As I hope most of you know, the search for our next bishop is well underway, and I have the great privilege to serve on the Bishop Search Committee. There are 19 of us on the committee, and, even after three months of meeting together for long hours, we are still getting to know one another—still learning about who we are as individuals and as members of a team. We are still developing our base of shared values. We are still developing the level of trust for each other and for our relationship as a group that will support the work we need to do in the next few months.
This weekend was an important milestone in our search process. Yesterday we began reviewing the applications we have received. In preparation for our work together, the committee members gathered for a retreat on Friday evening. We were asked to bring two artifacts to share with the group—one that is important to our spiritual lives and another that gives insight to our personal lives. I brought an icon that is significant to my spiritual life, and I brought this little piece of concrete as an important symbol of my personal life. This little chunk of concrete is about _ inch square, and it holds deep meaning for me and my journey. A colleague gave it to me in the spring of 1990, when I was beginning work on a grant for a health care restructuring project that required the collaborative effort of staff in three hospitals with extremely diverse institutional cultures. The project involved getting input from all levels in the organization and from people working in as many different kinds of jobs as possible and building consensus among those folks about the best ways to deliver patient care. The work was based in the belief that people who are doing a job know more about it than anyone else and have the very best ideas about how to improve their process.
As I began to plan the work we would be doing over six months, I had a day or two of sheer panic, asking what I had gotten myself into, fearing the worst and thinking it might be a good time to reconsider my career path. Then my colleague walked into my office. “Here,” she said, handing me a small, gift-wrapped box, “you’re going to need this.” I opened the box and was perplexed to find this strange little piece of concrete. When I looked puzzled, my colleague said, “This is a piece of the Berlin Wall. Whenever you get discouraged, look at it and remember.”
In our gospel portion today, we hear Jesus telling us that there will be signs in the sun, the moon, and the stars, and on the earth distress among nations confused by the roaring of the sea and the waves. He tells us that when our fear is greatest because of the happenings in the world around us, we should stand up and raise our heads—perhaps square our shoulders—because our redemption is near. He tells us that we are able to read the signs of the world around us—that just as we know by the greening of the trees that summer is on the way, we can tell by the events going on around us that the reign of God is near.
As I read this passage, I found myself wondering about his remarks. This is the same Jesus who points out to the disciples time after time that they really don’t know what’s going on around them. Over and over, he tells them that they don’t get it. Over and over, he tells them that they still don’t understand what he’s trying to tell them. Over and over, he tells them that they can’t see the signs that are in front of their faces, and yet now, he tells them that they can tell by the events going on around them that the reign of God is near.
I sometimes have a lot of trouble taking heart from the signs around us in our world. There are times when I’m right up there with the clueless disciples—hoping for a sign that’s clear enough for me to understand. A big sign—one with letters scrolling across it—would be just fine with me. During those times, when I’m fearful, when I don’t know what to do next, I sometimes remember to look at this little chunk of concrete. It reminds me that in the difficult times—when the meaning of the signs around us eludes us—we can be assured of one thing. When our fear is the greatest, when our distress is at it most severe, the reign of God is near. It doesn’t matter how we interpret the signs. It doesn’t matter how we understand the implications of the wars going on all over the world or any of the phenomena that folks point to with claims of prophecy. It doesn’t matter because one thing is true: The reign of God is always near. It is we who are at a distance.
This little chunk of the Wall reminds me that God continues to surprise us. Even as we humans work to build walls to separate ourselves from each other, God is working to break down the walls that divide us. No matter what we do, God is breaking into our lives in new ways, bringing hope. This little chunk of concrete is a sign of hope for me. We have a larger sign that comes to us each week as we come to this table. As we receive the Body and Blood of Christ, we are reminded that he told us to do this in remembrance of him, so that we may always remember his promise to be with us always.
Today is the first Sunday in Advent, the beginning of our church year. Today we begin our journey to experience the incarnation of holiness in the form of a helpless infant. May we be watchful on our journey—alert for the signs of God’s presence with us—prepared to step into the reign of God.
Come, Lord Jesus, come!