St George's Cathedral, Cape Town

A sermon preached by The Revd Bruce W. B. Jenneker in the Cathedral Church of St George the Martyr, on the First Sunday in Advent, 2 December 2007

There's a light upon the mountains,
and the day is at the spring,
when our eyes shall see the beauty
and the glory of the King:
weary was our heart with waiting,
and the night watch seemed so long,
but his triumph day is breaking
and we hail it with a song.

Alarm bells are ringing all around us. Do you hear their clarion call? Shrill and sharp and strident, they pierce our drowsiness to shock us into wakeful consciousness. Alarm bells are ringing - insistent, adamant and unrelenting; they announce that the night is passing away, that a new day is breaking. Stop we say, shutting them off. Dragged down by undertow of sleep and the cosy comfort of drowsiness, we cover our ears and keep our eyes tightly shut. Let the darkness last, we plead, with its pleasant oblivion. Keep the day at bay, with its bright truth that confronts, its unrelenting demand for attention and focus, its inevitable realness that challenges every denial and escape. Let us sleep, we say, turn them off, keep the day at bay.

The night is dark and deep, and the total absence of light provides a shield for our denials. The dark night and its gift of sleep offer safe cover for our every escape from the reality which the coming day will bring to light. Let us sleep we say, then I am locked away from my persistent failure to name the demons that trouble my relationships. Let us sleep we say, then I don't have to face uncomfortable challenges and overcome them. Our nightmares are better, we say, than the demands that the day will bring: that I confront my inability to love unconditionally, that I deal with my failure to set and respect appropriate boundaries, that I name my self-loathing and all the consequences which my insecurities have on my dealings with those I love

The night is dark and deep, and the total absence of light provides an impenetrable screen to block out all that is wrong and immoral all around us. Deep in the caverns of sleep, we can pretend that corruption is a delusion; the fact that our children can't read mere fantasy; that the HIV and AIDS pandemic persists and that 600 people will die of AIDS today, and tomorrow and the day after just delusion; that crime and terror, domestic violence and drug addiction are remote, unreal, imaginary, that the threat of climate change and our wasteful pollution of the environment are just a scientist's fiction; that human trafficking and the exploitation of children for profit are the provocative inventions of deluded activists. Let us sleep, we say. Wrapped in the shroud of darkness and the safe cocoon of unconsciousness, we will be protected from harsh truth and unpalatable reality. Shut off the alarms, hold back the day. Please, let us sleep.

But, while we abandon ourselves to the tranquilising stupor of sleep, the dayspring from on high is at hand, the night is passing away and the day is breaking. There is no abiding future in the night, no lasting security in sleep. The day is coming with its radiant hope, its shining truth and its promise of new life. “Sleepers, wake!” A voice astounds us, the shout of rampart guards surrounds us: 'Awake, Jerusalem, arise!'”

The day that is coming is the day of the Lord, when the reign of God comes among us. The day that is coming is the day of the Lord, when the way of Christ opens up before us. The day that is coming is the day of the Lord, when the love of God, the grace of Jesus Christ and the fellowship of the Holy Spirit are offered to us, for our own good, for the good of all Christ's Church and for the welfare of the whole world. Sleepers, wake! The cry is clear and unmistakable: leave behind the darkness with all its works of evil, selfishness and greed, and wake up to the day of the Lord when peace shall flow like a river, justice roll down like clouds from the mountains, and the glory of God embrace the whole world like the waters cover the sea.

The day that is coming is the dawn of wakefulness, the consciousness of God's purposes with us and with the universe. We were made for love, to love ourselves, to love God and to love our sisters and brothers who share God's world with us. The new day wakes us up to love. The day that is coming wakes us up from the night of our denials to the bright light of the call to integrity. We are made in the image of God, stewards of the divinity that shapes each one of us, caretakers of the universe, custodians of the goodness of humanity and the resources of the earth. The new day wakes us up to integrity. The day that is coming pierces the shadows where we hide from the consequences of our choices to illuminate our lives with new hope. The light redeems our selfish choices, the dawn restores us to the dignity we have denied and betrayed. The new day lays before us life, full and abundant, pressed down a running over.

On this first Sunday of Advent we are challenged to put away the works of darkness, to wake up to the day that is coming and to put on the armour of light. In a yeshiva long ago, some eager students asked their venerable rabbi how they would know when the night had finally passed away and the day had actually come. It is for you to tell me, the wise rabbi replied, What do you think: how will you now when the night has finally passed away and the day has actually come? A bright young student raised his hand and said: When I look out of the window and can see clearly that the tree across the road is an olive tree and not a cypress. No, the wise rabbi said, not then. Another student dared an answer: When I stand in the doorway and can distinguish the sheep from the goats. No, said the rabbi, not then. When then, the baffled students asked. The rabbi's long, slow gaze swept across the faces of his students. He paused thoughtfully, and then he said: When you look at the foreigner and the stranger and recognise them for your sister and your brother, then the dark night will finally have passed away, and the day will at last have arrived. Not till then. Not till then.

All around us there are signs that we are preparing for a festival of eating and drinking, celebration and merrymaking. The signs point to Bethlehem, to a baby in a manger, shepherds and angels. Long ago and far away. Not about me. Not about here. Not about now. Don't be misled by these signs. We are preparing for the day of the Lord, listening to alarms bells that are waking us up. We are preparing to receive the Christ who comes again to be born in us, you and me, here and how.. Not a baby recognised only in tinsel and turkey, presents and parties, but the very power and love of God coming to dwell in each of us, to change us, remake us and reform us, that we might be Christ in the world, following in his footsteps, finishing the work he began.

Christ comes to break down all the barriers,
Christ comes now to open up the way;
Christ is calling for his angels
to build up the gates of day:
but his angels here are human,
not the shining hosts above;
and the drum beats of Christ's army
are the heartbeats of our love.

Amen.

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