+ In the Love of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

In the mid-1990’s St. Gregory’s went on pilgrimage to the Holy Land, and one of our stops was the Capernaum, which is called in Hebrew, Kafar Nahum― the village of Nahum. (Nahum is also the name of one of the Old Testament prophets.)

Capernaum was the home of St. Peter’s mother-in-law, and Jesus and his disciples made their headquarters there. We saw the foundations of her house, preserved under a magnificent church.

We also saw the ruins of the fourth century White Synagogue, so-called because it was built with white limestone blocks from quarries several miles away. And beneath the ruins of the White Synagogue, we could see the foundations of the first-century synagogue where this morning’s Gospel took place. Unlike the White Synagogue, the synagogue Jesus entered was built with Capernaum’s indigenous black volcanic stone.

So Jesus enters this synagogue on the Sabbath, and he is invited to teach. And they were astounded at his teaching, because “he taught them as one having authority, and not as the scribes.”

Scribes were teachers of the law, and like rabbis today, they never taught on their own authority; instead, they cited other scribes― just as today rabbis cite other rabbis to support their teaching. But Jesus speaks as one having authority, and the readers of Mark’s Gospel know where Jesus’ authority comes from― he is the Beloved Son empowered by the Holy Spirit.

Suddenly a man with an unclean spirit cries out. Notice that this man wasn’t a stranger who entered the synagogue― he was one of them, and had been there all along.

There’s a post going around Facebook these days with a quote from Stephen King, the famous writer of horror stories: “Monsters are real. Ghosts are real, too. They live inside us, and sometimes they win.”

The monster― the unclean spirit― in this man was winning, and so he cries out “What have you to do with us, Jesus of Nazareth? Have you come to destroy us?”

The answer to the unclean spirit’s question is “Yes.” Jesus was empowered by the Holy Spirit to liberate and save us from, as our Baptism service puts it, “Satan and all the spiritual forces of wickedness that rebel against God” (The Book of Common Prayer, page 302).

And now, in this morning’s Gospel, Jesus shows his authority to teach by showing his power to liberate and save this man from the unclean spirit― the monster― who was living inside him.

Fortunately, we rarely if ever encounter this kind of unclean spirit, this kind of monster. But there may be lesser monsters lurking within us, as we see in this morning’s reading from Paul’s letter to the Corinthians. But first, a little background.

In the ancient world, almost all the meat that was available in restaurants and markets had previously been sacrificed to idols in the temples. What’s more, only the wealthy― the 1% of the ancient world (!)― could afford to eat meat in their homes, while the only time the 99% ever got to eat meat was during pagan worship services when the meat was sacrificed to idols.

So imagine the situation at St. Paul’s Church in Corinth. A handful of parishioners were wealthy and ate meat regularly. Other parishioners were Jews, and the second of their Ten Commandments forbade idol worship. And the newest parishioners were poor converts from paganism, whose only association with meat was in pagan sacrifices to idols.

So Paul is writing to the “know-it-all” monsters living in some of his parishioners and who think that the other parishioners should just get over their superstitions and qualms about eating meat. And so Paul writes:

“Now concerning food sacrificed to idols: we know that― and now Paul quotes the know-it-alls― ‘all of us possess knowledge.’” However, Paul admonishes them, “Knowledge puffs up, but love builds up.”

Now as a matter of fact, Paul agrees with the puffed-up “know-it-alls” theologically:

“Hence, as to the eating of food offered to idols, we know that ‘no idol in the world really exists,’ and that ‘there is no God but one.’ (And here we hear echoes of the Shema, the Jewish creed, “Here O Israel, the Lord your God is one.”) Indeed, even though there may be so-called gods in heaven or on earth— as in fact there are many gods and many lords— yet for us there is one God, the Father, from whom are all things and for whom we exist, and one Lord, Jesus Christ, through whom are all things and through whom we exist.” (And this reminds us of the Nicene Creed, in which we say of Jesus Christ that “through him all things were made.”)

But although Paul agrees with the know-it-alls theologically, he disagrees with them pastorally because the puffed-up monsters within them aren’t acting with love:

“It is not everyone, however, who has this knowledge. Since some have become so accustomed to idols until now, they still think of the food they eat as food offered to an idol; and their conscience, being weak, is defiled. ‘Food will not bring us close to God.’ We are no worse off if we do not eat, and no better off if we do. But take care that this liberty of yours does not somehow become a stumbling block to the weak. For if others see you, who possess knowledge, eating in the temple of an idol, might they not, since their conscience is weak, be encouraged to the point of eating food sacrificed to idols?”

And now Paul shows the fundamental reason why love must come before everything else in the life of a congregation:

“So by your knowledge those weak believers”― the literal translation is “weak brother or sister― “for whom Christ died are destroyed. But when you thus sin against [your brothers and sisters], and wound their conscience when it is weak, you sin against Christ. Therefore, if food is a cause of their falling, I will never eat meat, so that I may not cause one of them to fall.”

St. Gregory’s and every Congregation and every Christian Community is founded on this great spiritual truth: that each one of us is a brother or sister for whom Christ died.

Let us pray:

“Lord Jesus, you stretched out your arms of love on the hard wood of the cross that everyone might come within the reach of your saving embrace: So clothe us in your Spirit, that we, reaching forth our hands in love, may bring those who do not know you to the knowledge and love of you; for the honor of your name. Amen” (Book of Common Prayer, p. 101).

+ In the Love of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Please turn in your pew Bibles to Genesis, chapter 1, verse 1.

“In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep”― meaning, the waters― “while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters.”

Notice right away that water is the first element of creation and it’s mentioned twice.

Now skip down to verse 6 and read through verse 10:

“And God said, ‘Let there be a dome in the midst of the waters, and let it separate the waters from the waters.’ So God made the dome and separated the waters that were under the dome from the waters that were above the dome. And it was so. God called the dome Sky. And there was evening and there was morning, the second day. And God said, ‘Let the waters under the sky be gathered together into one place, and let the dry land appear.’ And it was so. God called the dry land Earth, and the waters that were gathered together he called Seas. And God saw that it was good.”

Again, notice how prominent water is― dry land only comes on the third day of creation! So think of what a powerful symbol water is for Baptism as a sign of new beginnings and new creation.

Now let’s go back up to the second verse and the phrase “wind of God.” Do you see the footnote? It tells us that the phrase could also be translated “the spirit of God.” And that in fact has been the traditional way it’s been translated.

For example, here’s a verse from a Jewish interpretation of this verse:

“And the Spirit of God brooded over the waters like a dove which hovers over her young without touching them” (Targum of B. Hag. 15a).

What does the phrase “the Spirit of God brooded over the waters like a dove” remind you of?

{{Congregational Response}}

[this morning’s Gospel, which describes “the Spirit descending like a dove on him”]

Now please turn in your pew Bibles to Paul’s first letter to the Corinthians, chapter 10, verses 1 to 4:

“I do not want you to be unaware, brothers and sisters, that our ancestors were all under the cloud”― what does this refer to?

{{Congregational Response}}

[After the Exodus from Egypt God led the people of Israel through the wilderness with a pillar of cloud by day and a pillar of fire by night],

“and all passed through the sea”― what does this refer to?

{{Congregational Response}}

[when Moses led the people of Israel across the Red Sea to escape the Egyptians],

“and all were baptized into Moses in the cloud and in the sea”― so Paul understands the Exodus to be a kind of baptism―

“and all ate the same spiritual food”― what does this refer to?

{{Congregational Response}}

[manna, the mysterious food God provided for the people of Israel in the wilderness], “and all drank the same spiritual drink. For they drank from the spiritual rock that followed them, and the rock was Christ.” ― what does this refer to?

{{Congregational Response}}

[when the people of Israel were thirsty for their wandering in the desert and complained to Moses, Moses struck a rock to get water for the people of Israel in the wilderness].

For Paul, Jesus is the rock from which refreshing and renewal water comes forth.

Now please put the pew Bibles back and turn in the Book of Common Prayer to page 306 in the service of Holy Baptism just before the blessing of the water:

“We thank you, Almighty God, for the gift of water. Over it the Holy Spirit moved in the beginning of creation. Through it you led the children of Israel out of their bondage in Egypt into the land of promise. In it your Son Jesus received the baptism of John and was anointed by the Holy Spirit as the Messiah, the Christ, to lead us, through his death and resurrection, from the bondage of sin into everlasting life.

“We thank you, Father, for the water of Baptism. In it we are buried with Christ in his death. By it we share in his resurrection. Through it we are reborn by the Holy Spirit.”

Finally, take up your bulletin and turn to our Gospel this morning. If you were here just a few weeks ago on the Second Sunday of Advent this may have sounded very familiar, because we read this passage right up to the point where John the baptizer says: “I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.”

But we didn’t see Jesus because it was the Season of Advent! Now it’s Epiphany, which means “appearance,” and so in today’s reading Jesus makes his appearance:

“In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

How many of you have read about Easel-R in the Newsletter over the last two weeks?

{{Congregational Response}}

Do you remember what Easel-R stands for?

{{Congregational Response}}

[Episcopal Spiritual Life Renewal]

A lot of impressive research has gone into the Episcopal Spiritual Life Renewal project, and among its findings is that spiritual growth begins with three basic beliefs: first, that salvation is a gift from God; second, that God is a Trinity of Persons― Father, Son, and Holy Spirit; and third, that God is personally active in our lives. And so I find it fascinating that Mark’s Gospel begins by enacting these three basic beliefs.

From the very beginning of Mark’s Gospel it is clear that everything is a gift from God and which God initiates, from the call of John the baptizer in the wilderness to the tearing apart of heaven and the descent of the Spirit. Baptism itself is a sign that salvation comes as a gift because no one can baptize himself or herself. Even Jesus must be baptized by someone else. And infant baptism is the ultimate sign of salvation by grace― for infants have obviously done nothing to earn their salvation; it is received as a gift from their parents who themselves have received God’s gift of salvation.

And also here at the beginning of Mark’s Gospel we are introduced to the God who is Spirit, descending from heaven; Father, speaking from heaven; and Jesus, the beloved Son.

And finally, this is a personal God, active in John the baptizer, active in the people coming out to be baptized, active in Jesus, and, as we will rediscover in all kinds of new ways this year as we participate in the Episcopal Spiritual Life Renewal Project, active in us.

This morning’s Gospel and the three basic beliefs that are identified in the Easel-R as catalysts of spiritual growth are all summed up in this passage from Titus (3:4-7) which was one of our Christmas readings:

“But when the goodness and loving kindness of God our Savior appeared, he saved us, not because of any works of righteousness that we had done, but according to his mercy, through the water of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit. This Spirit he poured out on us richly”― notice that the Spirit is described as being poured out just as water is poured out― “through Jesus Christ our Savior, so that, having been justified by his grace, we might become heirs according to the hope of eternal life.”

Thanks be to God.

+ In the Love of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

Today we are celebrating the Feast of the Holy Name, so it was a bit of an Emmanuel Moment this past week when I read one of the vignettes from Gail Collins’ remarkable book, When Everything Changed: The Amazing Journey of American Women from 1960 to the Present.

Gail Collins tells the story of a teacher, Jo Meyer Maasberg, who taught in a small Wyoming school. For six years she taught her daughter’s class. Here’s what her daughter Jennifer said about the experience:

“It was funny because [my mom] gave me this big speech . . . how I had to show her respect and call her Mrs. Maasberg and, you know, all on the same playing field with the other kids. But I couldn’t call her Mrs. Maasberg. I called her Mom. So my whole class called her Mom.”

When I read this I thought of a similar experience that happened with me and my son, James. Almost from the time James could call me “Dad” he called me “Bill.” That was fine with me. From my standpoint, it was natural because I always encouraged people to call me “Bill” rather than “Father Bill” or “Father Roberts.”

But some people, including Ingrid’s dad, were incensed that James didn’t call me “Dad” or by some other “fatherly” title. Eventually James explained why he called me “Bill”: “Everyone else calls you ‘Father,’ so I wanted to call you by your first name.”

A second Emmanuel Moment arrived via an op-ed piece in this past Tuesday’s New York Times, titled “Want a New You? Change Your Name.” The author is a singer and writer whose name is Alina Simone. Here’s an excerpt from her op-ed:

“In June, my band performed at a party at a Lower East Side boutique that specialized in wool ankle cuffs and sheer tunics. A few weeks later, we were playing in Brooklyn when a man approached me and said, ‘I just thought you might like to know that a friend I brought to your last show changed her name to Alina Simone.’

“I laughed and said something like, ‘Well, I hope that’s working out for her,’ but the news was a strange revelation.

“Twelve years ago, I changed my own name to Alina Simone. (I used to be Alina Vilenkin, until I swapped my father’s last name for my mother’s.) So I know that whenever someone changes her name, a body gets stuffed in the closet. When I think back to my old self, I think of an entirely different person, not altogether likable, whose singular distinguishing characteristic was the chronic inability to follow through with anything she said she would do. I picked up and abandoned projects with great regularity back then, careful to always avoid the frightening terrain where my true ambitions lay.

Then I changed my name and it changed me. In my new incarnation as Alina Simone, I had no reputation, no history of unmet expectations, nothing to lose. I started singing; I formed a band. I poured my best self into my new name.”

This story, too, triggered a memory from my own life. When I was 10 my family moved from Evanston to Kenilworth. And I decided to change the name I was called, from my middle name to my first name. I, too, wanted to leave behind the “old me” and re-invent myself, and the name change helped me do it.

Final Emmanuel Moment: As I was thinking about this sermon I recalled a wonderful reflection on prayer that the late Dutch Roman Catholic priest and writer, Henri Nouwen, had written years ago, in 1980, when I was a young priest.

In his Introduction to Prayer and the Priest, Henri Nouwen writes this:

“A few months ago I went to visit a hermit-monk to ask him for his spiritual counsel. This hermit lives a very simple life of manual work, long fasts, and unceasing prayer. His clear, shining eyes radiate the living Christ, and his lips speak only about the abundant goodness of God. I told him my troubles and struggles, my sins and my guilt. He listened attentively and responded with words of comfort and consolation. But I kept prodding him, saying: ‘Yes, but . . . What about this . . . and this . . . and this . . . Don’t you think that’s pretty bad?’ Then he looked at me critically and said: ‘It might be worse than you say and it probably is, but remember, the worst has already happened in Jesus Christ. . . . And when you make his Name into your dwelling place, your burden will be light and your yoke easy.’”

May we who have been baptized into the Name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, make Jesus’ Name our dwelling place in this New Year.

Amen.

+ In the Love of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

St. Luke certainly knows how to drive home a point in our Christmas Gospel:

First, he tells us that Mary and Joseph laid Jesus in a manger.

Then the angel tells the shepherds that they will find Jesus lying in a manger.

And then, when the shepherds get to Bethlehem they find Jesus lying in a manger.

A manger, from the French verb manger― to eat, is a feeding trough, a sign that Jesus, now surrounded by shepherds, will be the Good Shepherd who feeds his sheep; and as Jesus himself tells us in St. John’s Gospel:

“I am the Bread of Life. Whoever comes to me will never be hungry”

and

“I am the living bread that came down from heaven. Whoever eats this bread will live forever; and the bread that I will give for the life of the world is my flesh” (6:35, 51).

A couple of years ago I read John Baxter’s Immoveable Feast: A Paris Christmas (New York: Harper Collins, 2008). He writes this about bread:

“For centuries, bread in France signified the gulf between the classes: the higher up the social ladder, the more finely milled your flour, and the whiter your bread. Of someone who had all his success in early life, then fell on hard times, the French say, “He ate his white bread first.

“The bread of the French poor, when they had any, was dark and hard, made from wheat mixed with inferior grains like barley or rye. Unscrupulous bakers sometimes adulterated the flour with sand, even cement.”― and this practice continued as recently as the early twentieth century.

Then, later in his book, Baxter writes:

“The lavishness of our modern Christmas obscures how minor a role gifts traditionally played in the celebration. In [Charles] Dickens’ day, food and good works mattered far more. Scrooge, when he sees the error of his ways, doesn’t buy presents but gives money to a charity that helps the poor and sends a turkey to his clerk Bob Cratchit, whose wages he raises and family he helps” (pp. 235).

Here’s how Dickens himself describes Scrooge at that moment of transformation:

“‘I’ll send [this huge turkey] to Bob Cratchit’s,’ whispered Scrooge, rubbing his hands, and splitting with a laugh. ‘He shan’t know who sends it. It’s twice the size of Tiny Tim.’”

Then Scrooge tells the delivery boy, “You must have a cab,” and, Dickens continues,

“The chuckle with which [Scrooge] had said this, and the chuckle with which he paid for the cab, and the chuckle with which he recompensed the boy, were only to be exceeded by the chuckle with which he sat down breathless in his chair again, and chuckled till he cried.”

St. Luke tells us that when Jesus began his public ministry in Nazareth, he went to the synagogue on the Sabbath day as was his custom. And when the scroll of the prophet Isaiah was given to him, Jesus found this passage:

“The Spirit of the Lord is upon me, because he has anointed me to preach good news to the poor” (4:18).

It’s a passage that echoes our Christmas reading from Isaiah:

“How beautiful upon the mountains are the feet of the messenger who brings good news.”

May Jesus, the Bread of Life, born in a manger, nourish our compassion for the breadless, the jobless, the friendless, and the hopeless, so that we, like Jesus, may have beautiful feet.

Amen.

+ In the Love of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

In this morning’s first reading, King David is living in a house and God is living in a tent. Think about that: King David is living in a house, and God is living in a tent.

So how incredibly contemporary and relevant is that?!

Then King David had a Bright Idea― to build a house for God― and God’s prophet Nathan encourages him. Too bad they didn’t run their Bright Idea by God first! Turns out that God likes living in a tent so he can “move about among all the people of Israel.”

So God puts an end to David’s Bright Idea and says to him:

“Moreover the Lord declares to you that the Lord will make you a house. Your house and your kingdom shall be made sure forever before me; your throne shall be established forever.”

The words “house,” “kingdom,” and “throne” bring us directly to this morning’s Gospel― listen for them as I read:

“In the sixth month the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth, to a virgin engaged to a man whose name was Joseph, of the house of David. The virgin’s name was Mary. And he came to her and said, ‘Greetings, favored one! The Lord is with you.’ But she was much perplexed by his words and pondered what sort of greeting this might be. The angel said to her, ‘Do not be afraid, Mary, for you have found favor with God. And now, you will conceive in your womb and bear a son, and you will name him Jesus. He will be great, and will be called the Son of the Most High, and the Lord God will give to him the throne of his ancestor David. He will reign over the house of Jacob forever, and of his kingdom there will be no end.’”

Here’s how the poet Edwin Muir imagines the meeting between Mary and the angel Gabriel (“The Annunciation” in Collected Poems):

See, they have come together, see
. . .
Each reflects the other's face
Till heaven in hers and earth in his
Shine steady there. . .
But through the endless afternoon
These neither speak nor movement make,
But stare into their deepening trance
As if their gaze would never break.

Theologian and writer Maggi Dawn has this to say about Muir’s poem in her book The Writing on the Wall:

[He] “created a scene where . . . the meeting between Mary and the angel might have been a lengthy encounter― a whole afternoon passed while they gazed into each other’s faces. Muir captures perfectly the theological idea that while a message from God may be impressive, it is never impersonal. It is not just the delivery of information, like an email from head office, but a meeting of persons, and the primary significance of the angel’s visitation is not the angel himself, nor even the message that he bears, but the connection made between a person and God.”

Then she adds this parenthetical comment: “And as some theologians have mused, perhaps Mary also needed time”― that endless afternoon― “because she had a choice to make― she had the option to say ‘no.’”

The idea that Mary needed to make her choice during that endless afternoon brings us to another poet’s imagining of Mary’s and Gabriel’s meeting. In W. H. Auden’s For the Time Being; A Christmas Oratorio, the angel speaks to Mary:

Hear, child, what I am sent to tell:
Love wills your dream to happen, so
Love’s will on earth may be, through you,
No longer a pretend but true.

Today the Unknown seeks the known;
What I am willed to ask, your own
Will has to answer; child, it lies
Within your power of choosing to
Conceive the Child who chooses you.

“Child, it lies Within your power of choosing to Conceive the Child who chooses you.”

We know the end of the story.

Mary chooses to conceive the Child who chose her, and through Mary God will enter our world. John puts it this way in his Gospel: “And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us.”

Last week in her sermon, Meredith used Eugene Peterson’s translation: “And the Word was made flesh and blood and moved into our neighborhood.”

But here’s a more literal translation: “And the Word became flesh, and pitched his tent among us.”― which brings us right back to this morning’s first reading, where we learned that God likes a tent so God can move about among his people.

But before God can pitch his tent among us, God must first become flesh in Mary.

In her sermon on the Feast of St. Mary in 2003, Katherine Bush said this about God’s becoming flesh in Mary:

“Mary quite literally carries God within her. To be the space that the uncontainable God inhabits is not a job for the weak or the faint-hearted. Mary lives with God kicking around inside her.”

“Mary lives with God kicking around inside her.” Isn’t that a wonderful phrase?

So on this Fourth and last Sunday in Advent, three questions to ask:

What is God asking me to do that still needs my “yes?”

In what way is God “kicking around inside me?”

And where in my neighborhood is God pitching a tent right now?

Let us once again pray this morning’s Collect of the Day, with one change:

“Purify our conscience, Almighty God, by your daily visitation, that our Lord Jesus Christ, at his coming, may find in us a tent prepared for himself; who lives and reigns with you, in the unity of the Holy Spirit, one God, now and for ever. Amen.”

+ In the Love of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.

I think we all know the pattern by now.

A group of people who feel disenfranchised by the system, and burdened by taxes and debt, march into the heart of a city, and occupy it. And because these occupiers get a fair amount of support from the general population, the local authorities keep their distance at first. But eventually the occupiers overstay their welcome, the police are called in, and some of the occupiers get hurt, some get arrested, and some take off.

And the rest of us, who may be sympathetic if not completely on their side, wonder when it will all end, and how it will all be sorted out, because we know it’s got to end sometime, and we know things have to change somehow.

So let’s look at a specific example.

On Sunday, Jesus enters Jerusalem with a core group of 12 occupiers and a number of other people who have been inspired by his message, and over the next several days they do a number of provocative things.

On Monday, the Occupy Jerusalem movement goes right to the Temple, the nexus of power, and Jesus brings the banking system to a screeching halt by overturning the tables of the money changers.

On Tuesday, Jesus publicly denounces the Judean and Roman authorities― the 1%― for their neglect of the 99%. And then, as the day is coming to an end, one of the occupiers, overwhelmed by the magnificence of the Temple, exclaims “Look, Teacher, what large stones and what large buildings!” And Jesus makes an incredibly provocative prediction: “Not one stone will be left upon another; all will be thrown down” (Mark 13:1-2).

Later, the Occupy Jerusalem movement crosses the Kidron Valley and sets up camp for the night on the Mount of Olives, which overlooks the Temple across the Valley. Jesus’ top four lieutenants in the Occupy Jerusalem movement, Peter and Andrew, and James and John, ask Jesus, “When will this be?”

Jesus tells them that the only thing he knows for sure is that there will be a time of great suffering, especially among his followers in the Occupy movement. In short, it’s going to be rough time for a long time. But then Jesus assures them that the time will come when everything will be put right, and that’s where this morning’s Gospel comes in:

“In those days, after that suffering, the sun will be darkened, and the moon will not give its light, and the stars will be falling from heaven, and the powers in the heavens will be shaken. Then they will see ‘the Son of Man coming in clouds’ with great power and glory.”

This great event is at the heart of this morning’s Collect for the First Sunday of Advent, when we ask God to “give us grace to cast away the works of darkness, and put on the armor of light now in the time of this mortal life”― this time when life ends in death― “in which your Son Jesus Christ came to visit us in great humility; that in the last day, when he shall come again in his glorious majesty to judge both the living and the dead, we may rise to the life immortal”― the time when life never ends.

The word “Advent” means “coming,” and in Advent we prepare both for the First Coming of Jesus “in great humility” when he was born in a manger and died on a cross; and for the Second Coming of Jesus at the end of time― “in the last day”― when he will come again “in his glorious majesty.”

Which is to say that in Advent we celebrate the very first Occupy Movement when God occupied a manger in Bethlehem, and the very last Occupy Movement when God will occupy a new heaven and a new earth:

“Then he will send out the angels, and gather his elect from the four winds, from the ends of the earth to the ends of heaven. From the fig tree learn its lesson: as soon as its branch becomes tender and puts forth its leaves, you know that summer is near.”

Isn’t that a delightful image for the Second Coming and the end of time? Especially as our days are getting shorter, and the leaves have fallen from the trees, and winter is about to set in.

And this delightful imagery would have been particularly vivid for the disciples because the Occupy Jerusalem movement took place during Passover, at just the time when the fig trees covering the Mount of Olives were breaking into leaf.

But in the meantime, Jesus gives his Occupy movement its marching orders:

“Beware, keep alert; for you do not know when the time will come. It is like a man going on a journey, when he leaves home and puts his slaves in charge, each with his work, and commands the doorkeeper to be on the watch. Therefore, keep awake— for you do not know when the master of the house will come, in the evening, or at midnight, or at cockcrow, or at dawn, or else he may find you asleep when he comes suddenly. And what I say to you I say to all: Keep awake.”

Until the end comes, Jesus has put us in charge, each with our own work for the kingdom of God. For we who have been “sealed by the Holy Spirit in baptism and marked as Christ’s own for ever” are called to be Occupiers.

Are you living in Lincolnshire? Then you are a part of Jesus’ Occupy Lincolnshire movement, so “Keep Awake,” for you may encounter Jesus in the most unexpected people and places.

Are you working in Wheeling? Then you are a part of Jesus’ Occupy Wheeling movement, so “Keep Awake,” for you may encounter Jesus in the most unlikely people and places.

Are you vacationing in Venice? Then you are a part of Jesus’ Occupy Venice movement, so “Keep Awake,” for you may encounter Jesus in the most surprising people and places.

Are you doing business in Beijing? Then you are a part of Jesus’ Occupy Beijing movement, so “Keep Awake,” for you may encounter Jesus in the most unexpected people and places.

For the last several weeks I’ve featured a logo on our Parish Newsletters that shows the Episcopal Church shield and the legend “Occupy the pews of your Episcopal Church!”

Now I realize that that’s not the Gospel message at all.

The Gospel message is this: Occupy the World!

For as St. John reminds us in his Gospel, “God did not send the Son into the world to condemn the world, but in order that the world might be saved through him” (John 3:17).

Thanks be to God!

THE WORLD!