Isaiah 9:2-7
Luke 2:1-20
“Reaping the Harvest”
Throughout Advent, our season of preparation for the coming of Christ, we have been adding to the banner you see hanging over the communion table. Last Sunday, if we’d held our worship service, you would have heard the story of how hope, peace and joy come to fulfillment when love enters the equation. Each Sunday of Advent and each addition to the banner built upon the others to form a complete picture. The banner began with an empty hillside and pale seedlings waiting for their growth. We watched as crops appeared and the banner became more alive with color and action. The message was delivered and life began to appear, the sun, the crops and the Holy Spirit graced the scene. And finally a woman and child, cultivating the soil appeared last Sunday in the resulting incarnation of God’s presence. The season of Advent began with the hope, as it always does, that awaits this night of celebration and awaits the culmination of Jesus Christ living within us and dwelling in the world. Let us hear the story of the woman who prepares the soil for sowing and reaping as we contemplate the presence of God in Christ within us and within this world we share.

Whack, whack, whack… oh, how hot the sun.
Whack, whack, whack… oh, how still the air.
Whack, whack whack… oh, how hard the ground.
See how dry… how cracked.

The gardener slowly stood up and, tucking a loose hair into her scarf, she wiped the sweat from her brow with a callused hand. Shifting the bundle on her back, she bent down again and, with her hoe, went back to tilling the hard, hard ground.

Whack, whack, whack… whack, whack, whack.

Oh, what was the use? Would the hard crust of the earth ever break open? Hard ground made her think of hard times and, in that same moment, she thought of a song prayer her people sang: Listen, O shepherd of Israel, you who lead our people like a flock of sheep, who sits upon a throne of angels.

The gardener looked at the ground once again and ran her hands over it. As she did this she thought of how her people’s lives were like this rough ground.

She peered up at the sky and she said to herself, “Shine forth before your people, stir up your might and come to save us! Restore us, O God; let your face shine, that we may be saved.”

The gardener cleared away some stones and tugged at a small vine and another line from a song came into her head. She said it aloud, “You brought a vine out of Egypt; you drove out the nations and planted it. You cleared the ground for it; it took deep root and filled the land.”

The gardener sighed as she looked at the vine in her hand. Oh, how it was like her own family, her own people, trying to live and grow in God’s way but finding it harder and harder to do. The vine needed protection from people stepping on it and a way for the fruit to grow and not be eaten by wild animals. Her people needed protection too. “Restore us, O God; let your face shine, that we may be saved,” she prayed.

Sighing the gardener sat down and brought the bundle around into her lap. Why, it wasn’t just any bundle as she pulled back the covers to see her baby, sleeping peacefully. The tiny hands, bunched under his chin, the soft curly hair and the tiny gurgling sounds made her smile. She brushed the baby’s cheek with the vine and his bright eyes opened. When his little face split into a great big smile, she smiled too.

The child reached out and tried to grab her nose in his hand, and instead pulled the vine from her tight grip. And she remembered… she remembered when she was pregnant, waiting, waiting for her child to be born… she remembered thinking it would never come… she remembered being both excited and scared… she remembered imagining what her child would look like, how it would grow… all the surprises and possibilities… how the child’s coming would reshape everything!

And through the wondering and waiting, hoping, dreaming, and praying, and hardship this child’s birth had indeed changed her world. And gazing into her little child’s forever eyes she took its hand in hers and prayed, “God, let your hand be upon our hands so we can be strong for you. We will never turn back. We will call on your name.”

Gently the gardener planted the vine back into the earth and mounded it up to protect its stem and she started to see the possibilities for her garden. She would remove the stones and twigs, maybe build a wall with them. Perhaps others in her village could help to get water here and still others could help with fertilizer.

Then the gardener kissed her the child as she swung it up onto her back. The child giggled with glee. She felt stronger somehow as she continued to hum, “Let your face shine…”

And in the light of the sun, mother and child toiled and tilled and dug and furrowed, planted and plucked determined to fashion a green and growing place for one and all. Let us pray the words of the psalmist.
PSALM 80:8–18
The Gardener Goes Away
You grew this garden yourself, God
You tilled the soil and pulled the weeds
You planted the seeds and watered it
It became a place of beauty.
The sweet scent of lilacs filled the air;
Blue lupins stood tall,
And shy pansies turned bright faces to the sun.
Why did you stop caring, God?
Kids from the playground trample your tulips,
Commuters use it as a shortcut,
Dogs dig up your flower beds,
Fires smolder in heaps of windblown refuse,
And seedlings wilt for lack of water.
Come back, God,
Come back and take care of us again.
Restore your garden to its rightful glory.
Take control over this chaos,
And we will gladly live under your green thumb forever.

We celebrate the presence of our Lord Jesus Christ within us—celebrating all that Christ is—our hope, our peace, our joy, our love and the very life we live.
In the name of God, incarnate among us, dwelling with us always. Amen.