When I was 11 years-old, I had in my bedroom a staple of 1980s technology. Perhaps you are familiar with it. It was called a clock-radio. It was amazing, told me the time, included a snooze button, and I could turn the dial on the radio so that 99 ½ FM WZPL would wake me in the morning, and I might be graced by the dulcet tones of Def Leppard.
It is easy to take for granted the speed with which technology moves along. We experience little conveniences every day without thinking much about them. But for whatever reason, I took notice one morning this week; I was momentarily blown away, when I passed by the bedroom of my 11 year-old son and heard him say to his own “clock radio”: “Alexa: what will the weather be like today?” And she promptly replied: “The weather in Cincinnati, Ohio will be partly sunny today, with a high of 56 degrees, 5 degrees warmer than yesterday.” Unbelievable! If my 11 year-old self could witness that, I would have thought it to be pure fantasy. My family today might as well be the Jetsons!
Setting aside for today our many concerns about the rapid spread of technology (for the Alexa Dot is far from the most advanced thing we can do), it truly is incredible to think about some of the things humankind has accomplished. And the idea I wish to speak to today is that none of it is possible, except for the work of creative geniuses who are willing to believe that the impossible can happen.
This morning I want to talk about imagining the impossible, which is not only necessary for technological innovation, but is essential to the life of faith. Today’s message is a bit of a rebound from last week, when we talked about hope, hope in the midst of a world we know will continue to be broken. That message is true. But it is also true that in the midst of a broken world, there are things that, quite miraculously, get better. And an important part of the message of Advent is the belief that God is coming into the world in an amazing and transformative way, for you and for me and for the entire world—and in order to be part of that happening, we have to imagine it.
Imagination is something we mostly associate with young children. My 6 year-old loves the Cincinnati Bengals. And he loves, after watching them, to venture out into the back yard, and, all by himself, play a full game of football, complete with multiple players, offense and defense, penalties, field goals and two-point conversions. And there’s nothing incredible about that at all, because all kids do it. I remember playing basketball in my own driveway with Magic Johnson and Kareem Abdul-Jabbar, and tennis –with Boris Becker—why not? They were regular guys, just like me, they probably even had a clock radio! Why not imagine it.
In adulthood, though, imagination gets harder. We are more inclined to look at the world with the reality of brokenness always in front of us, and we’re often afraid to imagine that things can be different and better than they are. But imagination is desperately needed in order for human beings to flourish. Imagination helps an addict to conceive of life without using; imagination restores relationships when family members are estranged; imagination leads to transformational change in neighborhoods beset by crime and poverty. The fact is, huge positive steps like these happen in life all the time, but they only happen when first, some adult person can imagine it.
Imagination has its roots in who God created us to be, and who we’ve been all along. Biblical scholar Walter Brueggemann, cites Isaiah 43 which says, “Do not remember the former things, Behold, I am doing a new thing” and the name he gives to that kind of vision is “prophetic imagination.” (See Brueggemann, Hopeful Imagination) In order for new things to happen in the Bible, a prophet, a visionary, has to be able to imagine it. And Old Testament words that we think about it in Advent are full of this kind of imagination:
The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light (9:2)
He shall be called Wonderful Counselor, Mighty God, Everlasting Father, Prince of Peace (9:6)
Every valley shall be lifted up, and every mountain and hill be made low (40:4)
The zeal of the Lord of Hosts will do this. (9:7)
The New Testament stories of Advent say much the same thing. In the Gospel of Luke, the passage we read from today, Mary is visited by an angel. Sometimes I suspect that because an angel appears in a Bible story, we assume that it was not so shocking for the person in the story. Kind of like Mary is sitting there, and the angel appears, and she must be thinking: “Well, this is unusual, but I’m in the Bible, so it must be okay.” The reality is that there’s no reason to think that being visited by an angel was any less shocking for Mary than it would be for you or me. The story clearly states that she’s perplexed and afraid. I wonder if—like some who have experienced such a thing—this was a bizarre but somehow wonderful moment in her life—something she was quite unsure about; and perhaps she wondered to herself: “maybe, just maybe, that was an angel?” The important thing about the story is less what happened and more how Mary chose to respond. She was able to go with it—to imagine a new and different life, for herself, for her family, and for the world around her, and because she could imagine it, she chose to live for it. It’s prophetic imagination.
Joseph’s part of the story has a similar quality to it. Who, upon reading this story and giving it some serious thought, does not see all the reasons to doubt? Not only is there another appearance of an angel, but the story has all kinds of real world problems. When Mary becomes pregnant, the obvious conclusion is that she was unfaithful, or perhaps worse, the victim of violence. Either way, the story itself reminds us that the cultural standard was to dismiss her. But Joseph can imagine something different. We’ll never know whether he really believed the child was from God, or just had a deep capacity for kindness and forgiveness. But one way or another he decides that he can still imagine a life for them together. And somehow she believes him. It’s because of this imagination that they have a future.
Things are sometimes not so different for you and for me. Life is full of instances where we assume that things can be no different from what they are. But sometimes it’s otherwise. Sometimes our imagination shines through the reasons to despair, and somehow, we go along with the dream!
Today we’ll hold a baptism. Every time that takes place, I am surrounded by the wonder and awe of imagining the life that lies ahead for the family. The experience of that child will change the parents forever. Moms and Dads are never again quite the same person as they were before this gigantic gift and responsibility came along. Five or ten or twenty years down the road, who will they have become? What will they have learned about the depth of love that they never knew they had within them? And of course, there’s the child. Who will this little boy or girl grow up to be? What will be their gifts and skills and struggles and quirks? What will be their life’s work, whose lives will they touch, what loves will they have, and what stories will they tell? It’s all so amazing to imagine.
Perhaps that’s why God comes into the world in the form of a child—because it brings up all of these wondrous things for us to imagine. When the shepherds and Magi arrive at the manger, they ask questions just like those we ask at a baptism: As the old Christmas carol goes, “What child is this who, laid to rest, on Mary’s lap is sleeping?” It’s the same question we must ask of ourselves. Who am I? Who will I be in this world? Will I allow my life to be shaped by hopelessness and despair, or will I, inspired by God, have the imagination to dream that things can be different and better than they are? That is the power of the story of Christmas, that Jesus invites us into a new life, to bring us a future, with hope. “This, this is Christ the King, who shepherds guard and angels sing. Haste, haste, to bring him laud, the babe, the son of Mary.” Amen.