Sam Bush, “Playing Dress Up with Jesus”"

We’ve barely had time to move our cornucopia from the altar and some of you are still polishing off Thursday’s leftovers, but this morning marks the beginning of Advent (surprise!). Advent is a season that, like today’s gospel reading said, comes like a thief in the night. 

People are never prepared for Advent because it is, in itself, a season of preparation. It’s a season that goes against the grain of the culture - there’s a reason why there are no Advent movies or parades. It highlights our waiting for the coming of Christ (both his birth and return). It highlights the darkness in which the light of Jesus shines into. Waiting and darkness are hard things to get excited about.

Perhaps the most countercultural part of Advent is its emphasis on wakefulness. A lot of Advent hymns have lyrics like “Wakened by the solemn warning,” or “Sleepers Wake! A voice astounds us!” There is an urgency in Advent’s tone. The time is drawing nigh. 

This passage from Romans is right in line with the theme of wakefulness. The Apostle Paul sounds like an automated voice for an alarm clock: ”You know what time it is, how it is now the moment for you to wake from sleep.” That’s the last thing I want to hear when I’m in bed and the blinds are still drawn. You might be a morning person but, either way, everyone prefers waking up on their own terms.

Paul seems to be implying that everyone is half-asleep. Today, with 70 million Americans reporting chronic sleep issues, he’s not wrong. Sleep has become America’s white whale - a $30 billion industry, from weighted blankets to smart beds - with most of us left still longing for rest and renewal. No matter who you are, I would be surprised if you said you couldn’t use a little more sleep. But Paul’s talking about something deeper. Even if you’re feeling bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, there’s still a problem: you are still you. Yes, a good night’s sleep will make you more productive and more enjoyable to be around, but it’s probably not enough to save your marriage or (I don’t know) help you not take everything so personally all the time. You see, Paul is saying that everyone - even those who got a full 8-hours, even Christians, everyone - is essentially walking around half-asleep, even Christians. If, even at your most rested, you still struggle with an inner darkness, then where is there hope?

Well, twice in this passage, the Apostle Paul calls us to put something on. He says “Put on the armor of light” and “Put on the Lord Jesus Christ.” It’s interesting that he illustrates the Christian life not as an inner change but as outerwear. 

This is an intentional move Paul is making. In that day and age, calling people to “put on Christ” would likely have stirred up the image of a Greek thespian putting on a costume. Once the mask is put on, the actor’s actual identity would be hidden behind the character they portrayed.  

It’s an interesting concept. I wasn’t a theater major, but a few years ago I participated in a murder mystery dinner. Before the event, I was sent an entirely fictional character. There was a short biography, there were personality traits I had to take on, tips on what to wear. I was even given instructions — people to talk to, people to avoid. In other words, my true self – my actual name, my actual biography — had no business going to this party whatsoever. I was told the more I could get in character, the better. And, to be honest, I thought it sounded a little hokey. I expected people to halfheartedly play into their roles and feel a little embarrassed by what felt like a game of dress-up.

What actually happened? People came alive! Friends of mine who were generally shy became downright rowdy. Strangers talked as if they were old friends. The chemistry in the room was electric. It was the most natural I have ever seen a group of people act. There wasn’t a hint of self-consciousness because no one’s actual “self” had been invited. For once in their lives, what people said or did had no effect on their actual reputation. The result? They were more themselves than they had ever been before. This is true to life. The author Oscar Wilde said, “Man is least himself when he talks in his own person. Give him a mask and he will tell the truth.”

Now, we dress up ourselves all the time, don’t we? Physical clothing helps shield us from the elements; it keeps us dry. It helps distinguish ourselves from each other. We think we can tell who someone is based on whether they wear Nike or Gucci. Don’t get me wrong - I love fashion (I just bought a ton of stuff on Black Friday) - but part of why we do this is to hide our inner darkness. Think of the first article of clothing on record - Adam and Eve sewed fig leaves together to hide their nakedness, to cover their shame. 

But again, Paul is not just talking about apparel. We clothe the mind as much as we do the body. Particularly in a college town like this, we can hide behind our intellect, our philosophy, our political beliefs, our policy. 

There’s a scene in C. S. Lewis’ novel The Great Divorce in which there are two characters. One is a person who has died but has yet to enter Heaven; it says he looks like a gray ghost. And the other is a shining figure who has died and been transformed into a divine version of himself. The gray ghost is dignified, well-read and, Lewis notes, an Episcopalian (from Charlottesville). We don’t know much about the shining figure except that he understands reality in a way that the gray ghost doesn’t. In response to everything the shining figure has to say about Heaven, the gray ghost offers some kind of highbrow jargon. “Well, this is extremely interesting,” he says, “it’s a point of view. Certainly, it’s a point of view. In the meantime….” That’s when the shining figure interrupts:

“There is no meantime! All that is over. We are not playing now. You can begin as if nothing had ever gone wrong. White as snow. Will you, even now, repent and believe?” To which the gray ghost responds, “I’m not sure that I’ve got the exact point you are trying to make.”

“I am not trying to make any point,” says the Spirit. “I am telling you to repent and believe!...I will bring you to the land not of questions, but of answers,” he tells the ghost. “And you shall see the face of God.”

You see the thread between the Shining Figure and Paul calling us to put on the armor of light? The glass through which we see darkly has a tendency to make everything look gray, whereas the light of Christ transforms it into technicolor. 

It is a light that awakens the senses. It brings us back to reality. The works of darkness Paul lists off - drunkenness, debauchery, licentiousness - all have one thing in common. They’re used as a means to escape reality. Even quarreling and jealousy misunderstand the reality that we are all sinners in need of God’s mercy; we are all in darkness awaiting the one true light.  

Paul gives a worthy alternative: “put on the Lord Jesus Christ.” Whereas the world says we need to find our true selves, the Bible calls us to lose ourselves in Jesus. To what end? What exactly is the result of our new Jesus outfit? Well, we somehow become more ourselves than we had ever thought possible. We might actually love other people. As embarrassing as it is to all be wearing the same thing, there’s no more competition for the best costume since all of us are one in Christ Jesus (Gal 3:28). You see, this is where the gospel meets our actual lives. Dressed in our Jesus best, everything - the things we thought were so important about ourselves as well as our Sin - is all covered by our consecrated costume.

To be clear, I’m not advocating for a “fake-it-till-you-make-it” approach. If all of us tried method-acting as Jesus (and really got into character) it would not last very long. We are bad actors in that sense. Instead, our hope comes from Christ who covers us. The core of this passage from Romans is believed to have come from a baptismal hymn. Elsewhere, in his letter to the Galatians, Paul says “inasmuch as you have been baptized into Christ, you have put on Christ.” 

You see, underneath, we may still be the fearful people we were before our divine wardrobe change. But because we are dressed in Jesus himself, God somehow sees us as his obedient, loving children. 

In shame, Adam and Eve covered their naked bodies with fig leaves and hid from God but the gospel boldly proclaims that we are hidden in Christ. As the book of Isaiah says, “My soul shall be joyful in my God; For He has clothed me with the garments of salvation, He has covered me with the robe of righteousness as a bridegroom decks himself with ornaments and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels. That’s much better than a fig leaf, don’t you think?

You and I will fail to put on Jesus Christ. We will quickly exchange our armor of light for a nice gray pullover. That’s why our hope is not in putting on Christ, but that He, the God of the universe, put on flesh. As Paul says in Philippians, “He emptied himself, taking the form of a slave, assuming human likeness. He humbled himself and became obedient to the point of death – even death on a cross.”

As we head into Advent and are charged to wake up, know that only the gospel of Jesus Christ will give you true rest and renewal. As you struggle to get out of bed this week (beneath all your weighted blankets), know that you are already covered in Christ who has taken on the weight of the world to give you both rest and life to the full.