Sermons

“Dreams and Signs”

Isaiah 7:10-16; Matthew 1:18-25 – Rev. Rebecca Littlejohn

Vista La Mesa Christian Church (Disciples of Christ), La Mesa, California – December 18, 2016

Holy God, bless the speaking and the hearing of these words, that our hearts might be opened to the signs and dreams you send to us, that we might be filled with courage and hope and love. We pray in Jesus’ name, Amen.

“Last night I had the strangest dream, I’ve ever dreamed before. I dreamed the world had all agreed to put an end to war.” Actually, that’s not what happened. I’m not sure I was asleep enough at any point to have a dream last night. But what did happen was that I was given a sign. And it involved a child who knew how to refuse the evil and choose the good. More than one child, in fact.

On Thursday night, I saw an invitation on Facebook to an emergency vigil for Aleppo, which was going to be held in Wells Park in El Cajon on Saturday afternoon. How do you not go to that? It was mostly run by young adults, though there were some older folks around. I assume that was probably a language issue, although it was clear that many of the young people needed the translation into Arabic as well. The young adults shared with us about the history of Syria and the politics of the situation. Many of them are very recent refugees who still have family there. They asked us not to take pictures, because if their pictures appeared on social media, showing them at protests, their family members in Syria could be in danger. They were full of passion and quite impressive in their analysis.

But what really broke my heart was not the young adults, but the children. There were almost as many children under ten or so as there were young adults. And the leaders were careful to share the megaphone with them. One little girl sang us a song in Arabic. A young woman translated it when she was done. The song was about having her childhood stolen and how she just wanted to live in peace. Towards the very end of the event, the megaphone was given to a boy who couldn’t have been more than 8 years old. He also spoke in Arabic and was translated for the rest of us. His message was simple and urgent: Syria has been destroyed. There is nothing left. He wanted the megaphone again, and she gave it to him. He spoke again and was translated: Syria has been destroyed. There is nothing left.

But perhaps the most important sign for us today came during the march itself. Mostly it was the young adult leaders starting the chants through the megaphone, but as we were almost back to the park they began giving the children each a turn. The adults had mostly led chants like “Free Syria!” and “Save Aleppo!” and “The people want the fall of the regime!” It wrenched my heart when one young boy got the megaphone and simply chanted, “I love you, Syria.” It was the most important and powerful thing he could think to say. “I love you, Syria.” And it is, isn’t it? The most important and powerful thing we can say?

It’s so painful that the conflicts that have traumatized the children gathered in an El Cajon park yesterday are taking place in more or less the same geographic landscape as the passage we heard from Isaiah just moments ago. King Ahaz is in dread of the king of Aram, which is modern-day Syria, and the king of the Southern Kingdom of Israel. They were trying to force him into joining them in a military coalition against the Assyrians. So naturally, his inclination was to align himself with the Assyrians instead. This is classic “the enemy of my enemy is my friend” logic. But the prophet Isaiah was trying to convince Ahaz that he needed no ally other than God. It seems like Ahaz is being humble and pious when he says he doesn’t want to test God by demanding a sign. But really, he’s just being cowardly, because he knows the sign will be an invitation to be braver than he’s prepared to be, because the point of the sign will be that he shouldn’t ally his kingdom with any other nation, because God is on their side. Setting aside the problematic notion that God is on the side of any warring nation, there is a lesson for us here: The signs that God sends us are likely to demand more of us that we knew we could give.

Skipping ahead to Matthew, we see that this is certainly the case with Joseph. He’d already figured out a plan with integrity and honor and compassion. But then ‘an angel of the Lord appears to him in a dream.’ And suddenly the plan is a lot more challenging. Joseph’s original plan was going to be over quickly. The new plan is going to be with him the rest of his life. It’s going to change his identity. It’s going to subject him to public embarrassment. It’s going to call into question the moral integrity of his family line. You begin to see why King Ahaz might have come up with excuses for why he didn’t need God’s sign. Joseph, of course, didn’t get any choice, since the angel waited till he was asleep to accost him.

You have to wonder, though, about the different reactions these two men might have had to a baby presented as a sign. For a king, a baby being born might not have seemed like that big of a deal. A king might have thought that God should send him a more impressive sign – a comet perhaps, or a horde of locusts. Babies, after all, are being born all the time. But for Joseph, a baby – this particular baby especially – was a big deal. He wasn’t going to have a country to protect, just his little family, who soon became refugees themselves because of how big a deal this baby was. Everything was changed by this baby.

Regardless of how they may have reacted to a baby as a sign from God, for both of these men, the sign made heavy demands. They were being asked to be more courageous than they’d planned on being. They were being asked to trust God more fully than they knew they could. How is it that a sign of hope requires so much trust? But it is a sign of hope, isn’t it? In both cases. The primary connection between these two passages, beyond the basic presence of a baby, is that name – Emmanuel, God-with-us. What clearer sign of hope could there be? And yet, such a gift is a blessing that demands that we rise to the occasion.

Are we watching for these signs? They are apparently as common as the birth of a baby. Will we see them when they come? Do we dismiss them as easily as our dreams? What about when the sign is a child right in front of us, pleading for a chance at a childhood unblemished by the destruction of war? Will we respond? Do we even know how? The theme for this final Sunday of Advent, the last one before Christmas arrives, is Love. And as that small boy with the megaphone made clear, Love is the most important and the most powerful thing. It is Love that makes it possible for us to respond. It is Love that gives us the courage and the wisdom and the trusting heart to know and believe that God is with us. It is Love that makes it possible for us to do the scary and dangerous things God is asking us to do – to welcome strangers into our midst, to stand with those who are desperately seeking an end to the destruction of their homeland, to begin life anew with a different understanding of what our family looks like.

The anthem the choir sang this morning is from a poem by Christina Rossetti. “Love came down at Christmas,” she wrote. “Love all lovely, love divine. Love came down at Christmas; love for plea and gift and sign.” “Love for plea and gift and sign.” For we need it for all three. We need the plea to catch our attention. We need the gift to help us respond. And we need the sign so that we can trust that what is needed is what God is calling us to do.

Beyond standing in the cold in a park with our refugee neighbors, I’m not sure yet how God is calling us to respond to the signs I saw there. A couple weeks ago, I impulsively wrote an email in answer to an announcement seeking English teachers for local Syrian refugees. According to the woman starting this program, learning English is the most urgent need right now. I’m not sure why I thought I have time to teach English, though I’ve kind of always wanted to. She wrote me back with lots of information, and I got a little overwhelmed. But maybe this is something we could do together. Maybe we could explore the possibility. Maybe Love will help us find a way. It’s such a basic gift. It doesn’t even really require that much bravery, just a re-arranging of how we spend our time and a little training.

This week, an email came from Week of Compassion. They have sent their very largest emergency grant ever – $250,000 – to our partners who are working with Syrian refugees, both in and outside the country. This is another way we can share the Love of this season.

I wasn’t planning to say anything at the vigil at the park yesterday, but the woman with the megaphone kept asking if anyone else wanted to share words of support. No one had spoken up on behalf of Christians yet, so I decided I needed to do that. I didn’t say much, just let them know that we’d been praying for Syria for over four years now and that we’re mourning with them as Aleppo is burning. And I think it helped. A small gesture, just a few words, but for those whose hearts are being torn in half, it’s comforting to know they are not alone. God is with us. God is asking us all to chant “I love you, Syria.” The most important and the most powerful thing we can do is love, whether the question is our Syrian refugee neighbors, or those living without stable housing, or our own families struggling with all the things that make life scary and difficult. May Love make it possible for us to respond to the signs God sends us with courage and hope and trust. God is with us! Alleluia and Amen.