Homily for the Second Sunday of Advent, Year C

Okay, imagine you have a big family scrapbook with all kinds of stories, photos, and memories. Some of the stories in the scrapbook are well-loved by everyone in the family and always shared at big gatherings. These are the ones everyone agrees are the “must-see” photos or the "must-hear" stories in the book.

Now, there are also some other stories and memories that some family members treasure but others aren’t sure about. Maybe they’re not sure who told the story first, or they think it might not fit perfectly with the rest of the scrapbook. These extra stories are still really interesting and valuable, but the family decides to keep them in a special section at the back of the scrapbook. That way, they’re included, but they don’t take the same central place as the main stories.

That’s kind of what happened with the Apocrypha in the Bible. A long time ago, when people were deciding which books to include in the Bible, they had some that everyone agreed on—like Genesis, the Psalms, and the Gospels. But there were also some other books, like Tobit or Wisdom or Baruch, that some people thought were important, but others weren’t as sure about.

We Episcopalians keep these books in a special section called the Apocrypha. They aren’t used to make big decisions about what we believe, but they are still read for teaching, inspiration, and prayers. They’re like that special section of the family scrapbook—valuable and meaningful, even if not quite in the front and center.

So, when you see the “Apocrypha,” think of it as bonus material—extra stories to help us learn about God and how people lived their faith long ago.  

So, this morning, my sermon is a reflection on our lesson from Baruch, and Baruch is one of those books in the Apocrypha.

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If I were to give this sermon a title, I would entitle it:  “Change your clothes, Jesus is coming.”

In Hans Christian Andersen’s tale “The Ugly Duckling,” we meet a young bird who endures ridicule and isolation.  Clad in feathers that seem out of place, he wanders through seasons of hardship and sorrow. It isn’t until he glimpses his reflection in the water that he realizes he’s been transformed into a beautiful swan. The old, dull feathers are gone, replaced by a radiant plumage that was always his destiny.

From our reading today in the Book of Baruch. The prophet calls out: “Take off the garment of your sorrow and affliction,…, and put on forever the beauty of the glory from God.” 

The people had been through exile and devastation, their identity marred by suffering. Like the ugly duckling, believing that their current state was all there ever would be, they wore “garments of grief.”

Baruch speaks to a community standing amidst ruins. The call to “take off the garment of sorrow” is an invitation to shed the identity of despair and to embrace the transformation that God is bringing about. “God has ordered that every high mountain and the everlasting hills be made low and the valleys filled up.”  The path to a better future has been cleared.  All obstacles have been eliminated.

We wear our own garments of sorrow—cloaks woven from threads of past regrets, present anxieties, fear of the future. These garments can become so familiar that we forget they are not a permanent part of us. The promise in Baruch is that God is actively working to transform our reality. 

And, this isn’t passive waiting; it’s an active participation in our own renewal.  “Put on the robe of righteousness that comes from God,” the prophet urges. 

This new garment represents a restored identity, one rooted in the knowledge that we are beloved by God. It begins with the willingness to believe that change is possible—that our current circumstances do not define our ultimate reality.  You may not realize it, but you are already a swan.

Baruch emphasizes that this transformation is not just individual but communal. The people are being gathered “from east and west,” united in the shared experience of God’s restoration. I note that in Andersen’s tale, the ugly duckling doesn’t just become a swan in isolation; he joins a flock, finding his place in a community that accepts and reflects his true identity.

The act of shedding the garment of sorrow and putting on the robe of righteousness is a call to justice and compassion in the here and now. It’s about creating a community where everyone has the opportunity to flourish. As we experience this Advent season, let us “prepare the way”— help remove those obstacles that are in the way of the coming of Christ.

It could mean offering forgiveness where there has been hurt, reaching out to someone who feels isolated, or standing up against injustices that cause others to wear garments of sorrow. By doing so, we participate in the leveling of mountains and filling of valleys, making a straight path for the healing and hope that God promises.

The exiled community in Baruch’s time trusted in God’s unwavering faithfulness despite their circumstances. We, too, are called to embrace that trust, believing that no matter how ingrained our garments of sorrow may seem, they can be replaced with robes of righteousness and joy.

God invites us to shed these old garments. The ugly duckling discovered his true nature and embraced a new identity. we are invited to recognize ourselves as God sees us—beloved, renewed, and radiant—robed in righteousness.

Take off those garments of sorrow, participate in the transformation God offers, put on those robes of righteousness. By embracing hope, fostering community, and engaging in acts of compassion, we change clothes. And, in so doing, we prepare the way for the coming of Christ, embodying the renewal and joy that Christ’s arrival brings.