Church of the Redeemer, Chestnut Hill The Rev. Nancy E. Gossling
Priests love to talk about how this third Sunday in Advent is called “Stir-Up” Sunday, when our liturgy begins with the words “Stir up your power, O Lord, and with your great might come among us.” Lord knows, we’ve been stirred up a lot lately in our nation and throughout our world. Lord knows, I’ve been personally stirred up in many ways as well. Perhaps you have been too.
A parishioner frequently reminded me that she had the devil sitting on one shoulder, and the angel of God on the other. Forces that lie in and all around us may come from God or they may come from our own pain, sin, and human suffering. Maybe they even come from “forces unknown.” As we journey on that highway, the Holy Way of God, to the manger in Bethlehem, we will have options, each and every day of our lives.
Which way we look and to whom and to what we will listen is our choice. As Brother Jack, from SSJE, recently wrote, “We do not have the power to reform other people’s behavior, but we do have the power to choose our attitude in responding to other people’s behavior. Jesus had patience, but he wasn’t afraid to confront someone if their behavior wasn’t good for the whole. We have to live in a tricky balance of patience and honesty, with the same mind that Jesus had.” (Brother Give us a Word, Dec 2 2022, Br. Jack Crowley)
The author of the letter of James raises the issue of patience. Now I wish I had a nickel for every time someone asked me to pray for them so that they might become more patient. And truth be told, I’d be a richer woman today if I had just a penny for every time I prayed for patience for myself. I find that frequently these requests for prayer are made at times of illness and worry, when temptations abound. When we become impatient we can make bad choices. We can take wrong turns. We can listen to the voice of fear. We often bark at other people.
Many years ago, there was a story in the Anglican Digest, written by John F. Waldron, about his father who was a priest. He wrote, “I recall my father preaching on the importance of being “stirred up” for righteousness’ sake and the constant need for new and dynamic “stirrers” in life and in the church.” Of course, he noted that stirrers can vary in their extremes, both for good and for ill.
John remembers his father’s story about their dog, a lovable, red Dachshund, who had survived World War 2 and who answered to the name of Adolph. His father spoke about going downstairs at 6 o’clock on Sunday mornings and letting the dog out into their fenced back yard. The dog would then begin his ministry of stirring.
“Adolph hurried to the farthest corner, and facing the rear of Paul Wilkerson’s Funeral Home, began to slowly bark. He barked faster and louder until he had Wilkerson’s hunting dogs up, and barking in their pens. He then padded over to the south end of the yard and repeated the same procedure, for the benefit of the alley dogs that lived behind Starr Avenue.”
“Once they were sufficiently disturbed, Adolph moved along the fence to its west side, and barked toward the Parlett house, until old Wally came out of his box and joined the wailing chorus. Finally, Adolph did the business he was sent out to do, and then scratched the door to be let back into the nice, warm kitchen. Our dog had “stirred up” every dog in the neighborhood and for no good reason. And so, for his shameful performance of willful and noisy arousal, my father declared that Adolph suffered from “CAS or Chronic Agitation Syndrome.”
I can think of many reasons why I have been stirred up recently; and I have come to realize that I have many barking dogs in all corners of my life. Sometimes I hear them howling in the middle of the night. They often wake me up with the morning news. Holidays like Christmas and Thanksgiving can stir up my dogs, who previously had been sleeping quietly at my feet by the fire. Wake up, the dogs will bark at me. Can’t you see that something is wrong? Isn’t it time for you to speak up? Or to do something about this?
John the Baptist and Jesus, like Isaiah, were barking dogs. They were chronic agitators, which begs some questions. Are you a chronic agitator for the good of the whole or merely someone engaged in the noisy and willful arousal of others? Are there good reasons for your agitating words and actions, or are you a chronic complainer, unhappy with your own lot in life? Do you speak words of fear or words of faith, hope, and love? Are your actions kind and prophetic or shameful and self-indulgent?
John the Baptist had been imprisoned by King Herod because he was a chronic agitator for the good of the whole. Herod had worked for the Roman government, wore soft clothes, abused his power, and took advantage of his privileges. He was disconnected from the people he was called to serve, often making decisions that benefitted only himself. John had publicly rebuked Herod for moral improprieties and Herod didn’t like it. So Herod used his power to presumably shut him up.
John the Baptist’s imprisonment didn’t stop him from stirring up the people however. John didn’t wait passively in prison for his personal release, whiling away his time with resentment, or changing his tune for his own benefit. Instead, he sent word by his disciples to Jesus, asking Him if He was the one to come, or should they wait for another? John was both patient and persistent in his barking, relying upon the power of God to make things right. Like the prophet Isaiah, he believed that God would eventually come and save them.
I will hear the news about viruses and violence, about politics and privileges, about injustice and injury, and I get agitated. I can hear those dogs barking from every corner of our world. And for what purpose we might ask ourselves? Is this the voice of a dog named Adolph or a prophet like John the Baptist? Is this the voice of a prophet like Isaiah or a king like Herod? Is this the voice of God, or someone who just wants attention?
Chronic agitation syndrome seems to be the new normal, and yet, most of us just want to find a nice warm kitchen, in which we can lie down by the fire, and find some peace. Or pulling the covers back over our heads, we just want to go back to sleep, and ignore the painful realities of our lives, or those fears that go bump in the night.
Wake up, the prophet Isaiah said to the people in Jerusalem, warning the Israelites that if they didn’t start paying attention to God, then their lives, their homes, and their beloved city would come to ruin. If they did not stand firm in their faith, they would not stand at all. So don’t wait passively on your spiritual journey to Bethlehem. Pay attention to the quiet voice of God who sits on your shoulder, and will guide you on what you are to say and what you are to do.
At times like these, and especially during the season of Advent, we look for hope, as the world literally and figuratively darkens around us. And Isaiah paints us a visual picture of hope. Your knees will become firm, and your hands will be strengthened. Creation, like flowers in a dry land, will bloom and blossom. Waters will break forth in the wilderness and streams will flow in the desert. The lame shall leap like a dear and the haunt of jackals will become a swamp. Everlasting joy will be upon our heads; sorrow and sighing will flee away.
In words later echoed by Jesus, the eyes of the blind will be opened and the ears of the deaf will be unstopped. Or as Mary once sang magnificently, the proud will be scattered in their conceit and the mighty will be cast down from their thrones. The cry of distress and barking dogs will no longer be heard in our land. Our souls will proclaim the greatness of the Lord.
Dog spelled backwards is God, who is scratching at the door of our hearts, even now. Jesus wants to come in, offering us a peace that passes all understanding, showing us how to speak and how to act in the Way of Love. And the fire of God’s Holy Spirit will stir us up to be messengers of God’s amazing grace.
So bark less and wag your tails more often. Then wait patiently, actively, and persistently; for the love of God will soon arrive in human flesh. And we will know Christmas joy even in our pain.
