“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.So also, when you see all these things, you know that he is near, at the very gates.”  [Matthew’s Gospel 24.32-33]

All around us, the season has turned towards harvest.  Our family makes our home on Gomeroi country in the north west of the state, and it has been a fine season leading up to harvest, with crops looking promising and feed in the paddocks. It hasn’t been so good in other regions, but there is heightened sense of hope for many in our community.

Driving at night, there is the alien glow of lights as headers move through the darkness, racing the season and the hints of storm and rain. The farming community has been preparing for weeks and months; servicing headers, organising contractors, ordering fuel, watching the crops, watching the weather. Waiting.

Advent is this unsettling season, preparing for something which has already happened and asserting something which hasn’t yet occurred. Advent: the season of now and not yet.

Waiting isn’t passive. It isn’t sitting outside the supermarket, while your partner grabs the groceries. Jesus tells us to take note of the times around us, and to be ready, to wait – with purpose.

It can be a difficult season, waiting. There are constant signs of brokenness, as the world seems bent on self-destruction. Yeats writes “things fall apart, the centre cannot hold”, and his words sound prescient, yet it was written over a century ago, in the ashes of the First World War. Jesus himself spoke under the tyranny of empire.

The truth is that tyrants have always been rising, that presidents and dictators and monarchs have always invaded and enslaved and destroyed, while others have enabled and appeased.

We cannot wait for the storm to pass; we are here, whatever the weather. Our calling is to live out the promise which has given us life, in which our hope is placed.

Whatever the return of Christ entails, whatever it means, it is not ours to know, to control, or to decide. It is not for us to mark our calendars, but to wait with the intent Jesus asks of us. Pessimism disables us, seeing no path forward, so we wait in despair, for an end. Optimism can be equally disabling, as we wait passively for a better season, a better leader, denying the reality of the world in which we are living.

The hope found in Jesus enables our waiting. This is the season in which we are called to live – and to act. Our readiness acknowledges what God in Christ has already done; this informs our forgiveness, our humility and our repentance. It equally informs how we live for those around us, active for justice and hope in their lives even more than our own.

In Advent we name that God in Christ has appeared and assert that Christ will come again. We live and act in hope, because God’s promise in Christ has been realised and we believe that God in Christ will do so again.

So we will wait, and feed those who are hungry and stand against those who act in harm, or injustice.

We will wait, and seek and offer forgiveness, because that is the essence of the life offered in Jesus. We will wait, and weep with those who weep, and embody the hope which shapes our worship and our witness.

We will wait, together, because sometimes our courage fails us, and we need others around us and the Spirit of God to hold us, and to help us to remember and look forward.

We will wait, in the hope of Jesus Christ.

Then I myself will gather the remnant of my flock out of all the lands where I have driven them, and I will bring them back to their fold, and they shall be fruitful and multiply. I will raise up shepherds over them who will shepherd them, and they shall not fear any longer, or be dismayed, nor shall any be missing, says the Lord. [The Prophet Jeremiah 23.3-4]

As if the lessons from history aren’t enough. As if the depredations of monarchs and dictators from the last century, alone, haven’t taught us to be wary. As a cautionary tale, last century was redundant, with lessons before us since Rachel was weeping for her children.  

Even now, we vote them in, these narcissistic populists of all shapes and predilection, or permit these diminished princes who behave as they please, to others’ destruction.

The Old Testament – and other – prophets warned their communities and their words resonate, yet still we tick the ballot box and bow the knee.

On this last Sunday of the Church year, this Sunday when we proclaim the Reign of Christ, the bells of alarm toll more loudly than ever.

There will be songs to sing of the risen Christ’s majesty and wonder, and they need to be sung. We assert the Reign of the crucified, risen One to the glory of God, and for our hope in this life.

And yet this tapestry has more than simply threads of gold.

On this Sunday, the Gospel readings speak of one who was marked as criminal, executed between two thieves. Our faith directs us away from the self-interest of political hacks and those entitled by bloodline towards a monarch who is most clearly identified by nails and a garland of thorns.

We are astonished, if we pay attention. Our lives are transformed if we step into the story.

The gilded life has no currency here. There is no resonance with the one who is known by their birthing in a feed trough and cradling on a cross. The God of Christmas and Easter is not found in the excess of the well-appointed, but in the lives we humans lead, lives of wonder and grief, of struggle and friendship, of ordinariness.

To identify a monarch by their brokenness, or their frailty, seems impossible, and yet that is both where we find Jesus and, so frequently, where we find ourselves. What is more, that is where we need Jesus to be, for those who have no recourse, and who believe there is no hope.

Jesus is born and dies outside the ambit of a just authority, and yet we place our hope in Jesus precisely for that reason. Christ’s resurrection asserts that all the rules are turned upside down, and are now located in the mercy and love of God.

Jeremiah reminds us that “nor shall any be missing” from the merciful embrace of God. And a crucified criminal finds not just understanding, but life, beside Jesus in their last moments; “today you will be with me in Paradise.”

Could any other gift be more precious?

“… they will arrest you and persecute you; they will hand you over to synagogues and prisons, and you will be brought before kings and governors because of my name. This will give you an opportunity to testify. So make up your minds not to prepare your defence in advance; for I will give you words and a wisdom that none of your opponents will be able to withstand or contradict. … and they will put some of you to death. You will be hated by all because of my name. But not a hair of your head will perish. By your endurance you will gain your souls. [Luke’s Gospel 20.12-19]

What shape could our discipleship to Jesus possibly take, that this story would have any resonance? What might we say in public, or public worship, which would be this costly?

We know the historical trials of Christians, and in some nations even now. In comparison, the whimpers from segments in the Australian church about persecution from government are more reflective of their discomfort with losing the political influence the church wielded in an earlier era.

Jesus is referring to the faithful actions which may cost everything. In a climate such as the one in which we currently live, what might these costly actions look like?

Prior to his extraordinary words, Jesus has identified the community leaders who “devour widow’s houses” and offer public prayers for the sake of looking impressive. Jesus immediately indicates a poor widow, who gives all she has, offering a direct contrast to those who contributed a fraction of their wealth.

If the church both spoke and acted about the inequity of wealth in our community, what might result? If we acted ourselves to address poverty, would that make a difference? What risk might there be as we confront the government about funding for war and not for the poorest in our community?

In a culture which thrives on punishment and vengeance masquerading as justice, what will it cost to live and speak of peace, forgiveness and real reconciliation?

The dodgy prophets whose concerns are power and self-promotion – seen in pulpit and parliament – will draw us away from the tasks which are central to the gospel. Self-interest is their song, and it lies at the heart of every pitch.

Where do we see Jesus standing? Where is Jesus’ voice most clearly heard? For whom was Jesus most passionately concerned?

This is where we need to be, to act and to speak. And to be under no illusion our actions will be costly. We stand with Christ and, if so, we shall also die – and rise – with him.

The hymn writer, Marnie Barrel reminds us
As long as hatred stifles truth and freedom is betrayed by fear,
we stand with Christ; give us no peace till his peace reigns in triumph here.