Change is Gonna Come

I preached this sermon at St. Lydia's on Sunday, November 14 as we prepare to celebrate Advent.  The text is Isaiah 40:1-5; read it here. 

 

Last week I was teaching a new song to the kids in my church choir.  These were the littlest guys, the kindergarteners and first graders, and we were learning this song called, “He Came Down,” which we’re going to be singing on Christmas.  The song is from Cameroon and it goes like this:

 

He came down that we might have love,

He came down that we might have peace,

 He came down that we might have joy,

Alleluia, forevermore. 

 

And I said to the kids, "So, who are we singing about?”  And they all said, “JESUS!”  (They've learned that "Jesus" is generally the right answer for most of the questions I ask.)  And I said, “That’s right!  We’re singing about Jesus, and on Christmas we celebrate that Jesus was born, and brought joy and peace and love into the world!”

 

As soon as I said it, I heard the question in my mind, not from one of the kids, though one of them easily could have asked it, but from myself.  So if Jesus brought joy and love and peace to the world, then why is the world still broken and hurting?  And then an even harder question: Did Jesus’ coming change anything?

 

 

 

The Jews living in Judah during the time of the exile when this passage was written had been waiting a long, long time.  They were living under oppressive rule.  Their temple was destroyed, they could not offer sacrifices.  Their people had been torn apart.  They had been waiting, waiting for someone who could come and save them.  And one day, change finally came.  A man named Cyrus defeated the Babylonians, and changed everything for the better.  A rebuilt temple, freedom to worship.  They’d served their term, their penalty was paid, uneven ground was made level, and God’s glory was revealed. 

 

 

We’re all waiting for something, 

all of us waiting for that one thing, 

that one thing that if we can just grasp it 

will change our lives, 

will change everything for the better. 

 

The child we want but can’t seem to have. 

The partner we long for but hasn’t arrived. 

The home we desire but can’t seem to find. 

The career that seemed close but is now far off. 

 

 

The Jews in the exile waited for Cyrus. 

We waited for Obama. 

The people of Myanmar waited, waited, waited 

for Daw Aung San Suu Kyi to be released. 

We’ve waited for Mandela, 

waited for King. 

Waited for that light that shines in the darkness. 

 

We’ve waited for justice, for love, for peace, for redemption. 

Whoever our Messiah is, we’re waiting. 

 

And wait we should, 

wait in hope and in expectation 

that change is coming. 

Because messiahs bring hope, and hope bring change. 

 

 

But the thing about messiahs is they’re never alone. 

Who is Daw Aung San Suu Kyi without all those who throng to her house?

And who is Martin Luther King without all those who marched?

Who is Cyrus without a people behind him,

and who is Mandella without those who refused violence with him? 

 

 

Messiahs are never alone. 

And their great genius seems to lie 

not in their ability to bring change,

but in their ability to stir up hope. 

To stir up hope that fuels the fire of change, transformation, revolution. 

 

 

Jesus is not all that different. 

Because his ministry was not so much about what he can do, 

as about what we might do. 

His ministry was not so much about him being with us, 

as it is about him leaving. 

 

After the resurrection, the disciples look around to find that they are left only with...each other.  Each other, and a story about a great light they’ve seen that shines in the darkness.  They were waiting for a Messiah, a Messiah who’d come and gone.  And they’re left only with a command to “go and do likewise.” 

 

 

Does Jesus coming change anything?

 

 

Christ’s advent in this world 

means that we live in a world of light, 

a world of God among us, 

and no matter how long the exile, 

how long we wait in darkness,

we know that the light is there. 

 

The presence of that light, 

of God made known among us, 

God living and breathing 

and dying among us, 

that changes everything. 

 

It makes us a a people of hope. 

And hope is a powerful thing. 

We are a people of light. 

Light that shines in the darkness. 

 

Change is gonna come.
Not by his hands, but through ours. 

 

Comments

[Ivo Richaers]

The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.