I was asked by a friend to re-post a sermon that I preached 6 years ago today at Heartland Presbyterian Church. This is for you, Renee. Thanks for asking.
The Scripture reading are Isaiah 35:1-10 and Matthew 1:18-25.
I saw the most delightful presentation this week by Dr. Brené Brown, describing the difference between “sympathy” and “empathy.” She described the occasion when someone we know falls into a deep dark hole. Sympathy, she said, was someone sticking a head in the hole and saying, “Oh, that’s too bad.” She said that sympathy – the worst kind of sympathy I think – often begins with the words “At least”: “At least it’s not a dark deep hole with fire in it.” “At least you didn’t bring a bunch of other people down here with you.” As if the imagination of something even worse somehow makes someone’s deep dark hole better. The ultimate, of course, is that statement that often is thought but goes unsaid, “At least it is you and not me.” Empathy, as Dr. Brown described it, is much better whenever it is possible. Empathy is when someone falls into a deep dark hole and you climb down the hole, turn on the light, and say, “It’s okay. We’ve all been here and you are not alone.”
I particularly like Dr. Brown’s point regarding those awful sympathetic statements that begin with “At least.” There are times when we just don’t know how to connect with someone else’s pain or joy, yet we want to say something. We hear someone’s story, we have no idea how to react, yet not to react seems cold and inappropriate. So, we say something. I remember attending a conference on Jewish/Palestinian relationships once. It was a tension-filled conference – the first time I ever heard someone stand up and complain about a conference right after the opening prayer! I heard stories of Jews, living in places where there is mortar fire regularly. I heard stories of Palestinians, battling against literal and metaphorical roadblocks just trying to live their lives. For a lot of folks at that conference, every story became a soapbox moment, an obligation to weigh in on the “for” or “against” camp. They felt obligated to state their opinion, declare a side, join the crusade, and filter every story through their position. We’ve been told that we have to believe in something or else we are being unfaithful. We’ve been told that our Christianity requires us to speak the truth, embrace the right causes, be bold and assertive for God! So, whether we declare ourselves “for” or “against,” we operate out of this sense that our faith requires us to say something. But, the moment we take someone else’s experience and jam it into our cause, we’ve lost sight of the person before us, the person whose story is not an “issue” but a life. The moment we throw the gauntlet – whether we think we are on “their side” or not – we’ve traded a relationship for a position.
A better answer would be “Wow.”
“Wow.” It’s a silly word in many ways, because it really says nothing. “Wow” is that empty phrase that says nothing about being “for” or “against.” “Wow” says nothing about our own experience and opinion. “Wow” says nothing substantive; it is simply an empty word that is fully relational. By saying nothing, “Wow” can say just the right thing. “Wow” says “I’m listening,” but it doesn’t say “I’m explaining,” “I’m comprehending,” or “I’m judging.” “Wow” offers an opportunity for the relationship to continue between someone’s story and my life, without filtering it through my obligation to set things right. Imagine how many conversations could be transformed from confrontation to solidarity with nothing more than the word “Wow.”
I’m convinced that the most powerful thing people of faith can do is to cultivate “Wow.” I’m not talking about manufacturing pizzazz. That’s what bored people do. Pizzazz is the junk food of empty carbs for the insatiable appetites of people who can no longer see wonder in real life. “Wow” is something else entirely.
The Advent journey, and the Christmas story that follows it, offer us marvelous opportunities to cultivate “Wow.” “Wow” is that moment when the people in darkness see a great light. “Wow” is when the bloody uniforms and muddy boots of warriors become fuel for a cease-fire celebration. “Wow” is when an anxious King thinks all is lost, then hears the cry of a newborn baby. “Wow” is when God’s people, after a long exile and an exhausting journey, finally re-enter Israel singing songs that they never thought they’d sing in their ancestral home again. “Wow” is when an aging couple discovers that in their dotage they will conceive and bear and child. “Wow” is when a young woman discovers that God’s power of life is greater even than simple human reproduction would suggest. “Wow” is when her fiancé is invited to hear that the scandal on his hands is actually a wonder sent from God. Long before we feel the need to explain the story or declare ourselves warriors in defense of Christmas, the journey of Advent and Christmas invite us to babble that nonsensical word of the overwhelmed heart, “Wow.”
The genius of the Christian church has been how its yearly calendar begins, not with January 1st, but with the season of Advent. When we’ve said “Wow” at how people in exile maintain hope, we are ready for everything that the year will throw at us. When we’ve said “Wow” at Zachariah and Elizabeth, we are ready for the miracle stories in the gospels, when we hear over and over how “all of them were amazed.” When we’ve said “Wow” at warriors beating their weapons into tools, we are ready to hear the Sermon on the Mount. When we’ve said “Wow” at exiles returning to their homes, we’re ready to read Paul’s letters to churches struggling to maintain their unity amid their differences. When we’ve said “Wow” at the manger, we’re ready to look at the cross and believe that good can overcome evil. Likewise, when we’ve said “Wow” at the strange visitors from the east, bringing the best gifts their culture has to offer, we are ready for a year of enlarging our lives by meeting strangers in our world. When we’ve said “Wow” with Mary, we’re ready to say “Wow” with anyone whose journey of sexuality or parenting can be the occasion of grace.
Advent is that season when we cultivate “Wow.” Nothing prepares us better for experiencing “God with us,” in our darkness, in our world, and in our hope. Thanks be to God. Amen.
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