Peace be with you.
Friends, we come to the Third Sunday of Advent,
and it always strikes me as we move through Advent
what an Isaian season it is.
We hear week after week from the prophet Isaiah
during Advent.
We heard a couple weeks ago about the holy mountain
to which all the tribes go up.
We heard last week about the seven gifts of the Holy Spirit.
And today, the great image from Isaiah
is that of the blooming desert.
Listen:
“The desert and the parched land will exalt;
the steppe will rejoice and bloom.
They will bloom with abundant flowers,
and rejoice with joyful song.”
Now, keep in mind, the biblical authors
were desert people.
They were well acquainted with the desert.
And I’ve got a little acquaintance with it
in the course of my life,
including living in California.
Where I was in Santa Barbara,
it’s called the coastal desert.
It’s a very dry climate.
Anyone that lives in deserts knows that parched land;
and then when the rains come,
suddenly overnight, the desert blooms.
And it’s extraordinary.
You think that this land will never bloom with life.
And then just from this one rain,
the whole hillside, the whole desert,
suddenly flowers.
Well, that’s the image Isaiah has in mind.
And I want to stay with that juxtaposition of
death and life here, because
very often in the Bible, the great heroes
have to spend time in the desert.
Think of story after story.
Abraham has to cross the desert
to get to the Promised Land.
Joseph is sent into Egypt and into prison
before he is ready for his mission.
Think of Moses, his many years as a shepherd
in the desert before he becomes a liberator.
Think of John the Baptist,
a voice crying in the deserted places.
Think of Paul, who goes into the desert
of Arabia for a long time
after seeing the risen Lord as he tries to
understand what happened to him.
Jesus himself famously spending
forty days and nights in the desert.
Well, what is it about deserts?
A place where we get back to basics.
A place where extraneous things are stripped away.
In many cases, a place where they come into
contact with their own sinfulness,
where they learn radical dependence upon God.
I mean, whatever it is, the desert means
all those things for the great heroes.
But watch how they bloom, these characters.
Abraham, after crossing the desert,
becomes the father of great nations.
Moses, after his time in the desert,
becomes the great liberator of his people.
John the Baptist, spending time in the desert,
announces the arrival of the Messiah.
Paul, after spending time in Arabia,
emerges as the great Apostle to the Gentiles.
Indeed, the desert in all these cases
bloomed with life.
Now, let’s apply it to our situation.
Many, many people I know go through desert times,
and maybe someone listening to me right now
is going through that kind of period.
I remember a lady, many, many years ago
when I was doing pastoral ministry,
passing through a terrible time of depression.
She once had lots of life and energy,
and then suddenly it was gone.
Anyone involved in pastoral ministry
often comes across people who are passing through
these very bleak and dry periods.
It’s harrowing in its own way,
but one of the best books about depression is
by the novelist William Styron,
the man that wrote “Sophie’s Choice.”
He struggled personally with depression.
The book is called “Darkness Visible,”
and if you have the courage,
find it and read it.
It’s one of the most brutally honest treatments
of what it’s like to go through depression.
Well, the woman I referred to,
I remember when I was ministering to her.
I asked her to read some of the great desert texts
in the Bible.
So these various stories that I’ve been referring to.
To read about Joseph and about Moses
and about Abraham and about John the Baptist,
all those that spent many years,
in some cases,
passing through the desert before,
under the influence of the Holy Spirit,
they bloomed.
Well, I offer this not as some kind of
facile resolution,
but in the case of that lady I’m referring to,
she did come through her depression,
and she bloomed in the most marvelous way
because she became a counselor
—studied psychology, became a counselor,
and focused on people who like herself
were passing through times of depression.
She became a source of life for many
who were in that same situation that she was.
The desert indeed bloomed.
Think of your own experience now.
Maybe you are passing through the desert.
How long will it go on?
I don’t know. I don’t know.
In the Bible, as I say, sometimes it’s years long.
Think again of Joseph being sold into slavery in Egypt
and then becoming a prisoner of Pharaoh.
Think of Moses, many years after
his time as prince of Egypt;
he has to go through many years of training
and trial in the desert before his time.
That’s up to the Holy Spirit.
And see, it’s like when you’re living
in a desert climate.
When will this desert bloom?
As day after day of heat and humidity and day
after day of aridity, you say,
when will this happen?
And then, like a great grace,
the rain comes and the desert blooms.
The Bible, I think, loves that juxtaposition.
The Bible loves this dynamic
of a desert now coming to life.
Well now, with that in mind
—that’s Isaiah— but then look at
our second reading, which I love.
It’s from the letter of James.
By the way, take out your Bibles everybody
when you have a chance and read the letter of James.
It’s very short.
You can read the whole letter in one sitting.
But it packs a punch.
There’s so much spiritual and moral richness in it.
And this image now for today,
it’s a classic Advent image
and it’s like Isaiah’s:
it’s an agricultural image.
Listen: James says,
“Be patient, brothers and sisters,
until the coming of the Lord.”
Advent, it’s the season of patient waiting.
But listen now:
“See how the farmer waits for the precious
fruit of the earth, being patient with it
until it receives the early and the late rains.”
So we’re not so much here the desert blooming,
but it’s a slightly revised agricultural image.
“See how the farmer waits for the precious
fruit of the earth.”
Think of a farmer now.
As I’m recording these words,
I’m in Minnesota now
and I’m just surrounded by farms.
My diocese is just a little bit north of Iowa,
so it’s very much farm country.
Think of the farmers who plant seeds.
You look at a seed, there’s just not much to it.
It wouldn’t nourish you, it’s not very attractive.
It’s just this little tiny thing,
and it goes into the ground
and the farmer waits.
Let’s face it; a lot of that is
out of his control.
Once the seed is sown, now it depends
upon the weather that he can’t really control;
it depends upon time and this mysterious alchemy
of soil and moisture and so on
that causes the seed to grow.
Be patient;
“see how the farmer waits for the precious
fruit of the earth.”
Again, be patient with it, he says.
What’s the worst thing you can do if you’re a farmer?
“Come on, why aren’t you growing?
I better dig around and make that thing grow faster.
I’ll get in there and I’ll fuss around with it.”
No, no, no, leave it alone.
The person in the desert can’t force the blooming.
He waits for the rains to come.
So the farmer waits patiently
and then, listen:
“until it receives the early and the late rains.”
Now, that’s the translation here.
Other translations have
“the winter and spring rains.”
The farmer can’t control that,
when these rains come; he waits for them.
And there’s something about that image,
for me anyway, of the winter rain.
I don’t know about you, but I think that’s
the worst kind of weather, period.
I think of heat and cold and snow and so on.
Even like a snowstorm
—something lovely about walking through
a snowstorm.
Something aesthetically pleasing about it;
even nice to be out in a snowstorm.
But the weather that I think is just
the most disagreeable is cold rain.
Think of a late November rain,
winter rains.
Well, the farmer waits and he endures
these rather unpleasant conditions
until the seed grows
and becomes something
beautiful and life giving.
Okay.
How do we read our lives?
“I’m going through a depression.
Things aren’t working out.
I’m just full of anxiety all the time
and I’m failing at this and failing at that,
and it’s not what I want.
So there’s no meaning.
God has abandoned me.
No one cares about me.
My life is a disaster.”
No, no. That’s not the way to read it.
Read it as a time of patient waiting.
Maybe the Lord has drawn you into the desert.
Maybe it is to awaken a deeper sense of
dependence upon him.
Maybe it is to purge away
something that needs purging away in you.
“My life, it’s just like winter rain.”
Yeah, I know.
I mean, I’ve gone through those periods.
Again, maybe some listening right now
are going through a time where it’s winter rain,
just unpleasant.
Okay.
Dumb suffering?
Or the winter rains necessary
for the growth of the seed?
The farmer waits patiently and endures
even this very unpleasant weather.
So everybody, we’re in this season of waiting,
the season of Advent.
And I said a couple weeks ago that there’s
a permanent advent quality to Christian life, right?
Because I mean, all of us, let’s face it
—we’re not going to find our ultimate
satisfaction in this life. We won’t.
This life will always to some degree
be a desert experience.
To some degree, this life will always be
like the seed that’s in the ground
and we’re waiting, we’re waiting.
Be patient.
Know that God has not abandoned us.
In fact, God is the great and ultimate cultivator.
What’s Christmas?
Christmas is the sign of this.
Christmas is the blooming of the desert.
Christmas is that seed finally yielding its fruit.
So don’t give up.
Don’t lose heart.
Rather, be patient
as we wait for the coming of the Lord.
And God bless you.