the Second Friday of Advent
Scripture Reading for Today:
Who invited Amos to the Christmas party??
“If you aren’t angry, you aren’t paying attention.” That’s been my favorite bumper sticker, and I just found it on a t-shirt for sale this Christmas. There’s a lot in this world and in myself to be outraged about this year; anger has been a great fuel to get out there, right some wrongs and feel a little more self-righteous along the way. We could easily create a seasonal Advent version of the t-shirt: “If you aren’t in tension, you aren’t paying attention.” For most of my adult life, I have experienced unbearable tensions as the details of God’s incarnation story are juxtaposed with the white North American and church cultural celebrations of Advent and Christmas.
Eleven years ago, my family and I moved to the Downtown Eastside (DTES) neighbourhood on the unceded and traditional lands of the Musqueam, the Squamish and the Tsleil-Waututh nations, also known as Vancouver. We made that move after I realized that my heart was quite far from God’s heart of justice for those experiencing poverty, those in crisis without a back-up plan, the refugees, the displaced, the meek, the ones who can be found in the alcoves and overhangs because there’s no room for them inside. In various roles in my non-profit work, I’ve studied the book of Amos almost yearly--yet I continue to cringe at my own complicity in Amos’ indictment of economic systems of affluence, political systems of oppression, and religious legitimation of the whole handbasket. I imagine if Amos was alive today, he might buy my Advent shirt and we could be twinsies. It’s rough being a prophet, delivering searing words that will make someone’s eyes water faster than a December wind chill in Saskatchewan. Personally, I’d think twice before inviting Amos to my Christmas party. He’d ask about the labour practices of the company that made my tablecloth.
The passage from Amos in today’s lectionary readings includes an oft-repeated theme of God's clear judgement on our propensity to separate our religious practices from our practices of daily life. Verse ten (“I will turn your religious festivals into mourning and all your singing into weeping”) is connected to God’s earlier statements: “I hate, I despise your festivals, and I take no delight in your solemn assemblies. Even though you offer me your burnt offerings and grain offerings, I will not accept them....Take away from me the noise of your songs; I will not listen to the melody of your harps. But let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an everflowing stream.” (Amos 5:21-24) God really doesn’t adopt the Canadian propensity to hedge our opinions in public on matters of injustice!
God’s beef with the Israelites at this time (pun intended, Albertans) was their greed and resultant unjust treatment of the poor. God’s festivals were cutting into profits, and Israel was the only people group who would stop trade and close markets for religious ceremonies. Lost opportunity! Israel’s economy was booming due to political stability, a new strategy of cash crops implemented, and the creation of a peasant class that was easily exploited to serve the nobility and merchant classes. The Israelites incorrectly interpreted prosperity and luxury as God’s favor and blessing. While they offered religious thanks to God according to the law, they did not connect their practice of worship to their practices of business and life. During the religious festivals and Sabbath days, the Israelites were throwing side glances at the clock and scheming how to make a little more profit. God’s laws were meant to maintain justice for all: legal impartiality, provision for gleaning, and extension of interest-free loans, plus the tenth commandment’s warning against coveting. But the Israelites were throwing in the husks of the wheat that they sold to the poor, in order to make more profit. They were enslaving people who could not pay unjust debts.
We can extrapolate to our own situation. What if God cares as much about who made the clothes we are wearing this Christmas, and how those workers were compensated, as he does about what we do in a worship service? While cooking our Christmas pot roast, we don’t want to be thinking about the labour practices that spread COVID among meat-packing employees.
It is sobering to think that God might reject our passionate chorus of “Joy to the World” and our sacrificial volunteer hours at church events, because of our unjust stewardship of the land on which our food was grown, or of how those labourers--whom we’ve never seen--were treated. How can we be joyful in the midst of Amos’ indictments? Whose idea was it to include this scripture in the lectionary right when Christians are kicking it into high gear to honour the birth of the Saviour with literal harps?
Perhaps a brief reflection on today’s other two lectionary passages can turn the tension knob down a notch after Amos turned it to eleven (yes, that’s a reference to “This is Spinal Tap.” I’m giving away my age.) Isaiah 12 is a song of praise to God. As we pursue justice, how can we find joy and courage by drawing from the well of God’s saving activity (Isaiah 12:3), rather than drawing from our own well of good intentions, or perceived “wokeness”? Isaiah offers praise based on God’s character and past evidence of God’s unconditional love. How might we adopt this posture as we pursue racial equity rather than getting our peace of mind from keeping a checklist (e.g., “Whew, I’ve done x,y and z to promote racial equity today.”)?
In 2 Corinthians 9, Paul applauds and encourages generosity. Where could his exhortation to “freely scatter (our) gifts to the poor” be a litmus test for our motivations (2 Cor. 9:9)? How could we go about doing justice this Advent season with a generous heart, rather than out of obligation, guilt or appeasement? What might we need to remember to enact mercy and justice from a confident assurance of God’s abundance for us all? How might grace invite more freedom for us this season?
For me, answers to these questions change dramatically from year to year. However, each year I feel the tension between stretching to do something really, really uncomfortable, and accepting that I am a limited human being rather than a saviour of the world. Reading Amos was a catalyst for moving into the DTES all those years ago, to live alongside, listen to, and learn from those who suffer under the oppression of many forms of poverty. Living here is not as much of an uncomfortable risk as it was eleven years ago. But today, on my block alone, eight of my neighbours live in their cars. This year, living generously and justly during Advent will mean extending my home and laundry room, and inviting still-strange neighbours to become my friends around the dinner table with my kids. It will require taking time to learn how my city is addressing the issue of a rising number of unaccounted-for homeless. Then I will need to decide how to advocate for safe housing for those who want it. I see so many people come to this neighbourhood in December with well meaning--and often necessary--charity, but the tension of unjust housing policies doesn’t get relieved by a new pair of socks. More just housing policies will take sustained efforts by many passionate people to effect the systemic change that is needed.
To reflect well on the tension of living justly during Advent, I need both quiet and time, which has meant that I don’t celebrate in all the ways I otherwise might. This year, the flooding in BC will shape how I spend my money, my time, my prayers, and my habits to address climate change. When shopping for gifts, I will keep in mind who makes the items, who profits from my purchases, and how the production and shipping of those items impact the planet. The tension I feel never goes away, but I’m grateful for Amos’ words that remind me of God’s passionate heart for justice and his desire for us, his people, to live our whole life (not just in Advent and not just in our worship) in surrender to our righteous and just Lord. If Amos were to join us for Christmas dinner, I imagine he would be the one to raise the toast we have become familiar with in recent years, which echoes Jesus’ words: “The truth shall set you free [John 8:32]--but first it will piss you off!”
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