Amanda McMillen, “All Flesh Shall See”
In early January of 2020, I walked into the eye surgeon's office wearing glasses with a prescription of -7.5 in one eye and -7 in the other - if someone had hit my glasses off my face, I would have been like Velma in Scooby Doo, completely hopeless, searching on the ground with my hands to find my glasses and restore my sight. I walked into that office, they gave me a Xanax, let me pet their therapy golden retriever while I waited for the doctor, and then during my actual LASIK procedure the nurses gave me a stuffed animal to hold onto for any lingering nerves. Ten minutes later, I sat up from the table and I could read the clock at the other end of the room. It was truly a modern day miracle, as far as I'm concerned. In the year 2020 my eyesight miraculously became 20/20.
In our Gospel passage from Luke today, we read of John the Baptist, quoting the prophet Isaiah, who told of the coming of Jesus Christ some 600 years before that first Christmas. John the Baptist comes as a forerunner to Jesus, preparing the way for the Messiah, preaching the good news that this person to come is bringing salvation with him, and "all flesh shall see the salvation of God". Sight will be restored - like my own, rising from the operating table and reading the clock on the opposite end of the wall - vision shall be restored, and all shall see the salvation of God.
What is vision? Vision is my experience of having lasers reshape my corneas, but it's also not that. Or at least, not just that. Southern gothic writer Flannery O'Connor wrote that "Vision takes place in the depths of the mind, with the assistance of emotion, knowledge, and belief." What we see is a mix of all that we have seen, what our experiences allow us to see, what we want to see, and what we believe we see. Human vision, then, is deeply subjective. What I see when I look at something is different than what you see. As a preacher, when I watch a movie I no longer simply watch a movie. I watch a series of stories that could be used as an illustration to an upcoming sermon. It's a little bit devastating. What I see is shaped by so much more than my 20/20 vision.
There are so many things that we miss, that we can't see, in ourselves too. I think, from my perspective, that I know why I do and say the things I do and say, and usually in my mind they are for good and reasonable reasons. As a silly example, I ask my husband Brian while we're sitting on the couch watching a show, if he wants a cup of tea. (He sees right through this question immediately by the way.) But I ask him if he wants a cup of tea, presumably so that when I get up to make myself a cup I can make one for him too. (Some of you know where this is going) But after I ask I tend to wait a long time before getting up, until he finally looks at me with that side eye and says "want me to make you some" and I say "oh yes please that sounds wonderful". From my perspective, I'm just asking an innocent question about tea. From his, I'm very indirectly asking him to get off the couch and get me my tea because I don't want to. I don't always see my own motivations for what they actually are.
That's because our human nature clouds our judgment of what we see. In the "attribution theory" in psychology, research suggests that when a person succeeds they tend to attribute that success to internal factors like talent and work ethic, and when a person fails they attribute the failure to external factors like luck or unfair disadvantage. What we see and how we see depends on much more than the health of our eyes.
We struggle, also, to really see one another. We meet a person and we immediately make assumptions, based on appearances and first impressions. We lack context and background but we think we know all we need to know. We misinterpret signs and signals, our egos get bruised, and we make snap judgments. We judge books by their covers, so to speak, all day long.
But here is what the prophet Isaiah says about the coming of Christ: "'Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth, and *all flesh shall see the salvation of God*.'"
Imagine it with me, a hilly countryside, much like our own here actually. There's a mountain ahead of you but you can't quite see it for all of the rolling hills in between you and it. But you watch as the valleys are raised up, and the hills are brought low, until the ground begins to level out. And suddenly the mountain ahead of you becomes plain as day. No matter if you live down in the valley or up on the hilltop, you now have the same glorious view. The land itself has smoothed out with one purpose - that all shall see the salvation of God.
This is very good news. These eyes of ours may miss a lot - we can't always see all the ways that sin has infected our lives, we can't always see the reasons behind the actions of our loved ones that hurt us, we can't see the world except through our own subjective and myopic eyesight. And we also can’t always see the salvation of God when we’re steeped in our own personal day to day darknesses.
I know I don't have to tell you that the holidays are a time when difficult family dynamics and fractured relationships feel particularly poignant. We see the dysfunction perhaps a bit more acutely this time of year, for one because of the onslaught of joyful songs of going home for Christmas juxtaposed to the actual experience of going home for Christmas. Or the way that Christmas highlights the longing in our hearts, the grief for those we don't have here to celebrate with us anymore and the wish that the season really did bring all the joy it assumes. Sometimes it feels like the constant holiday festivities from Halloween to December 26th is a defense mechanism of distraction from what's really going on in our hearts. Instead of the calm hopefulness of advent, I usually just feel tired and overstimulated. It is a struggle to see the salvation of God when my eyes are darting in every direction.
These words from Isaiah come as a relief from this overstimulated vision of chaos. Right now, it can be hard to see the salvation of God. Perhaps you feel responsible for our own salvation, perhaps you feel tired, or depressed, or anxious, or disappointed. The struggle to see God's salvation is real. But God says, I'm going to make it easy for you. Every valley shall be filled, every hill shall be brought low - you're not going to be able to miss my salvation. Salvation from our exhaustion, from our depression, from our anxiety, from our family disappointments. You're not going to be able to miss it. And maybe that word can give us a bit of hope on this Advent Sunday.
This word from Isaiah is a word of prophecy - and what is prophecy? It is to forsee. It is the act of holding to hope when it seems like hope is lost. It is the act of proclaiming that light is coming when you are surrounded by darkness and you can't imagine how.
Our eyes miss so much. From where he stands, though, God doesn't miss a thing. God sees all of it - our past and future - it's all known to God. Everything you're feeling today and coming into this church with on your shoulders - God sees it all.
Last week, my family drove through Southern Indiana at sunrise on our way home from Thanksgiving. Southern Indiana is pretty flat, just farmland as far as the eye can see. The valleys are filled in and the hills are made low. And the sun rose orange and full - and as we drove eastward, you couldn't miss it. God's salvation is nothing if not a sunrise, an advent - an eternal beginning, the coming of salvation, which makes all of the rest of it, all of the mess of our lives and our relationships, finally come into crisp clear vision after a dark and cold night.
Jesus' earthly life is easily missed. He was born in a stable, on a quiet winter night. He lived his life in a region the size of Delaware. He died a common criminal's death by crucifixion. And yet here we are, telling of the coming of Christ and the salvation that he brings to each of us. The valleys were raised, the hills brought low, and we see on that mountain ahead of us a cross, proclaiming salvation for all.
But it isn't actually what we see and how we see, with our flawed vision, that saves us; rather it is what God sees - and God sees us with a perfect vision - he sees you as you actually are. God sees the real you, both objectively and personally, with all of your flaws, and judgments, and hangups, every part of your broken heart. But God also sees that real you through eyes that are intent on treating you with love and mercy. All shall see the salvation of God, because from where he stands, from the cross and from his heavenly throne, Jesus sees all of us. We are wrapped up in God's vision, of a hopeful sunrise - and there's no way we can miss it.
Amen.
