The Greatest Hits of Advent

One of the things that I enjoy the most about this season is the book of Isaiah.

Week after week, we are treated to what seems like the Greatest Hits of Advent in Isaiah.

Last week it was Isaiah 35:6, “For waters shall break forth in the wilderness and streams in the desert ….”

This week it is Isaiah 11:6, “The wolf shall live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them.”

These should be familiar words, familiar images.  All the readings we find during Advent from Isaiah are designed to help build in us this sense of anticipation, expectation.

It’s like that song from West Side Story, “Could it be?  Yes, it could.  Something’s coming, something good.”

And if the two verses from Isaiah that I just quoted don’t stir any memories in you, don’t seem familiar, well, how about these?

From Isaiah 9:6, “For unto us a child is born, unto us a son is given: and the government shall be upon his shoulder: and his name shall be called Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.”

Or from Isaiah 40:5, “And the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together: for the mouth of the Lord hath spoken it.”

I gave you the King James Version with those two verses, hoping that might spark something.  If these words are familiar to you at all, then you probably owe it to a little piece of music called, Handel’s Messiah.

When I was a kid, December, along with that last cruel month of school before summer, was the longest month of the year.  It always seemed like Christmas would never come.  Advent, these weeks leading up to Christmas, didn’t hold any spiritual significance to me.  Every Advent calendar I had as a child was simply a way to count down the days to presents.  I always loved the Advent calendars that ended with Santa and always groaned a little when some well-meaning relative gave me a calendar filled with images of mangers, farm animals, Marys and baby Jesuses. 

I admit that this December I even sent my godson a Star Wars Lego Advent Calendar instead of a religiously themed one.  It’s possible I’m seriously neglecting my godmother duties here, but on the other hand, I am the coolest godmother out there.

There are two ways that we all mark these days before Christmas.  We do it in a secular way, buying Christmas gifts, preparing for relatives to descend upon our home, attending work and neighborhood Christmas parties.

And we do it perhaps in a more spiritual fashion, helping to decorate the church, attending nativity plays, and welcoming in Jesus with candlelight Christmas Eve services.

But no matter how we choose to pass these days of Advent, everything we do these weeks is building toward something.

We’re waiting.

All of us.

In our own way, we spend these days of December waiting.

Children wait for school to be out and winter break to begin.

We wait for presents under the tree.

We wait for time with family.

We wait for Christmas dinner and the glorious feeling of a crescent roll melting in your mouth.

If we live up north, we may wait for snow, and a white Christmas.

But underneath all of that is this spiritual undercurrent.

We’re waiting for something else.

We’re waiting for something that cannot be bought at a store.

We’re waiting for something that will fill us in a much more fulfilling way than any turkey or ham or fruitcake—or crescent roll can.

We’re waiting for a joy that transcends all joy.

Think, for a second, about your most favorite Christmas memory.  For me, it was when I was in sixth grade and my dad and I took an impromptu road-trip to Florida for Christmas—on Christmas day.  I remember how impossible it was to find stores that were open, how we ate a lunch of dried-up ham sandwiches from a gas station and managed to catch the tail end of a hotel buffet for dinner.

It was a long trip.

And it was an adventure.  And it was an escape and it was perfectly imperfect.

But right up there with that memory is another memory of standing in a warm church on Christmas Eve, the sky outside dark, the air crisp, the stars twinkling.  And inside, dim lights, and candle lights multiplying one by one through the congregation and a woman’s melodious voice singing Silent Night.

It took my breath away.

It still takes my breath away.

Take these good memories now and bundle them up and hold them tight and then imagine a joy a million times greater.

This is the true joy of Christmas.

This is the anticipation we feel during Advent.  This is the anticipation we are meant to feel.  That the greatest gift we could ever receive, ever hope to receive, is on his way.

And here’s the thing—I guarantee that we all feel it, even if we can’t name it.

This spiritual longing—this desire, as the Woman at the Well articulated, to never be thirsty again, to be filled and to never hunger again—we all feel it.

Let me name it for you now—we are waiting for him.  We are waiting for the savior of all mankind—the Messiah—and he shall be called, “Wonderful, Counsellor, The mighty God, The everlasting Father, The Prince of Peace.”

Obviously, the words from Handel’s Messiah are taken from the Bible and the book of Isaiah, but did you know that it was a man named Charles Jennens who wrote the libretto from Messiah?  Handel wrote the music, but Jennens chose the words and he did so virtually anonymously.

As beautiful as Handel’s music is, can you imagine Messiah without the words?

When I was a sophomore in high school, I was chosen as a last-minute addition to the All-County Choir.  For those of you unfamiliar with that, basically, the schools in the county would send their best singers (let me reiterate I was a last-minute addition, not a star) to a centralized location for one day, to learn a handful of songs and give a concert that night.

I only remember one of the songs we sang that night.

It was “And the Glory of the Lord” from Handel’s Messiah.  I’ll never forget it.  It’s really just two lines repeated over and over, but the buildup—that’s where Handel shows his gift, in the soaring buildup, in the anticipation.

He’s coming—the Messiah and his name is Jesus.

Amen.