up your tree.

Hang your greens.

Decorate your house.

Bake your cookies.

Sing those carols.

Loiter under the mistletoe.

God’s redeeming, reconciling love is in all those activities. But God is beyond and outside all those traditions as well. So be prepared: God will explode your world with surprises. God will turn your world upside down, right side up, when you least expect it. The gravity that pulls you down is no match for the grace that lifts you up.

God’s presence and power is in ALL that matters. That’s ALL that matters.

That’s why we keep Advent.

That’s also why there are three songs in the first chapter of Dr. Luke’s gospel.

ChristianGlobe Networks, Inc., Leonard Sweet Sermons, by Leonard Sweet