Waiting with Creation in Advent

Isaiah 64:1-9 (NRSV) 1 O that you would tear open the heavens and come down, so that the mountains would quake at your presence-- 2 as when fire kindles brushwood and the fire causes water to boil-- to make your name known to your adversaries, so that the nations might tremble at your presence! 3 When you did awesome deeds that we did not expect, you came down; the mountains quaked at your presence. 4 From ages past no one has heard, no ear has perceived, no eye has seen any God besides you, who works for those who wait for him. 5 You meet those who gladly do right, those who remember you in your ways. But you were angry, and we sinned; because you hid yourself we transgressed. 6 We have all become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous deeds are like a filthy cloth. We all fade like a leaf, and our iniquities, like the wind, take us away. 7 There is no one who calls on your name or attempts to take hold of you, for you have hidden your face from us and have delivered us into the hand of our iniquity. 8 Yet, O Lord, you are our Father; we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand. 9 Do not be exceedingly angry, O Lord, and do not remember iniquity forever. Now consider, we are all your people. Picture This Sunday marks the beginning of the Church’s calendar year, Advent. It is a liturgical time from now until December 24th marked by anticipation and expectation for the coming infant king. The lectionary text offers us a passage from the prophetic book of Isaiah to begin our disposition for the season. In these nine verses, humans and creation stand before the Lord, in hope, waiting. As Barbara Brown Taylor once said, “whether it is a seed in the ground, a baby in the womb, or Jesus in the tomb, it starts in the dark.” Isaiah begins with an act of remembrance, recalling the unexpected, awesome acts of God (v. 3). Memory and storytelling function as a way through the darkness for the Israelites. There is a repetition of nations and mountains quaking and trembling at God’s disclosure of the divine presence, emphasizing the newness and power that is inherent to God’s character. The opening verses also establish a kinship between humans and their environment who both experience God’s presence as creation; there is an in-this-together-ness before the Creator. The passage moves to the present moment, where the Israelites confess: “We have all become like one who is unclean, and all our righteous deeds are like a filthy cloth. We all fade like a leaf, and our iniquities, like the wind, take us away.” The people turn to creation like a mirror that can faithfully reflect who they are in the covenant with Yahweh. Their practices of marginalization and injustice they identify in the fading leaf, their iniquities in the wind. We might learn to confess our sins in a similar way this Advent season as we meditate with creation: all our righteous deeds are like acid rain, we fade like the biodiversity around us. In order to hope for healing we must first come to terms with the violence we unleash, with our practices that harm the Earth. Comparisons could abound and ought to if we are to cultivate the kind of awareness required to “take hold” of God, to find His face, to seek Her deliverance (v.7). Picture After taking stock, the Israelites in the final two tricolons may finally articulate their hope: “You are our father; we are the clay, and you are our potter; we are all the work of your hand.” The Israelites continually demonstrate their deep understanding of our inter-relationship with the land that begins in Genesis: Adam created from the Adamah, the earthing from the Earth. Now the idea is presented anew, that we are clay, the substance coming from the ground, made from minerals, plant life, and animals. God is the potter and parent, who lovingly and creatively shapes and forms all things into being. God as eternal Creator means that God can re-shape and re-form our broken and crooked ways, even when it all seems too far gone, when we have been delivered into our own inequity (v.8). We can call on the Lord: “make us the work of your hand, just once more.” Advent shirks individualism. We may wait for ourselves, but never only for ourselves. The text closes with the implore to God, “now consider, we are all your people.” The waiting is done together, in whole before the Creator. This advent season, as we wait in private and for our communities, we must also wait for creation, which groans, longing for freedom and restoration. The darkness of the Anthropocene surrounds us, but the only way out is through; the living word God has for us in this Scripture passage may be to remember our place among things, to repent and make reparations for our climate sins, to hold ever more firmly onto the loving-kindness of God that wills corporate peace and flourishing. Though this time of waiting for change and redress may seem long, perhaps at times unbearable, we press on, knowing in the words of Henri Nouwen, “The Lord is coming, always coming. When you have ears to hear and eyes to see, you will recognize him at any moment of your life. Life is Advent; life is recognizing the coming of the Lord.” Advent shirks individualism. We may wait for ourselves, but never only for ourselves.