Expect the Unexpected

Isaiah 9:1-9 and 11:1-9

 

Most of us have been to a surprise party. They're a lot of fun, aren't they? There we are, we and a bunch of friends all waiting for the victim, I mean party person, to walk through the door so that we can scare them half to death shouting, "Surprise!" at the top of our lungs. We're gathered in the living room and halfway down the hall. The lights are low. Everybody is talking quietly but excitedly. Every now and then somebody says, "Shhhhh, I think she's coming!" and the whole room gets quiet. The silent tension of the excitement and expectation is so thick in the air we could cut it with a knife. Everybody holds their breath until the honoree enters, and then, “Surprise!”

 

That feeling of expectation and excitement is one of those delicious moments in life. There is nothing else quite like the air of anticipation. Remember your childhood: counting down the days until school's out, until your birthday, until Christmas? Remember your young adulthood: counting down the days until you graduate and get to get a "real" job? Remember counting down the days until the baby, your baby, was born? Expectation is delicious, and Advent is the season of expectation.

 

Israel of the first century was a place of great expectation. The prophets had set the course centuries before; words of God's promised Messiah had filtered through Scripture to form a palpable hope. The time of waiting under the weight of foreign oppression had finally wearied the people to the point that they saw no other way: only God could save them. Soon, only God could save them transformed into the certainty that surely God would save them! And thus was born Israel's messianic expectation.

 

Unfortunately, sometimes reality doesn't always live up to our expectations. Like being at that surprise party and hearing someone say, "Shhhhhh, I think she's coming!" Everybody gets ready. The door opens. And in walks the wrong person. It's like cold water in the face of our excitement and expectation. That's how many folk in Israel must have felt when they saw or heard about Jesus. They expected a Messiah, God's messenger, God's leader, God's chosen one who would be their Savior, who would free them from their waiting, free them from their weariness, free them from the weight of foreign oppression. They expected a Savior, but they got Jesus.

 

They expected a king; they got a baby. They expected a royal mansion; they got a stable. They expected a royal nursery; they got a manger. They expected purple robes; they got swaddling clothes. They expected courtiers; they got shepherds. They expected a royal birth; they got an unwed mother. They expected a swordsman; they got a carpenter. They expected riches; they got parables. They expected a king on a white charger; they got a rabbi riding a donkey. They expected glory and honor; they got suffering and humiliation. They expected a throne; they got a cross. They expected a Savior; they got Jesus.

 

Isn't that just like God? Most everyone in Israel was expecting a Messiah, but they were surprised when he came because even though they expected him, he came in an unexpected way. But, like I said, that's just like God to do something like that: expect the unexpected.

 

Does God need a virile man and his fertile wife to be father and mother of a great nation? Well then why not choose Abraham, aged 100, and his youthful wife Sarah, a mere 90. Does God need to send someone down to Egypt to save his people from starvation? Well then why not choose Joseph to go as a slave after his brothers have beaten him bloody. Does God need a hero to fight Goliath? Well then why not choose little Davy from down the street? I'll bet he'd do it; that boy will try anything!

 

Does an adulterous woman caught in the very act itself and paraded through the streets to highlight her shame need forgiveness? Well then why not give it to her, and send her on her way to try anew to live as God would have her live. Does an abusive, greedy tax collector need to be restored to his humanity as well as his community? Well then why not stop in the midst of a crowd and say to him quite publicly, "I will stay at your house today." Do a group of frightened fishermen whose hearts have been broken and whose dreams for a better life and a better earth have been crushed need to know that, contrary to everything they see around them, there is no reason to fear? Well then why not rise from the dead, show them your hands and your side, break bread with them, and ignite within them the flame of new life that can never be extinguished! Do you need to be forgiven? Does it feel as if the weight of the world is on your shoulders? Do you feel trapped in a cage of your own making? Well then why not go to God to seek his deliverance. Not only can God save you, but certainly God will save you. That's what he does, although his deliverance may not come in the manner in which you expect, for with God it's always the same old thing: expect the unexpected.

 

Syngmann Rhee has a unique story. He left his home in the north of Korea when he was 19 years old, the day the Korean War broke out. He left his home, his family, his world to become a refugee walking south. Left behind was his father, a Presbyterian minister, who was jailed by the Communists and later martyred because he would not renounce his faith.

 

After the war Syngmann came to the U.S. as a refugee, with only 100 words of English, a bus ticket, and a scholarship to Aikens College in West Virginia, a Presbyterian College. Everything about our country was a strange new world: confusing new language, confusing new culture, confusing new customs. It was a difficult time. Syngmann tells a story about dinner at his professor’s house. After the prayer he looked up at the abundance of the provision and was utterly amazed! Then he looked down at the abundance of the utensils and was utterly confused! Three forks? Two spoons? He thought, "If I just had a pair of chop sticks I would know what to do." But since he didn't know what to do, he decided he would mimic the Kenyan student sitting across from him who did seem to know what was going on. The Kenyan used his outside fork, Syngmann used his outside fork. The Kenyan used his outside spoon, Syngmann used his outside spoon. The Kenyan wiped his chin with his napkin, Syngmann wiped his chin with his napkin.

 

All was going well until Syngmann ran out of water, while the Kenyan still had some left. He was thirsty, but how to ask for water? So he waited and he watched. Finally his professor, sitting at one end of the table, said to his wife sitting at the other end of the table, "Honey, would you pass the vegetables, please?" Syngmann thought, "Ah, that's how it's done." The vegetables were passed, and Syngmann turned to the professor's wife and said, (yes, you guessed it), "Honey, may I have a glass of water, please?"

 

It was a time of confusion, confusing new language, confusing culture, confusing customs. He says that there was only one place where he felt at home: the Presbyterian Church. In the Presbyterian Church Syngmann Rhee knew who he was and where he was and what he was to do. He knew that the God whom he worshipped here is the same God he had worshipped back in Korea. The God to whom he prayed here is the same God to whom he had prayed in Korea. The hymns he sang and the Bible he read were the same hymns and the same Bible he had heard back in Korea. He says that it was in the church that he was assured of the truth of our Presbyterian confession, which says, "In life and in death, we belong to God."

 

Eight years ago, a delegation of Christians entered North Korea. It was the first delegation of Christians allowed into the North since the war. The group's mission was to begin building the bridge of reconciliation between Christians in the South and their families who had remained behind in the North. The man who led that delegation was Syngmann Rhee; it was the first time he had seen his family in 45 years. His is a story of God's deliverance. His is a story of a refugee become a reconciler become a reminder that our God is in the redeeming business.

 

I tell you the story of Syngmann Rhee because it is so fabulously NOT linear.  His life did not progress from “A” to “B” to “C” in orderly fashion.  No, there were curves of confusion, paths of possibility, detours into despair, and highways of hopefulness.  His deliverance was not obvious to him from what he observed all around, even if it was certain to him as seen through the eyes of faith.  His is a story that reminds us that the deepest truth in our living is not what we see around us with our eyes or hear around us with our ears. Rather the deepest truth of our living and being are the promises God has given to us in his Word. His is a story that reminds us of the truth that whether we are Syngmann Rhee or his martyred father, in life and in death we belong to God. And God will deliver us. It is who God is. It is what God does.

 

And because this is God's way, the world has hope. We will not always live in a world where politics are polarized. We will not always live in a world where violence between Jew and Palestinian is as sure as the sunrise. We will not always live in a world where AIDS ravages an entire continent of people while the world looks on with little more than passivity. We will not always live in a world in which we have to worry about issues of basic health care and whether or not we will be able to keep our dignity within that health care system as we grow older. We will not always live in a world in which we have to worry about the physical, social, spiritual and moral well-being of our children whenever they are out of our presence. We will not always live in a world whose realities are so compromised and so fallen from their ideals.

 

Because God is the way he is, we have hope. One day we will live in a world where lion will lie down with Iamb and where swords will be beaten into plowshares. One day we will live in a world where God's justice and God's righteousness are fully expressed in our lives. One day we will live in a world where Jesus is proclaimed Lord by all people in heaven and on earth and every knee will bow to his name. "How can this be?" we wonder? "This is too outrageous!" we think. "This is too much to expect, isn't it?"

 

No, it is not. That's what the season of Advent is all about: it's about expectation. It's about expecting great things from God. It's about being like Israel and knowing that the words of God's promise are for us a palpable hope waiting to be fulfilled. It's about believing, like Israel, that though we are weary of the weight of sin and brokenness in our world, there is a God who can save us. It's about trusting, as Israel trusted, that not only can God save us but trusting the certainty that God will save us. Indeed, God has already placed the seal of his salvation upon us through our Lord Jesus Christ.

 

But until that salvation is finally and fully revealed, we are left here to wait…and to work…and to wonder. To wait for the salvation of our God to be finally revealed. To work on his behalf until his salvation is fully revealed. To wonder what that salvation will be like: will it be like the "Left Behind" series?. .or will it be precisely the thing we least expect?

I don't know, but given God's track record, I'm expecting the unexpected.

 

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