Isaiah 35:1-10
1 The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom; like the crocus 2 it shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing. The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it, the majesty of Carmel and Sharon. They shall see the glory of the Lord, the majesty of our God. 3 Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees. 4 Say to those who are of a fearful heart, "Be strong, do not fear! Here is your God. He will come with vengeance, with terrible recompense. He will come and save you." 5 Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped; 6 then the lame shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy. For waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert; 7 the burning sand shall become a pool, and the thirsty ground springs of water; the haunt of jackals shall become a swamp, the grass shall become reeds and rushes. 8 A highway shall be there, and it shall be called the Holy Way; the unclean shall not travel on it, but it shall be for God's people; no traveler, not even fools, shall go astray. 9 No lion shall be there, nor shall any ravenous beast come up on it; they shall not be found there, but the redeemed shall walk there. 10 And the ransomed of the Lord shall return, and come to Zion with singing; everlasting joy shall be upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.
By now, most of you (if not all of you) have your trees up, nativities out, lights strung, and stockings hung. You’ve been listening to songs like “Jingle Bells” and “Frosty the Snowman” for at least a few days, and you’ve probably already watched Christmas Vacation, Elf, Miracle on 34th Street, some adaptation of Charles Dickens’ A Christmas Carol, or my personal favorite and forever Christmas classic Ernest Saves Christmas at least once. You may have already gone to company Christmas parties or tacky sweater parties where white elephant gifts were exchanged. Maybe you’ve already eaten your weight in white fudge Oreos, sausage balls, and all kinds of dips and cheese balls. Why, I bet some of you even still have hot cider on your breath or a half-eaten candy cane in your pocket! It’s December 11th, the third Sunday of Advent, but everywhere we look it seems like it’s Christmas.
I wonder when that happened. In what year did Christmas begin to just suddenly show up? I mean, when I was a kid it felt like Christmas took forever and a day to come around. I was pretty young when I came to learn what the phrase “slow as Christmas” means. Every year as a kid, it felt like the days between the start of the school year in August and December 25th were at least 40 hours long and they just got longer as the calendar flipped around to December. I remember all that excitement, all that anticipation, all that wishing that Christmas Day would just get here, that I would shut my eyes on whatever day it was and when I opened them again it would be Christmas morning. Of course, it was always sort of anti-climactic: the day would eventually arrive; I’d get up early, open presents, change out of sleeping clothes to get in the car and head over to my dad’s or my mom’s house (depending on what year it was and whose house I woke up in on Christmas morning); from there, we would travel to my grandmother’s house to eat dinner and swap presents; at some point in the afternoon, we’d decide we had all had enough of each other and load up to head back home or to other relatives’ houses, and by the time we wound up back home the day would be over, and all that longing, all that waiting, all that anticipation would be over—and it’d all feel just a little bit underwhelming.
It’s sort of that way as an adult too, I suppose. We place so much pressure on Christmas Day, on shopping for gifts for people who already have more than they need, on attending parties, programs, functions, and events that have more to do with obligation and habit than celebration and joy, on trying new recipes, perfecting old ones, wearing the right clothes, or hoping for perfect weather. The season becomes all about that one day, and we pile so much expectation upon it that we collapse under it all when it doesn’t turn out the way we want it or when it’s all over and we realize we’ve put so much work into something that took so long to get here but is over in the blink of an eye. When we celebrate Christmas this way, there may be joy, but it’s only for a day and then it’s on to whatever’s next on the calendar (usually the New Year’s celebration).
That’s why I like to celebrate the season of Advent. Advent forces us to wait, to live with the anticipation, to hope, to look forward without looking over what’s right in front of us. In the recognition of Advent there is a necessity to not solely focus on the destination, but to find joy in the journey, in the waiting, in the meantime. In Advent, it can’t just be about the gifts, the schedules, the parties, the presents, the dinners, and the dates on a calendar; it’s about marking time with themes like hope, peace, (as we reflect today) joy, and love. By marking time with the recognition of Advent, December 25th becomes a day for which we’ve prepared, a day whose meaning isn’t lost in wrapping paper and shuffling between parents’ homes. When we focus only on the day (as many tend to do outside of the tradition of Advent) there may be joy for that day, but when we embark on the journey of Advent, there is joy along the way, joy that prepares our hearts, minds, and spirits for the ultimate joy of that day to which we most look forward.
Of course, finding joy on the journey isn’t always easy. A journey takes time, and time requires patience. Even the smoothest road becomes monotonous, and the most luxurious car seat begins to feel uncomfortable when one’s posterior has occupied it for hours on end. The straightest highways inevitably become crowded with traffic when there’s an accident, road work, or rush hour in the city. There are people you meet on the way that cause confusion, people who seem to like slowing others down and messing folks up. It isn’t always easy finding joy on the journey, and that’s why I think we become so preoccupied with the destination, whether it’s Christmas Day, a vacation spot, or our own home after being away for so long.
By the second half of the sixth century B.C., the people of Judah cold only dream of home, a destination for which they had longed since being exiled to Babylon by the emperor Nebuchadnezzar. Jerusalem had been destroyed, the temple looted and razed, and now those who had once sat in comfort in their own homes in Judah had little more than the hopes, visions, and dreams of the prophets who were exiled with them.
Then, along came the Persians. When the Persians conquered Babylon, the king Cyrus allowed the exiles to return to Jerusalem (he was actually called “Messiah” by the same prophet of our text this morning in chapter 45, verse 1). No doubt the journey seemed long, dangerous, and there were likely those who had just rather stay put in their new homes, even if they were in a far-away land. It was out of this atmosphere of hesitant hope that another prophet in the line of Isaiah arose (scholars sometimes refer to this prophet as “Third Isaiah”); his prophetic career took place in exile, just before the captives would return to Judah with Ezra and Nehemiah to rebuild their cities and their temple.
In the text before us this morning, this prophet Isaiah tells about blossoming deserts that shall rejoice with singing, about the strengthening of weak hands, the firming of feeble knees, the encouragement of the fearful, the giving of sight to the blind, the unstopping of deaf ears, the leaping of those who were once lame, of waters flowing in the once-parched desert. It’s an image of a rough way made smooth, a dangerous direction made safe, a wide wasteland made navigable by a grand, holy highway leading to the very pace they’d all want to go. It’s a vision of safety, a vision of hope, a vision of joy as it describes a highway free of the “unclean,” a path void of the dangers that were once typical of such places in the wilderness. It’s a vision—not of the destination, but of the journey, and it’s a vision of joy on the journey.
Now, at first, I want this passage to be about the stress-free journey that comes for those of us who are faithful to God’s calling, those of us who find ourselves listed among “the redeemed.” I want to read these words about blooming deserts and traffic-free highways as words that speak to the ease with which one might experience this life on the way to a glorious rest in eternity. I want to do that…I want to believe that. I want to believe that the journey of faith is like my idealized Christmas morning, full of joy, warm feelings, and without a seeming care in the world, but I know that’s not how it is. I know the journey of faith is more like the days leading up to Christmas: sure there are joyful days, moments like those we experience when we gather with friends for good food or come into this room to worship, but there are also those difficult days, those days when the wind is too cold to keep the chill out of my bones, those days when someone else’s frustrations are turned on me simply because I was an easy target, those days when nothing goes my way and all I want to do is go to bed, but there’s still work to be done.
The journey, it seems, is almost always more complicated than the destination. It’s even there in the words from this prophet Isaiah—though one might miss them if one reads too fast. Yes, the prophet speaks about a transformed desert and a holy highway, but he also talks about hands that need strengthening, knees that are feeble, eyes that can’t see, and ears that can’t hear. He makes commands of those traveling on the journey to help those who are otherwise handicapped, those with the weak hands and deaf ears, but that isn’t always easy, and it implies that there are those on this journey who need help, those who aren’t necessarily fit to make the journey alone. Not only that, but the prophet says that on this highway God is paving, “the unclean shall not travel on it” (I suppose that’s good news; after all, you don’t want those kinds of folks slowing you down, getting in the way, messing everything up) …no traveler, not even fools, shall go astray.” Now, that bit about fools not going astray sounds great—if you’re a fool, but if you’re one of the “non-fools” it sounds a bit disappointing. After all, if a fool can’t wander off, that means that fool will be on the same road with you, and that same fool might tend to swerve into your lane or ride the brakes for fifteen miles or drive behind you with his high beams on. This journey won’t be taken on a gravy train with biscuit wheels. In fact, you’ll have to walk! The prophet says so: “the redeemed shall walk there.” Already, I can hear some folks saying, “You know, this place ain’t really that bad. Let’s just stay here.”
And in some ways, I think that’s exactly how this thing called faith is—it’s a journey, complete with ups and downs, with folks who need your help, folks who will slow you down, folks who are way on up the road from you, fools who’ll get in the way and cause confusion. There may not be the great dangers others might face who don’t travel on this same heavenly highway, but it is still a journey, complete with uncertainty and frustration, doubt and misdirection, the helpers and the helpless, the fools and the arrogant. It’s a journey that requires us to want to take it, to want to leave where we are even now, even though where we are is safe, comfortable, and certain. Faith is more than a destination; it’s the joy found in the journey.
The Christian life isn’t only about finding joy in a hoped-for destination in the “sweet by and by.” It’s about finding joy in the journey in spite of weak hands and feeble knees, in spite of fearful hearts, blind eyes, and deaf ears. It’s about finding joy when the desert is dry or when the water springs up from unexpected places. It’s about finding joy when the highway is paved smooth and the travel is easy and when there are potholes and fools going the wrong way.
That’s why I think we need Advent, why we need these signposts along the journey to remind us of hope, peace, and (this morning) joy. We need to be reminded that the birth of Christ isn’t just about some resting place on the other side of the grave; it’s about finding joy in God’s creation, about finding joy on this journey of faith. We may look forward to Christmas Day, but we need to be reminded of the ways in which Christ is born into our lives every day, just as we may look forward to the joys of heaven, but we need to be reminded of the ways in which Christ is calling us to bring the joys of heaven to reality here on this side of eternity. Perhaps this Advent, we need to be reminded that just as Christmas isn’t a single day, a destination on our calendars, faith isn’t a destination. Perhaps as much as we need to wait, to prepare ourselves for the arrival of the Christ child through the season of Advent, we need to wait, to prepare ourselves for the arrival of God’s kingdom through the days, weeks, months, and years of our lives, of this journey called faith.
May we take these precious few days we have leading up to Christmas and see in them the precious few days we have on this earth, days we have to journey on in faith, and may we find in them the joy that comes from a faith that lived out in flesh and blood, in hands and feet, a faith lived out in this journey we share together. Amen.
