Sermon for Friends Congregational Church
“Finding our Need: Returning to the Fortress of Solitude”
Delivered by Reverend Dan De Leon
Sunday, December 2, 2007
Psalm 122; Matthew 24:36-44
We all have heroes. Some of them electrify audiences. Some of them dominate arenas and auditoriums. Some of our heroes might be social workers or community activists. And still other heroes might be people that are close to us: our friends or our family members. We all have heroes.
But this morning I want to focus for a moment on superheroes: the one’s that jump over buildings or stick to walls or fly through the air. Some of us might have favorite superheroes. We like Batman because he looks out for the little guy and his costume’s pretty awesome. Many of us like Wonder Woman or Superman because of their modestly form-fitting outfits. I’m sure some women in this room were Wonder Woman for Halloween or at a costume party at one point. I’m sure some men in this room were Wonder Woman for Halloween (Kevin Graham, I’m looking in your direction).
Me? I’m a Spider-Man fan; always have been. And I have to tell you something that might rock the boat a bit here: My least favorite superhero is Superman. And I’ll tell you why: There is nothing Superman can’t do…and that’s boring.
Superman can see through walls, teleport, blow freezing cold air, shoot laser beams from his eyes, and hear a pin drop from a mile away. He can fly around the world so fast that he can cause the earth to spin in the opposite direction, thereby reversing time itself. And he’s infinitely strong. In the last Superman movie, Superman lifts a small planet out of the depths of the sea—a small planet made out of Kryptonite I might add—and hurls it into space.
Superman can do anything, and that’s too predictable. It’s boring. But there is one thing I really do appreciate about Superman: He knows that he’s not all-powerful. He knows that he’s vulnerable. And Superman knows that he needs a recharge at the end of the day just like anybody else. He needs a recharge or he is powerless, and he gets that jolt when he goes home.
Superman lives in that ice castle called the Fortress of Solitude, and he never forgets it. Why is that such a big deal? Because the Fortress of Solitude reminds Superman of where he came from. It’s in his humble home that Superman remembers that he really is a vulnerable guy with his own story.
He was born to loving parents, and those parents had to send him to earth so that no harm would come to him (a page taken straight out of the story of the Baby Moses being sent down the river in a basket). He was adopted and raised on earth by equally loving parents. And then he was sent out into the world to find his own way. Superman can do anything, but what makes him arguably more powerful than any other superhero is that he always returns to his Fortress of Solitude; he always goes home for a reminder of who he really is: a vulnerable man who needed care, nurturing and love to become the person that he is. Superman is powerful because he is needed, and he is needed because he is first needy.
That’s what today’s Psalm is all about. It’s about going on a pilgrimage to a place that is a reminder of the past, so that hope for the future can exist. The psalmist is making his pilgrimage to Jerusalem: his homeland. Jerusalem is a standing testimony to the people’s fidelity to Jehovah ever since the reign of David. It’s a place that people would often make a pilgrimage to because they were fulfilling a vow that they had made during a difficult time in their lives: “Once I am delivered from this travail, then I will journey to Jerusalem.”
And Jerusalem is a place where justice is administered. So the author of this morning’s psalm makes his own pilgrimage to Jerusalem and he remembers its glory. He remembers those times of glory for Jerusalem, and that remembrance moves him to pray for its future welfare. The psalmist journeys home so he can remember, and this remembrance motivates him to hope for the future.
We light our first candle of Advent today as a symbol of our hope for the future. We hope for Emmanuel—a Savior—to be born into every family and every heart at Christmas. But what will that kind of abstract hope accomplish?
Liberation theologian, Gustavo Gutierrez, makes a good point. He says that we can’t just hope for Jesus to be born into our families or just our hearts at Christmas because that is an incomplete hope that causes us to forget the primordial. Gutierrez reminds us that Jesus was born of Mary among a people that at the time were dominated by the greatest empire of the age. If we forget that fact, the birth of Jesus becomes an abstraction or a symbol or a cipher. What Gutierrez is saying is that when we pull the birth of Jesus apart from its historical context, the event loses its meaning. (And, as a side note here, this is why we have our children’s pageant every year: because we need to be reminded of where Jesus came from or we’ll never have a complete hope for where he’s going on Christmas Day.)
Now I know that we are gathered together here this morning, but for the sake of argument, think of this place as our Fortress of Solitude. We come here because we have to remember what makes us who we are as people of faith. Otherwise, there is really no marrow on the bones of our Christianity, especially during this time of Advent.
So, now that we’re here in the Fortress of Solitude, we recall what Gustavo Gutierrez points out: that Jesus was sent into the world under harsh, oppressive circumstances, and those harsh oppressive circumstances informed his entire ministry. The context into which Jesus was born shaped his calling. Our Savior’s reason for being on earth was to bring people out of darkness.
In the beginning, God pulled light out of darkness, and now the Word made Flesh, Jesus the Christ, is born to pull the people out of the darkness into a new light of living. Our Christ lives so that the blind would see, the afflicted would be comforted, the poor would be respected, the oppressed would receive justice, the marginalized would be revered, and the forgotten would be remembered.
If we remember this, then Advent might not really speak to us where we sit right now. Most of us don’t really fall in that category of darkness. If we are in dark places in our lives, we usually just open our checkbooks and rectify the situation. No, we’re not all rich beyond our wildest dreams, but we have enough, we own enough, we are provided with enough, and we consume enough to never be in darkness; at least not the kind of darkness that our culture talks about.
A recent Church of England report puts it this way: “Where previous generations found their identity in what they produced, we now find our identity in what we consume.” We consume anything that might make our lives less stressful, less time-consuming, more enjoyable. We consume food we don’t need to eat, clothes we don’t need to buy, over-the-counter prescriptions that were invented before the ailment existed for which they provide treatment.
Whatever is bothering us, we just open our checkbooks or click ‘send’ or make a phone call and we can usually not be bothered anymore. In this dark world, we are Superman. There is really nothing that you or I can’t do, and that is so boring.
We are not hungry. That isn’t a problem for us. We are not starkly poor. That isn’t a problem for us. We are not powerless in this world of rampant consumerism, because we can consume. That’s not a problem for us. If that is true about us, and if we remember the context into which Christ was born, then surely a Savior is not born to us.
But wait: Christ was also born to bring comfort and joy to the lost, to give life ever-lasting to the lost, to save the lost. And if people of faith think that when the going gets rough that they don’t need God’s help, then they really are lost. If we think we can buy whatever we need to be fulfilled, then we are lost. If we think that a job promotion will solve all our problems, then we are lost. If we think that raising perfect children means we have succeeded in life, then we are lost. If we think that the one thing that is keeping us from true happiness is credit card debt or student loans or a bad grade or a leak in the roof or an unfinished nursery, then we really are lost.
And here comes the good news: God sent Christ into this world to save the lost. Jesus was born to bring salvation to the lost. And even Superman is lost some times.
The truth is that we all need God’s hope, God’s peace, God’s joy and God’s love. You may have a lot, and to a majority of the world you, believe it or not, you look like Superman. But remember that Superman is only as powerful as he is needed, and he cannot be needed unless he is himself first needy.
The Advent message really is simple. If you hold out your hands and let go of whatever you’re holding onto: anything from your wallet, your keys or your cell phone to a fight you had with someone you love, or a project you can’t seem to finish…let’s drop it. Then bring your hands together; cup them in front of your face and take a good look.
This is how we are to live in Advent: with empty, open hands that are receptive to God’s good news. If you take a good look at your hands, you can get lost in the unmistakable lines that are yours and yours alone. You can get lost in the emptiness of your own hands. And in that emptiness, you really can be fulfilled, restored, powerful, because God fills your cup until it overflows, and Christ came to save the lost.
After the worship service today, we’ll have a chance to spend our money or even donate our time to different charities at the Festival of Giving. These charities exist to provide aide to the very ones that Christ upholds in his ministry: the poor. We have a lot, so we can choose to be Superman and fix what’s bothering us, and that includes the problem of poverty. But we cannot provided for the needy until we are first needy ourselves.
When you look into your hands, what do you think you need placed in them to find your own fulfillment, your own happiness? If something were to be placed in your empty hands this morning that might solve all your problems, what do you think it would be?
Well, as we start Advent today, let’s ask ourselves what we need, and then let’s try, for a change, to not answer our own question. So, what do you need? Amen.