My reflection and substance of the sermon preached for the Second Sunday of Advent 2024.
When I was an undergrad, Cornell had very few courses on the New Testament, but I took all that I could find. Several were taught within the English department by Professor Bishop. He was an eccentric character, with a turtle neck, crooked teeth, thin gray hair atop his crown, and was always fumbling between his three pairs of glasses, one to read, one to see you, and the pair of bifocals that was supposed to replace both of the others and were on hand just in case he lost one of the two. He had been on the faculty since 1961 and had, in fact, become a Christian during the radical Jesus movement of the 60s. I took every class he offered, on the Pauline epistles, on the Synoptic Gospels, and on John and Johannine literature, every one.
During that time, I spoke with him quite a lot. I went to his office hours, up in the very top floor and corner of Goldwin Smith Hall. I remember there was an American naive painting in his office, a large rural scene, the sort of thing you might expect in a Revolutionary era house’s dining room. But his office was tiny, practically in the attic. This, he said, was because when he become a Christian and an activist in the Catholic Church during the 60s and 70s, the department shunned him, relegating him to the office farthest from everyone else. He was well known and well beloved in the Catholic community on campus. Once, when we were in Oxford for graduate school, a fellow Cornellian, who had been close to Dr. Bishop was also at Oxford, had us over for dinner when Dr. Bishop visited.
As you can tell from my recollection, he made quite the impression on me. If I shared a few other stories including about how a group of friends covered in mud, broke into our classroom and carried me out on their shoulders in the middle of our seminar, you might imagine I had made an impression on him. Some years later, I was visiting campus and bumped into him in the Arts quad. I was so pleased to see him, let him know of my progress in the Academy, and reconnect.
“Dr. Bishop!” I called out. He stopped and turned, looking a bit alarmed. I came up and said hello, reintroducing myself to him. I stretched out my hand to shake his, “I took all your classes a decade or so ago and then we had dinner together when you visited Oxford.” He held his books tight to his chest, his eyes wide, and said loudly, “I don’t know you!” And turned and walked quickly away towards his office. I was stunned. He had forgotten me. Not only that, he was afraid and thought I was a threat. I watched him shuffle rapidly to Goldwin Smith and up the steps. I was told later by a former history professor, Prof. Brian Tierney, who had also been very active in the Catholic community, that Bishop had developed dementia. He hardly knew anyone anymore, he didn’t remember even his closest colleagues and friends.
It is a fear that many of us have and have faced. My father was often paralyzed by the thought that he might develop Alzheimer’s as his mother had; he did not, yet that fear alone caused him untold anxiety and stress. The pain that comes from being forgotten is only marginally less. I remember the time he hung up the phone and we asked, “How is Nanny?” He shook his head and said simply, “She had no idea who I was.”
One of the most powerful themes in Scripture is that God knows us and remembers us. God knows who we are, God knows our fears and worries, God knows our loves and dreams. But it is not the omniscience of a distant deity, it is a personal knowledge of our very selves. More than that, God remembers the promises he made to us. All of our readings today have at their heart the theme of remembering.
In Baruch, the people of Jerusalem are called to leave behind their mourning and prepare to rejoice. “Take off the garment of your sorrow and affliction, O Jerusalem, and put on forever the beauty of the glory from God.” Why? Because God has remembered them.
Arise, O Jerusalem, stand upon the height;
look toward the east, and see your children
gathered from west and east at the word of
the Holy One, rejoicing that God has
remembered them.
The Old Testament speaks time and again of God not simply promising that “someday” he would deliver his people, but of God hearing the cries and prayers of his people, remembering his promises, and taking action to deliver his people; delivering them from slavery in Egypt, from hunger in the wilderness, delivering them from sin itself.
Our second reading is not a Psalm, as we usually have, but is the song of praise, of gratitude for God’s grace, sung by Zechariah. I am sure you remember the story; in my household it is well known since his wife and mine share the same name. Elizabeth and Zechariah, “Both of them were righteous before God, living blamelessly according to all the commandments and regulations of the Lord. But they had no children because Elizabeth was barren, and both were getting on in years.” (Luke 1:6-7) Then, one day, while Zechariah was serving in the inner sanctuary of the Temple, an angel appeared to him and promised that Elizabeth was pregnant and would give birth to a son. His response was not exactly that of confidence (and should be contrasted with Mary’s one chapter later!) ‘Zechariah said to the angel, “How can I know that this will happen? For I am an old man, and my wife is getting on in years.”’ (Luke 1:18) And for that, he was struck dumb; he could not speak until the child was born.
We read this in the church every December and my wife, Elizabeth, was 11 months pregnant with our son, John (whom we called Mack). She often comments that every wife would no doubt love the gracious gift of a husband who could not speak during their pregnancy. It is true. I talk too much.
When the son of Elizabeth and Zechariah was born, they were going to name him after his father, but Elizabeth insisted that he be named John and Zechariah supported his wife, he wrote out on a tablet, “John.” “Immediately his mouth was opened and his tongue freed, and he began to speak, praising God.” (Luke 1:64)
Thus, we have our hymn of praise but notice that the very first thing Zechariah says is not, “thank the Lord that I can speak!” Or even, “praise God for the son of our old age!” But instead, he praises God for remembering his promise to all of Israel.
“Blessed be the Lord God of Israel,
for he has looked favorably on his people and redeemed them.
He has raised up a mighty savior for us
in the house of his child David,
as he spoke through the mouth of his holy prophets from of old,
that we would be saved from our enemies and from the hand of all who hate us.
Thus he has shown the mercy promised to our ancestors
and has remembered his holy covenant,” (Luke 1:68-72)
God has remembered his people, he has remembered his promise to deliver us from all our enemies, and so that boy John began the work of proclaiming that the Messiah had come and showing us how to be ready to receive him, “[John] went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.” (Luke 3:3)
Last week I spoke about how Advent, the beginning of our Church Year, is not about preparing for Christmas, but is about the Parousia, the second coming of Jesus, the Son of Man, in glory to judge the living and the dead. I mentioned that “judgment,” a concept that we often associate with unjust punishment, is, in fact, justice itself. It is God remembering and fulfilling his promise that the wicked, who seem so often in this world to thrive, will receive their due punishment.
So, for those who have been disenfranchised, are in poverty, victims of sexism, racism, prejudice of any kind, all those who have suffered abuse, this is some major “good news.” Of course, we are all, to a greater or lesser degree, perpetrators of these hurts upon others. John, like the prophets before him, was sent to tell us of God’s other promise, that through repentance of our sins and the acceptance of Jesus’ sacrifice on the Cross, that Day of Judgment, what Paul calls “the Day of Christ,” will be our Day of Liberation. It is a time of rejoicing and celebration because God has remembered all his promises and delivered us from darkness into light, from sin into life.
God knows us and remembers all his promises to us. We are called to remember the work of Christ, not only in the past but Christ’s work here, and now, in and through our lives. So it is that in the Eucharist, “we remember his death, we proclaim his resurrection, we await his coming in Glory.”
God knows you and me. God does not forget or abandon us. God came and lived as one of us and, through the Spirit, continues to live and work in us.
“I thank my God every time I remember you, constantly praying with joy in every one of my prayers for all of you, because of your sharing in the gospel from the first day until now. I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work among you will bring it to completion by the day of Jesus Christ.”
Amen.
