*This is adapted from a sermon preached on December 14, 2014, at Peace Mennonite Church by Joanna Harader

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We say that Advent is a season of hope. And I remember a time when I held to a particular kind of hope.

Way back in 2006, I was serving as a pastoral intern, working toward my Masters of Divinity degree, and raising three children—my youngest was still nursing and was not yet sleeping through the night (or the day, for that matter). I completely wore myself out, and about one day after I turned in my end-of-semester papers, I got sick.

I got really sick. Really, really sick. On the couch all day except for when I was throwing up in the bathroom sick. So sick I missed our family trip to South Dakota. So sick I called a friend to drive me to the emergency room where they hooked me up to IVs.

Turns out I had mono–but my body had unusual symptoms so we never knew what I had until I was pretty much over it. But that whole time I was sick, I hoped to get better. I really did. I laid on the couch covered in blankets with my water bottle on one side of me and a trash can for puking in on the other side of me, binge-watching Lost and hoping to get better. And I did.

Now having mono was awful. I don’t recommend it to anyone. But that type of hope–that hunkering down, waiting for the yuckiness to run its course and go away–that is the type of hope I can do.

If I am honest with myself–and with you–I’m afraid that is exactly the type of hope I carry for more significant problems in our society and in our world. For example, the problem of racism which–as people of color have known forever and as many white people are slowly realizing–is overwhelming:
• Today, more African-Americans are under control of the prison-industrial complex than were enslaved in 1850.
• A typical black household accumulates one-tenth the wealth of a typical white household.
• Native Americans have a life expectancy five years less than other Americans.
• Blacks go to prison at six times the rate of whites–ten times the rate for whites on drug-related offenses even though five times as many whites are using drugs.

If justice is the measure of health, then as a society, we are sick. Really sick. Water bottle on one side, puke can on the other sick.

When the police officer who killed Michael Brown was not indicted, many people rallied around the idea of body cameras for police officers. Because there was a lot of confusion about what exactly happened. A lot of “he said, she said.” With body cameras, the argument goes, we would know exactly what happened and could base decisions about consequences for offending police officers on the facts.

Then came the case of a white police officer who put Eric Garner in a hold that resulted in Garner’s death. We know what happened with Garner. We have it on video. Garner was unarmed. The police officer put him in what appears to be a choke hold, and then other officers restrained Garner facedown on the sidewalk. Garner repeatedly said, “I can’t breathe.” Then Garner passed out and was pronounced dead about an hour later. This is all on video. Still no indictment.

Body cameras might help. But they are not the answer.

What is the answer?

I don’t know. I have no idea. It is all so overwhelming. No one thing will heal the diseases of racism and militarization and fear that are so deeply connected in our country. I don’t know where to start. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know how to NOT be racist and scared. I don’t know how to deal with the white privilege I have in ways that don’t make life worse for people who aren’t white. I don’t know how to confront a prison-industrial complex that has a seemingly bottomless supply of money and power.

We are so sick. And it seems that there is nothing to do but lay down on the couch, snuggle under a blanket, and binge-watch Lost until the disease works itself out of our system. Definitely, though, I will hope for things to get better while I’m lying on the couch.

Except social diseases aren’t like mono. Racism in the United States will not simply fade over time. The deadly cycle of fear and violence will not just run its course.

A passive hope is not a helpful hope when it comes to enacting the justice God desires for our world. And a passive hope is not the hope to which Advent calls us–it is not the hope we are given in Isaiah.

The most familiar verses of Isaiah 61 are the opening two:
“The spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me;
God has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners; to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.”

These are the words spoken by Jesus in his first sermon in Luke’s Gospel. Beautiful words.
Through these words we know that God does something: God anoints the prophet.
Through these words we know that the prophet–Isaiah or Jesus–does something: proclaims the good news of God’s reign, binds up the brokenhearted.

But we miss an important part of the message if we stop with the prophet’s task. If we don’t move beyond these first two verses.

I learned in New Testament class that in a first century Jewish context, all of Jesus’ company would have been very familiar with scripture–so familiar, in fact, that it would be common for them to quote brief passages of scripture and assume that their listeners would fill in the rest. In the case of Jesus’ sermon in Luke where he quotes from Isaiah 61, I imagine that his listeners would know that passage as well; that they would fill in for themselves the unspoken yet important words of verse four:
“[The people] shall build up the ancient ruins, they shall raise up the former devastations; they shall repair the ruined cities, the devastations of many generations.”

Yes, God anoints.
Yes, the prophet proclaims.
And the people . . . the people build up the ancient ruins, raise up the former devastations, repair the ruined cities.

Build up. Raise up. Repair.
Some translations say: Rebuild. Restore. Renew.

The activity of God, the calling of the prophets, the work of the people–it is all part of the hope.

A hope that relies solely on the activity of God–while we lay on the couch and wait for healing–this kind of hope is sometimes necessary because it is all we can manage–but this kind of hope is not the most full, the best, the most hopeful hope.

A hope that looks to prophets, to leaders or otherwise “special” people to swoop in and make things better–that can actually be a really dangerous hope. Because false prophets use that hope to mollify and manipulate us. True prophets do not swoop in and fix everything on their own; true prophets proclaim the word of God, comfort and enliven the people of God, and then walk with the people through the hard work of hope.

Rebuild. Restore. Renew.

That is the work we are called to as people of hope.

We find hope in the promises of God, yes. And in the words of the prophets.
We also find hope as we do the work. Whatever work it is that God calls us to. The holy work of rebuilding and restoring and renewing. The sacred work of tending the soil and planting the seeds so that the justice of God can spring forth.

Amen.