1st Sunday of Advent 2020
Isaiah 63: 16-17, 64:1-8; 1 Cor 1:3-9; Mark 13:33-37
“Oh, I could hide ‘neath the wings
of the bluebird as she sings,
six o’clock alarm would never ring”
But it does ring, for us no less than for Davy Jones and the rest of the Monkees more than half a century ago. Waking and rising may be an easier business now than in the days before central heating, those now departed days of frost patterns on the windows and ice cold lino underfoot, but it is still a shock to the system. I have to confess that I prefer to be awake and up before the deadly clangour of the alarm, in order to ease the shock, but a shock it remains.
It is strange that, as a child, I and probably you resented the time given to sleep, considering it a waste of the time to be spent exploring and enjoying life, yet now I grasp at it as the most welcome of friends. Today, though, and throughout these early days of Advent, the call of the Lord constantly rings in our ears, as insistently as that six o’clock alarm: “Stay awake, stay awake, stay awake!”
Did you count the occurrences of the phrase in today’s Gospel? It cropped up seven times in four and a half lines, so more than once every two lines. Something which is repeated so frequently cannot be ignored: somehow, despite the dulling allure of the short winter days, we must in some way or other stay awake.
Why? In order that our senses may remain sharp enough to recognize and respond to the Lord’s coming; that threefold coming of which St. Bernard speaks—Jesus’ first coming, born of the Virgin in our human nature; His final coming as our judge at the end of time; and, perhaps most importantly of all, His present coming in every moment and every situation of our lives.
“Oh that you might tear the heavens open and come down”, prays the prophet. The Lord has done so, and will do so, and is doing so. Are we sufficiently awake to notice?
“We could hardly fail to notice His first coming,” you may suggest, not least because, in this year of restrictions and limitations, people have begun to prepare earlier than ever. Yes, but what are they preparing for? How many Nativity scenes are there among the trees and streamers? And what of Advent calendars? No longer do they display holy pictures: behind the windows now are chocolates, courtesy of Spiderman or Peppa Pig. In any case, if we are truly awake, we will be aware that preparation to recall that first coming doesn’t begin until 17th December.
What then of His final coming? “You do not know when the master of the house is coming” says the Lord. We do not know when life on earth will end; more particularly, we cannot tell when our own earthly life will be snuffed out. Young, middle aged, elderly, can all fall victim to that sudden illness, that unforeseen accident: how well prepared will I be to see God face to face?
Fifty years ago, give or take a couple of weeks, I would have been sitting in a train as it pulled out of Euston station on my way home at the end of term, to be confronted in a moment or two by a gable end to the right of the tracks—whether it is still there I have no idea—proclaiming in huge letters “Prepare to meet thy God”, not the most encouraging message at the beginning of a rail journey, but nonetheless conveying an important message. If indeed the Lord did make His final visit today, how prepared would I be?
Finally, how awake am I to the coming of the Lord, to His Advent, in every moment? To His presence, as we were reminded by last week’s Gospel, in our neighbour? To His coming in the events, and even the non-events, of our daily round? In the challenges and opportunities of this time of pandemic? In the Eucharist, the ultimate sign of Jesus’ presence, though not yet in glory? That Eucharist to which so many now have access only remotely, via the streaming of Mass and Eucharistic adoration? We awoke and rose this morning. How awake are we now?
