Sermon for Advent 2: Cynicism and Hope

 Luke 1:5-25
Cynicism and Hope
James Sledge                                                         December 5, 2021, Advent 2

Annunciation to Zechariah
Ethiopic Bible Illumination,
British Library, ca. 1700

The problem of racism may well be the most persistent and intractable one in American history. It has proved to be remarkably resilient and adaptive. Many hoped that the Civil Rights movement of the 1950s and 60s would deal a death blow to racism. But while many forms of discrimination were outlawed, racism remained woven into our culture. The killings of Trayvon Martin, Eric Garner, Michael Brown, Breonna Taylor, George Floyd, and more have revealed over and over again how Black lives have less value in our society than do white lives.

Black Lives Matter began as a hashtag in response to George Zimmerman’s acquittal for killing Trayvon Martin, took shape as a movement following Michael Brown and Eric Garner’s killings, and emerged as a powerful force in the wake of George Floyd’s murder.

Estimates are that somewhere between 15 and 26 million Americans took part in Black Lives Matter protests in 2020, making it one of the largest movements in American history. There seemed to be tremendous momentum for addressing systemic racism in our criminal justice system and society at large. Our own congregation repeatedly held Saturday, Silent Witness demonstrations supporting reforms. Elders offering the prayers of the people during Sunday worship repeatedly appealed to God to assist us in this work.

But more recently, fears over crime have blunted calls for police reform. Parents have objected loudly to diversity efforts in local school systems. Critical Race Theory has become a rallying cry for those who fear a hard look at the impact of racism in this country. And even though confession and repentance are bedrock parts of Christian faith, there is a large contingent of conservative Christians whose objections to racial diversity efforts are seen as articles of their faith. And while the recent Ahmaud Arbery verdict might seem to be a ray of hope, the sad fact is that without that video, there would never have even been a trial.

It is all more than a little disheartening. And if it is disheartening to me, I can only imagine how it must feel for Black leaders who have been on the forefront of racial justice efforts for decades. They must be beyond tired. Will the day ever come?

The people in the time of our scripture were disheartened and tired of waiting. Promises of a Messiah and a restored Israel had gone unfulfilled for centuries. One conqueror after another had claimed Palestine as their possession. The current occupier was Rome. They had been there for decades and didn’t look like they were going anywhere. The people were discouraged and tired of waiting.

Zechariah and Elizabeth had personal reasons to be discouraged, and they had pretty much given up. They had longed for and prayed for a child, but one never came. Zechariah still prayed, but it was mostly out of habit. They were too old. It could never happen now.

But this is precisely where God enters into the story, into hopelessness and anguish, into longing that has hardened into despair. And that is nothing new. In Israel’s sacred stories, what we call the Old Testament, God seems drawn to those who are hurting and despairing. God seems to be moved by hopeless situations. And God enters those situations through the most surprising people.

Elizabeth and Zechariah seem poor candidates by whom hope will enter the world, an old couple resigned to their fate. But they are just the sort of people God seems to notice. They are just the sort of people God likes to use as instruments of life and hope. God is forever choosing the most unlikely looking people. Just look at the motley group of disciples Jesus chose. Hope springs up from the most unlikely places.

 But me, I’ve gotten old and cynical, and I sometimes find hope hard to come by. Not so long ago, when Barak Obama was first elected president, there was talk of how America was entering a “post-racial” era in politics. How foolish and naïve such talk seems now, when racist dog whistles have become a regular and effective component of our political campaigns. Throw in a little climate change mixed with a pandemic, and it can be hard to have hope for the future.

But Advent wants to make the case for hope. Each Advent we hear old promises and rehearse ancient stories. In popular thought this may just be about getting ready for another Christmas, but, in reality, it is about the faithfulness of God and hope for the future.

These ancient stories remind us that God has entered into hopelessness before, and they can also remind us of the times God has entered into the hopelessness of our own lives. In fact, if our sacred stories are certain about anything, it is that when it seems most hopeless, God is near. When there are no possibilities to be seen, God is near. When it becomes a struggle to believe, God is near.

In the story we remember today, God enters into the hopelessness of Israel and of Elizabeth and Zechariah, just at the moment the couple has given up all hope. But I wonder if Luke doesn’t give us more than a story about God bringing hope from hopelessness. I wonder if Luke doesn’t also give us a pattern for facing hopelessness and cynicism.

Despite the hopelessness of their situation, we hear that Elizabeth and Zechariah continue to live lives of great faithfulness. And Zechariah remains faithful to his religious duties. I wonder if there isn’t something to be said for faithfully plugging along, even when, for the moment, we can’t see the point.

The other element in the story I noticed is that of prayer. Elizabeth and Zechariah have clearly been praying for a child, even after they have given up any real hope of having one. And Luke makes a point of telling us that the entire assembly of the people was praying outside while Zechariah was in the inner sanctum of the Temple. Perhaps along with faithfully plugging along, there is something to be said for plugging away at prayer. When I’m feeling my most cynical, prayer can be difficult, but the story insists that God hears, even when we see no evidence that is the case.

I’m not suggesting that we can manufacture God’s presence with our faithful plugging along, but I do wonder if it won’t attune us to the activity of God that we typically miss, the faithfulness of God that can be invisible to us.

The stories of Advent and the story of Christmas itself insist that God is at work in the midst of hopelessness, at work through the most unexpected people in ways that are often quiet and hidden. And in our faithful plugging along, in our prayers in spite of cynicism, we bind ourselves to those stories, and to the faithfulness of God they bear witness to.

And when we bind ourselves to those stories and to God’s faithfulness, the future is never in doubt. Oh, tomorrow may be terrible, but the author of the story is faithful, and so the ending is never in doubt. So let us keep plugging away at Advent and at Christmas. We’ll tell those old stories once more and bind ourselves to the truth that the future belongs to God. And we will hope. And we will hope.