The Advent of Peace: A Whole World

Belfast Peace Art

Sunday December 20, 2015 - Fourth Sunday in Advent

Isaiah 9:1-7

1  But there will be no gloom for those who were in anguish. In the former time he brought into contempt the land of Zebulun and the land of Naphtali, but in the latter time he will make glorious the way of the sea, the land beyond the Jordan, Galilee of the nations.

2 The people who walked in darkness

    have seen a great light;

those who lived in a land of deep darkness—

    on them light has shined.

3 You have multiplied the nation, you have increased its joy;

they rejoice before you as with joy at the harvest,

    as people exult when dividing plunder.

4 For the yoke of their burden,

    and the bar across their shoulders, the rod of their oppressor,

    you have broken as on the day of Midian.

5 For all the boots of the tramping warriors

    and all the garments rolled in blood

    shall be burned as fuel for the fire.

6 For a child has been born for us,

    a son given to us;

authority rests upon his shoulders;

    and he is named

Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,

    Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

7 His authority shall grow continually,

    and there shall be endless peace

for the throne of David and his kingdom.

    He will establish and uphold it

with justice and with righteousness

    from this time onward and forevermore.

The zeal of the Lord of hosts will do this.

Sermon: “The Advent of Peace: A Whole World”

It was a chilly July, colder for the tension in the room at the time.  On that winter afternoon, in that confusing way of the Southern Hemisphere, we gathered in a large meeting space, sitting in a circle on the floor.  “We” were what is called a “cross-community project,” a gathering of Protestant and Catholic teenagers from Belfast (and a couple of random Americans thrown in for good measure).  And that “floor” we found ourselves on…well that was built on South African soil, in a little Christian camp in the bush outside of Pietermaritzburg. 

I was one of the leaders of this little peace project, and we’d met for 10 months to build community because, though these kids were all from Belfast, they hadn’t met someone from the other side – Protestant (that is, British) or Catholic (Irish).  They were divided by ironically named “peace walls,” divided by different schools and neighborhoods, divided even by football team allegiance.  But mostly, they were divided by history.  We’re not born fearing or hating, we must be taught it.  These kids were taught well, mostly through that harshest of teachers: violence. 

But we’d worked hard.  These kids had been so courageous, even touring each other’s neighborhoods, learning the sites of sectarian violence, hearing the stories.  They’d even begun to trust each other a little.  So that winter July day, on that South African soil, we gave each kid a little lump of clay: “Tell us something about your identity with this clay,” we asked.

The first couple thoughts shared were benign and relaxed.  Then the third kid went.  He clasped his clay into a rough lump.  “This is a stone,” he said.  “A stone like what was lobbed at peaceful Catholic protestors by the Prod police -- no offense yousuns -- on Bloody Sunday.”  It might as well have been a real stone, because that little lump of clay caused chaos. 

Kids began drawing their battle lines once more, asserting their versions of what happened in Derry (or Londonderry, depending on who you ask) on January 30, 1972.  Of course, none of these teenagers were born then.  But they’d been raised on their own version of that history.  Some said the Catholics protesters were violent first; others said the British police were.  Bloody Sunday was undeniably one of the most terrible and influential events in the Troubles of Northern Ireland.

The Saville Inquiry was established in 1998 to reinvestigate the incident.  Following a 12-year inquiry, Saville's report was made public in 2010 and concluded that the killings of those Catholic protesters were both "unjustified" and "unjustifiable.”  It found that all of those shot were unarmed, that none were posing a serious threat, that no bombs were thrown, and that soldiers "knowingly put forward false accounts" to justify their firing.

But on that summer day in 2005, there was still fresh anger because of how the history of that event had been twisted.  I’d like to say that we leaders were calm and collected and in control.  Well, we weren’t.  We asked the kids to all leave the room, sitting apart from each other, and we met as leaders. “Will this destroy all we’ve worked to create?” we asked.  “Should we stop the angry conversation now before it gets worse?”  A consensus grew among us, something I can only attribute to the Spirit of God: “We have to trust this process.”

So we brought them back in, and let it happen.  We let kids get angry.  We let them shout.  We let them tell their stories (even if they weren’t actually their stories).  And then something beautiful happened, on the other side of all that anger and aggression.

Those Catholic and Protestant teens became united by a shared anger at being told half-histories.  They became angry that they had been taught to hate and fear.  And that righteous anger brought them together.  These kids discovered peace together.  Young people are much better at this than we set-in-our-ways adults. 

Perhaps that’s why it’s so important that God didn’t come to the world as an adult.  God came to be one of us – came as prophesied by Isaiah to break the yokes that burden the world, to break the rod of oppression and to use the clothing of war as fuel for the everlasting fires of peace. 

For a child has been born for us, a son given to us;

authority rests upon his shoulders; and he is named

Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God,

    Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace.

His authority shall grow continually,

    and there shall be endless peace

for the throne of David and his kingdom.

A child born for us – the Prince of Peace – because that is the only way this world will know wholeness.  Young people show us the way, if we’ll trust them.  Perhaps so much of our conflicted ways, so much of our cyclical violence in the world is because of how we force our children to adopt our biased histories, instead of letting them guide us through conflict to peace on the other side. 

What would the world look like if children were trusted that much?  What would the world look like if we trusted the Christ Child that much?  It might look very different than the world we were raised in, and it might look very different than our world today.  And, if we’re honest with ourselves, that scares us, because as terrible as conflict is, we have grown as comfortable with it as those peace walls have grown comfortable as Northern Irish tourist destinations. 

As we finish this Advent journey towards peace and wholeness we began together 4 weeks ago, I think it’s time we ask an important question, especially regarding our relationships with other nations and peoples of this world.  What would a child do?  More specifically, what would the Christ Child do? 

Would that child guide us to continue the cycles that never seem to end of you-attacked-first-and-so-now-it’s-our-turn?  Or would that child guide us to ask why are picking up stones in the first place, and if there isn’t something better we could do with our hands?  Would that child guide us to see if perhaps we have something in common after all? 

“But there will be no gloom for those who are in anguish,” Isaiah promises.

Isn’t that what every child wants?  Shouldn’t that be our goal, not just for us and ours, but for each child on this planet? 

God is coming, friends.  Not as a mighty warrior, not as a persuasive politician, and certainly not as a wordy preacher.  God is coming – as a child.  And this is the best news of all!  Amen.