SUMMARY KEYWORDS

world, god, hope, exile, longing, jesus, people, comfort, living, talking, intangibles, advent, feel, love, good news, christian, word, santa claus, story, endures.

SPEAKER

Josh Horton

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Well, Good Morning to you. Yeah, like Mark said, my name is Josh. I work with students here, and it's a joy for me to be with you this morning. Does that video make you feel warm and fuzzy like it did me? Just like melted me a little bit, so good. Whether you're here in person or watching online, especially as we begin this season of Advent together, Welcome. It's so good to be here with you.

So today, we're beginning a new series where we're talking about beloved stories; Christmas movies that have stood the test of time and have shaped how we feel about Christmas. And this morning, we're going to talk about Miracle on 34th Street, which I'm a little ashamed to admit I saw for the first time like three weeks ago. Apparently, it's a classic. So if you have never seen it, don't worry, I'll loop you in, and if you have seen it, and you're judging me, stop it. That's mean.

So we're looking at these stories, and part of why we will be talking about these movies is because we believe that the life, death, and resurrection of Jesus is the greatest story ever told. So great, in fact, that it is reflected in every compelling story that humans tell. And along the way, we're going to be celebrating Advent together. Advent is a long-used church word, which means arrival. And the Advent is a season where we prepare our hearts to make room for the birth of Jesus and for the hope, joy, peace, and love that his arrival brings. Hope, joy, peace, and love. Such beautiful words, and yet, we're also all pretty keenly aware that there's a little bit of a disconnect between our need for such things and their supply in this world.

It's a tension I sometimes see working with students. Just last week, I was at a local christian camp speaking at a middle school retreat, and one student, a seventh-grade girl came up to me to ask a question after the Saturday night sermon was all about how Jesus loves the most broken among us. And she came up and she said, this is a real quote, she said, "If that's true, why don't I feel like anyone loves me when I'm broken?" It's a reality that we are all aware of.

During COVID, there's a millennial comedian named Bo Burnham. And he wrote a song about this tension about what he calls the Funny Feeling, but how things are just not quite as they should be. They're a little bit off. And one lyric in the song goes like this. He says, "We have the whole world at our fingertips, but the ocean is at our door. There it is again, that funny feeling."

Well, we don't really need Bo Burnham to tell us how great our need for hope, joy, peace, and love are. We feel and we see it almost everywhere we look right? From systemic structures of greed and consumption, to aggressive drivers. From global wars and conflicts, to the wars and conflicts around your Thanksgiving dinner table a couple of days ago; the themes of Advent, they often feel lacking.

Maybe some of you, you're entering the season after a rough breakup or a job loss, and you're wondering what could possibly be lovely or joyful about this season? Or this year, maybe you've experienced physical ailment or deterioration that makes you feel anything but hopeful about the days and weeks ahead. Maybe you read the news every morning, and your ability to believe in something like peace diminishes with each passing day. And yet, amidst it all, we come to Christmas looking for something; we come wanting, longing to be maybe proven wrong or to find an alternative story to believe about what's going on in this world around us, even if just for a couple of months.

Presbyterian Pastor Frederick Buechner said, "No matter how much the world shatters us to pieces, we carry inside us a vision of wholeness that we sense is our true home and that beckons us." And so this morning, we're going to talk about hope, what it is, why we need it, how we get it. And our hope at Menlo today is that throughout this Advent series, we want to offer you a vision of wholeness that has answered that longing, that funny feeling for people all across the world, every tribe and tongue, from generation to generation, and we hope that it might just answer it for you as well. Would you pray with me as we get started?

God of hope, we ask that we would see, feel, sense your presence here today. We ask that as we consider the hopes that you invite us into, that we would be compelled, that we would see a better way. And that we would have hope that lasts. We pray this in Jesus' name, Amen.

So what is hope? Why do we need it? And how do we get it? Often when we use the word hope, we're either talking about a sort of optimistic, always sunny disposition, or a sort of roll-up- your-sleeves, self-made kind of self-manufactured sense of promise a little bit. But the problem with either of these is fairly apparent; blind optimism closes its eyes and ears to the realities of the world all around us, and self-made sort of industry delusionally believes that it is in control of a future that no amount of competency can actually claim mastery over. Both of them are fragile and breakable. This is the anxiety of our age, we are a people anxiously striving for advancement, and for security, and notoriety, and wealth, and influence, as if any of those things can save or shield us from the brokenness of our world. And honestly, we all sort of buy into it, right? We all sort of believe the narrative.

There's something that I talk to high school students, especially those who are about to go to college, something I call the Menlo cycle that I talk to them about. Here's what I see as the Menlo cycle: You want to make sure that your kids are in the absolute best schools, so that they could just maybe get into the absolute best colleges, so that they might just have enough information, they might just do well enough to get into the absolute best grad schools, so that they can get the absolute best paying job, so that maybe they can afford to move back to Menlo Park and make their kids do the same thing all over again. That's the Menlo Park cycle.

And I'll tell seniors in high school about this cycle that I have observed, and they just look at me like I'm an alien. They're like, this is the last thing that I need right now. But nevertheless, we see that this constant striving, it's not doing it. Christian hope is neither of these things. It's not optimism. It's not striving. In fact, it rejects both of these approaches outright.

The story of Jesus arising into our dark world invites us to think about and hold in tension, our dark world, the darkness all around us, and the light that transcends it. It is neither sentimentalism, nor is it illusory superiority. Christian hope, true Christian hope, is the joyful anticipation of good, even if it's unseen at this point in time. One of the great pastors of our time, Tim Keller, observed this about hope. He said, "People who do not have a proper understanding of Christian hope are always freaked out… Only an imperishable hope can satisfy the human heart." Have you noticed this desire in yourself for a hope that lasts? That is unshakable? I know that I have in me, and so Christian hope is not just nice. It's not just something that would be good to have. We need it. And that's because it offers something far stronger, far more beautiful, far more compelling than optimism or the illusion of control. At its heart, Christian hope is rebellion against our anxious age. It’s rebellion against our anxious age. The need for hope is, of course, not new to our age.

There was a time not too long ago, 1947 to be exact, when a fella named Kris Kringle, you know, Santa Claus, happened to be walking through a Macy's Thanksgiving Day Parade, as you do. He just kind of showed up, started walking around, and he ran into a slightly impaired imposter. And he was like, this will not stand. So he dresses up as Santa Claus, and he does the Thanksgiving Day Parade as Santa Claus, as himself. And he does such a good job that Macy's is like, we need you to be our store Santa Claus. You know, as you do. So he goes and he becomes the Macy's store Santa Claus. But, gasp! While he's Macy's Santa, Macy's doesn't have a toy that a kid is asking for, he sends them down the street to this thing called Gimbels, which I think is like a dog treat or something. And he's like, go look at Gimbels, maybe they'll have it. So, there's this escalating tension that's developing because Kris Kringle is growing in popularity with the people because he refuses to bow to consumerism. And he also refuses, though, to admit that he's not the real Santa because he is the real Santa. And it ultimately leads to this moment where he's on trial at the New York Supreme Court, at risk of being institutionalized because he claims that he's Santa Claus.

Now, like I said, it's my first time watching this movie, I have a few notes. I don't feel like it makes total sense. But, but there's this moment where Santa Claus's lawyer, a guy named Fred, he's fired from his law firm because he's choosing to represent Kris Kringle. And he has a conversation with a lady named Doris, who doesn't believe that Kris is Santa because she doesn't believe in Santa at all. And she says to him, and I'm gonna do my best to take you back to 1947 here. She says to him, "Darling, he's a nice old man…and I admire you for wanting to help him… but you've got to be realistic and face facts. You can't just throw your career away because of a sentimental whim."

"But I'm not throwing my career away. It's not just Kris that's on trial, it's everything he stands for. It's kindness, joy, love, all the other intangibles."

"Fred, you're talking like a child. You're living in a realistic world! Those lovely intangibles aren't worth much. You don't get ahead that way."

"That all depends on what you call getting ahead. Evidently, we have different definitions.” Pretty sick burn. “Someday, you're going to find out that your way of facing this realistic world just doesn't work. And when you do, don't overlook those lovely intangibles. You'll discover that they're the only things worthwhile.”

Now, as potentially absurd as the premise of this movie may or may not be, this moment captures the reality that I mentioned just a few moments ago, that true hope is rebellious. It's an act of rebellion against the narratives of our age that say we have to create this impenetrable security in life for ourselves through achievement or the accrual of wealth or things. And also against sentimentalism and blind optimism. Fred grasps that in order to hope in Santa and ultimately in Christmas itself, it requires active joyous anticipation of a good that is unseen - those lovely intangibles.

Around the turn of the 6th century BCE, an empire called Babylon was quickly regaining power in the ancient world, and there was a very real threat that they would seek to lay siege and conquer the Israelites. The prophet Isaiah actually spent the first 39 chapters of the Book of Isaiah warning them that this would happen unless they turned from their wicked ways and trusted God. But they didn't heed the warning, and in 597 BCE, Babylon conquered Judah. And then a few years later, they obliterated Jerusalem and everything in it. There was violence and plundering and enslavement, you name it. And more than anything, the exile; it was a painful picture of the broken relationship between a faithful God and His unfaithful people who chose their wicked ways over a relationship with Him. Exile from the land and destruction of the temple meant God was no longer with them as He had been. It was a time of devastation for the people.

The book of Lamentations in the Bible is a collection of laments written during the exile in response to the loss and destruction at the hands of Babylon, and they make clear how desperate the people were for any sense of hope. We read things like, "Bitterly she weeps at night, tears are on her cheeks. Among all her lovers there is no one to comfort her. Her fall was astounding; there was none that comfort her. Zion stretches out her hands, but there is none to comfort her." The people of Israel find themselves surrounded by darkness, exiled for 70 years. Maybe you have come to church this morning feeling like you're in a season of exile or lament, and you're wondering if there's any comfort for you.

It's interesting; it’s from this darkness that we read about that Isaiah 39 then turns the page to Isaiah 40. What's incredible about Isaiah 40 is that it's written more than 150 years after Isaiah 39, and it's likely that it's written from exile for people in exile, about a day that has not yet been realized. It's a sort of joyous anticipation of good that's not yet a reality. And the chapter begins like this: "Comfort, comfort my people, says your God." There's one to comfort her after all. This is a vital shift that happens here in these opening few words, which makes comfort, and ultimately hope possible for these exiled listeners. It's this tension—my people, your God. These few words lay the concept of hope; one cannot truly be in exile if God is with them, at least not totally.

One scholar explains this shift this way: “The offer of comfort is not based on the suitability or qualification of the people but on the resolve of God.” And so here in this opening verse, the listener is being given a totally new reason to hope. This doesn't mean that hope is suddenly easy for the hearers. In fact, in verse 6, we see that God commands a herald to cry out, and the command is actually met with a bit of skepticism. They respond like this, they say, "What shall I cry? All people are like grass, and all their faithfulness is like the flowers of the field. The grass withers the flowers fall, because the breath of the Lord blows on them. Surely the people are grass." But then there's a moment of realization, of kind of like, a counterthought: "The grass withers, and the flowers fall, but the word of our God endures forever." So, people are broken, they will continue to fail. But the foundation of true hope is this word; the promise of God's presence, which endures forever. That same scholar says “On this word rests the future of the Jews. And more: on this word rests the future of the world, for it is an exile-ending word.” God with us - this is the vision of wholeness, the hope that is our true home and that beckons us. This sort of hope is anti-exile. It's homecoming.

And so, how do we get it? How do we get a hope that goes beyond circumstance, that endures in difficulty, that can stay a light in the darkest night? Let’s look at verse 9, it says "You who bring good news to Zion, go up on a high mountain. You who bring good news to Jerusalem, lift up your voice with a shout, lift it up, do not be afraid; say to the towns of Judah, 'Here is your God!'"

A scholar explains it this way, “The substance of this address is so crucial because this is the first intentional, self-conscious use of the term gospel in the Old Testament. The prophet-herald is to announce the gospel to the cities of Judah. The “good news” is summarized like this: "Behold your God." Or we might say, "Look, here is your God." The Gospel makes the God of Israel visible and effective in a setting from which Yahweh had seemed to be expelled. I wonder if you can relate to feeling like, or wondering, or even being convinced that if God does exist, He at the very most, is somewhere way out there. Because all it takes is one realistic look at this realistic world to see that He surely has been expelled. And you wouldn't be alone in feeling that way. The longing of God's people that He would be present with them, and the good news, this gospel, this "Look, here is your God" – this shout is absolutely comfort, comfort for His people. And yet, there it is again, that funny feeling.

God is with them, but they're in exile. The longing for God's presence and the comfort it brings is a longing that can only be satisfied by an imperishable hope. How I'd maybe put this for middle schoolers is like this: We need more than just an out-there God, and expelled-seeming God. We even need more than an up-there God, we need a down-here God. Maybe this passage and its shouts for good news for Jerusalem, maybe like you, when it says "do not be afraid," that brings to mind this moment in the book of Luke in the New Testament, where an angel shows up to a group of unsuspecting shepherds and says, "Do not be afraid. I bring you good news that will cause great joy for all the people."

See, the hope that we're talking about here, this hope of the presence of a down-here God, this is the answer to that funny feeling. It is ultimate comfort through ultimate presence. If the devastation of exile is that God seems far from His people, then the majesty of Christmas is that in the person of Jesus, God is Emmanuel. He is with us. Word, enduring word, made flesh.

Peter, the disciple who walked with Jesus before and after His death and resurrection, put it this way. He said, "Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ! In his great mercy he has given us a new birth into a living hope through the resurrection of Jesus from the dead….Though you've not seen him, you love him; and even though you do not see him now, you believe in him and are filled with an inexpressible and glorious joy, for you are receiving the end result of your faith, the salvation of your souls."

What Peter's saying here is that true, unshakable, pervasive, enduring living hope comes when we look to the gospel, the good news that God is with us, that He's not forgotten us. That He comes to earth in the form of a baby, that He lives the life that we could not live, that He dies the death that we deserve, and then He storms back from the dead in resurrection life and inaugurates the kingdom of God here on earth. Jesus is hope. Jesus is hope. The hope offered to Israel in exile is a living hope offered to all in Jesus; in His birth, in His resurrection, which makes all things new. A thrill of hope, the weary world rejoices, a new and glorious morn. See, you and I get hope when we cling to Jesus, to His life, His death, His resurrection.

Maybe one of the reasons we keep coming back to these seemingly cheesy, warm, comfortable movies about childlike miracles and the infallibility of the US Postal Service - if you don't know what I'm talking about, go watch the movie; somehow, that's how they win the case - is that deep down we sense this deeper truth; that maybe in our world of anxiety and of depression, and of weariness, to hope in something warm, peaceful, joyful, lovely, and ultimately true is one of the most rebellious things we can do. It's a rebellion against the anxious naivety and striving of our world. And it is this hope that the story of the Bible, and that Christmas actually demands of us.

One of my favorite theologians and N.T. Wright, he puts it this way; he sums up the biblical story like this, "The biblical drama is the Heaven and Earth story, the story of God and the world of Creation and Covenant. Of Creation, spoiled and Covenant broken, and then of Covenant renewed and Creation restored. The New Testament, where Jesus comes into the picture fully, is where all of this comes to land, and it lands in the form of an invitation. This can be and should be your story and my story. The story which makes sense of us, which restores us to sense after the nonsense of our lives. The story which breathes hope into a world of chaos and love into cold hearts and lives."

And so today, I want to invite you to join the rebellion of hope that has been underway for over 2,000 years; to seek out those lovely intangibles, and to live into the hope of Jesus, to make this Christmas story your story. For some here, that could mean having a conversation with a volunteer or a staff about what it means to follow Jesus. For some of you considering your life circumstances and everything you're facing right now, simply choosing to show up here in these pews or online is a beautiful act of hopeful courage. And your next step is to try and make it back next week.

For others of you, you've had your hope built on perishable shaky ground for far too long. You've believed that a politician or a political party would make everything right again. You've placed an unhealthy weight on your kids, either academic or their athletic achievements, as you try to maybe live through them and the weight of that is crushing them. You spend your days and nights maybe consumed with work trying to build up yourself, and it's time to relent. It's time to relent. And especially if you call yourself a follower of Jesus, I want to invite you into this way of living; that if you think about it, if we did this together, it wouldn't just be good for your spirit; it would be good for the entire world all around us.

Imagine how the dark parts of your school, or your workplace might look if you took the time to see the people who are always unseen; if you showed kindness to that coworker or teacher that everybody else despises. Or how your family life might soften and warm if you brought back family dinners. Remember those? Without devices and distractions, and you actually listened to each other. Imagine how the bay might actually change if we were committed as a church to living not at the pace of this environment we're in, but to Jesus's pace. He walked everywhere He went; He took his time. What would our world look like if, in this season where everything speeds up and the focus is on consumption, you slowed down and gave of yourself? Might our weary world rejoice again?

One of my favorite poets, a guy named Wendell Berry, writes a poem that talks about the rebellious act of hopeful living. And I want to read to you a few lines from this poem as we close our time together. He says, "So, friends, every day, do something that won't compute. Love the Lord. Love the world. Work for nothing. Take all that you have and be poor. Love someone who does not deserve it. Ask the questions that have no answers. Invest in the millennium. Plant sequoias. Say that your main crop is the forest that you didn't plant, that you will not live to harvest. Be joyful even though you've considered all the facts. Practice resurrection.” This is the invitation of hopeful living through Jesus. Would you pray with me?

Jesus, thank You for the hope, the living hope that we can have because of the foundation that you offer us. Thank you that true hope has nothing to do with our striving but only to do with your passion. God, we ask that you would fill us with hope in this Christmas season, so much so that the people in our lives would be confused by the rebellious act we’re taking up. Jesus, let us, in your name, in the world around us, practice resurrection, new life that comes because of you, Jesus, are new life. We pray this in your name. Amen.

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