Wicked For Good: Wild Advent

The Infinite a sudden Guest

The Infinite a sudden Guest

Has been assumed to be —

But how can that stupendous come

Which never went away?

~~Emily Dickinson💛

This week, I had the chance to see Wicked: For Good, where the final conclusion about which witch is really good and which one is really wicked is fleshed out. Well, sort of…No spoilers here. But I did discover some rather fascinating theological connections for our journey through Advent. Are you ready? Buckle up. I’m gonna bounce around a little.

In the Episcopal tradition, theology is often described as “faith seeking understanding.” It involves thoughtful reflection on the nature of God, the teachings of Jesus, the Holy Spirit, and the ways in which God is present and active in the world and in our lives.[1]

Theology is about asking the good questions. For example, “Are people born wicked or do they have wickedness thrust upon them?” That is the question posed at the very beginning of the book, turned musical, turned blockbuster film. This is the kind of question Episcopalians love to discuss, but it barely begins to scratch the surface of all the theological pearls in Wicked. 

But then it’s Advent, the beginning of a whole new church calendar year, a weird and wonderful season - a time to prepare for the Christ child, to stay alert for God to break in at any possible future moment, a time to consider the end of time. In Advent, we begin at the end, and we end at the beginning…[2]

This Advent, we start near the end of Matthew’s Gospel and move, in what might feel like a “clock tick” for some and an excruciatingly long time for others, to the birth of the baby Jesus. Wicked also begins at the end of the story and works its way back to the beginning, an effective literary device, similar to what will unfold for us as we journey from Advent One to Christmas. The ever-present clock motif in Wicked reminds us of the relentless tyranny of time. Our Advent wreath marks each of the four weeks with themes of hope, peace, joy, and love.

On this first Sunday of Advent, Matthew’s Jesus challenges us to step out of our obsession with time, out of our daily ruts and routines, into an alert, awakened state to ready ourselves for Emmanuel – God with us. The tricky part is we don’t know precisely when that will be. So, in Advent, we prepare, and we wait.

Elphaba, the green witch in Wicked, also waits. She waits for an audience with the Great and Powerful Wizard of Oz, in hopes that he will agree to “degreenify” her. In the Hebrew Bible, two words were used for waiting. Yakhal, which means simply “to wait for,” is used in the story of Noah, who waited for the flood waters to recede. The other Hebrew word is Qavah, which refers to a sense of tension and hopeful expectation while waiting for something to happen.[3]

First-century Jewish Christians who had lost everything to Roman occupation were waiting for a return to normalcy. Jesus’ words offer hope for a more promising future. Timelines converge as Matthew’s Jesus speaks from Jerusalem during Holy Week. There is an urgency, as much for the disciples as for Matthew’s community around 90 CE, and likewise for us today, to stay awake and watchful for the coming of Christ.

Can you recall a time of waiting? Studies show that anxious anticipation can hijack our cognition, making time seem to move more slowly. Anxious anticipation can certainly hinder our ability to make wise decisions. Experts suggestmindfulness practices, time in nature, and the regular practice of stillness to mitigate the stressors of waiting. Easier said than done. 

In our Gospel reading, the theological drama intensifies. “One will be taken and the other left behind.” Is it better to be taken or left? I’m not sure. What do you think? Matthew’s community surely had some thoughts during their long years of exile. 

While first-century Christians awaited the imminent return of Jesus, he did not return as they had imagined he soon would. Still today, we sing, O Come, O Come Emmanuel…Lo he Comes with Clouds Descending, Soon and Very Soon…

But when? As Matthew tells us, only our God of all time and all eternity knows. And so, as people of faith, we are left to wait for God with hopeful anticipation. But how do we muster hope when days are darkest? 

In her keynote at our diocesan conference this past weekend, the Very Rev. Winnie Varghese spoke to us about developing a broader theological imagination. The new 12^th Dean of the Cathedral of St. John the Divine in New York City challenged us to consider new ways of thinking about our theologies of mercy and justice. She also suggested seeing our most pressing issues through different eyes – the eyes of the immigrant, the stranger, the marginalized, those from other cultures and faith traditions, and those with no faith tradition at all. 

Wicked director Jon Chu shared his ten-year journey of developing the two Wicked films. Shooting the two films concurrently required seeing the big picture, the entire arc of the story. In scripture, for better or for worse, for good and for wicked, humanity’s triumphs and struggles are all there. When we see the big picture, it can be easier to hold space for others, easier to forgive, and to question systems that threaten human dignity. It can be easier to imagine God’s love meeting us exactly where we are. 

Over the course of our long marriage, my husband has learned to wait patiently for me to get ready. I appreciate this. He knows me, and he knows it doesn’t go well when we rush the process.

That’s how I imagine God to be. God knows us and patiently waits for us. In an increasingly divided and secular world, a more imaginative theological vision of a loving God waiting for us to be ready is both hopeful and provocative. 

Don’t let the sentimental melody fool you; the lyrics in Wicked’s final number, For Good are also strikingly provocative:

“Like a comet pulled from orbit as it passes a sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder halfway through the wood 

Like a ship blown from its mooring by a wind off the sea 
or a seed dropped by a skybird in a distant wood…

God is creative and is always looking for new ways to break into our everyday lives.

What if this Advent we welcome the disruption? What if we let it wake us up?

Our Episcopal theology, with its emphasis on scripture, tradition, and reason, is a faith that seeks wisdom. Deeply grounded in the Anglican liturgical tradition, we are open, aware, and even critical of the shifting culture and its impact on our discipleship. One reason I love the Episcopal church is our capacity to take on different shapes within our unique context, without compromising our values or vocation.[4]

Advent calls us into nothing less than mystical union, at the very intersection of time and eternity, where we can be and see the Christ light shining out in the world.[5] If we are awake, Advent, this yearly opportunity to check our theology, can change us for the better. If we’re really ready, it could even change us for good. Amen.

Spiritual Practice: Take a 10-minute silent walk outdoors this week. Where do you sense God’s presence in the unfamiliar or quiet places? Or try candle gazing!

 

No Extra Charge: Here’s Wicked, the book, author Jeffrey Maquire talking about Wicked: For Good.

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[1] Ellen K. Wondra, Introduction to Theology Third Edition (La Vergne: Church Publishing Incorporated, 2002), 1.

[2] Laurence Hull Stookey, Calendar: Christ’s Time for the Church (Nashville, TN: Abingdon Press, 1996), 121.

[3] “Advent Season: What Is It, and How Is It Celebrated?” accessed November 29, 2025, https://bibleproject.com/guides/advent/.

[4] Ralph McMichael, Vocation of Anglican Theology: Sources and Essays (London: Hymns Ancient & Modern Ltd, 2014), 291.

[5] Stookey, 17.

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A Spiritual Practice for Year's End

Resurrection Anxiety

 “Be patient toward all that is unsolved in your heart and try to love the questions themselves…”

~~Ranier Maria Rilke💛

Are you aware that St. Mark’s has a transition team? Headed up by Tim Swygert, the transition team is responsible for all aspects of facilitating a smooth transition from our old structure to the next. This includes packing and moving, storing stuff, and lots of other details too numerous to mention. Do transitions give anyone else anxiety? Thank God for Tim and the team!

The Sadducees seem to be experiencing some transition anxiety as they interrogate Jesus in the temple. 

While I understand the human desire for certainty about life after death, it’s hard to take seriously the question the Sadducees ask Jesus. Sure, they’re referring to Levirate marriage law in Deuteronomy, but it’s disturbing to hear a woman so blatantly objectified. There must be a better question.

The Sadducees were an educated and elite sect of Judaism, active from about the second century BCE until the destruction of the Second Temple in 70 CE. They were mostly priests responsible for pretty much everything that happened in the temple, and they seemed to take this job very seriously. Of the three prominent first-century Jewish sects —the Pharisees, the Sadducees, and the Essenes — the Sadducees did not accept the concept of a general bodily resurrection of the dead, the prevailing Jewish theology of the afterlife. What did they believe? It’s hard to say, because they and their writings did not survive the destruction of the Second Temple, and anything we do know comes from those who were likely opposed to them. The Sadducees seemed comfortable in their beliefs without the need for any other teachings outside the Torah, such as from the prophets, and they certainly seemed suspicious of anything the prophet Jesus had to say. 

“Teacher, you have spoken well,” some scribes say to Jesus. And they ask him no more questions, Luke tells us.

Anxiety averted? I’m not so sure. Who still has questions about the resurrection?

At lunch the other day, my sister admitted that she will sometimes text our dad, who died three years ago this month. She showed me her phone. All her texts were received. Don’t judge.

My parents died so close together, and after 65 years of marriage, I cannot tell you how many people tried to console my siblings and me by saying, “At least they are together.” 

There’s another story of a woman in a caregiving facility, hanging on to life by a tiny thread. One day, the woman is visited by a kind chaplain. Trusting him, she confides in a small, frail voice, "People keep telling me soon I will see my husband in heaven." 

To the chaplain’s great surprise, the old woman suddenly sits straight up in bed and blurts out loudly, “I spent seventy years of my life with that man! Do I have to spend eternity with him, too? 

Let’s be real: resurrection is nearly impossible to grasp from our limited human perspective.

That said, I really appreciate Jesus’ respect for and sensitivity to the diverse theological beliefs of the Sadducees. Loving our neighbor means meeting people wherever they are in their faith journey, encouraging their curiosity, and welcoming their questions. 

You’ll have a chance to practice a little with our confirmation class during coffee hour today. Please stick around. I hope you will welcome their questions and share your own. We can all be teachers for one another. 

In these last days before his death, Jesus is teaching in the temple. Scholars note that Jesus teaches in spaces accessible to all bodies, including women and children. 

The temple is a main focus this week. We might pause here to consider the function of a temple. How does a physical structure encourage communion with God? How might it interfere with or inhibit communion? Do we need a physical structure to encounter God?

Next Saturday, all are invited to join me and others from our diocese for a pop-up Eucharist at Schooley Mill Park. We will hike a short distance and worship in creation, hoping to stimulate some new conversation about where and how we do church. 

Haggai’s book is short—only two chapters—but offers a historical perspective on the rebuilding of Solomon’s temple, which was destroyed in 587 BCE. 

Along with Zechariah and Malachi, Haggai is a post-exilic prophet, one of the 12 so-called minor prophets. After seventy years in captivity, returning Jews likely had limited memory of their homeland or their temple. Surely, they had heard stories. But they’d made new lives for themselves in Babylon. When they returned to the “land of milk and honey,” things had changed. They had changed. It was likely easier to stay in their comfortable homes than to do the demanding work rebuilding their temple. Haggai’s job was to encourage them and remind them of God’s abiding presence. Haggai was chair of the transition team, kind of like Tim.

As our own exile approaches, we might consider this to be a cautionary tale. How can we attend to our transition anxiety while doing the important work of rebuilding? 

Our new Inreach Program, spearheaded by Gail Gerdes, is designed to help us do just this. You’ll be hearing more about it in the coming weeks. Perhaps you will feel called to participate.  

As we move through our transition, we will need people to keep both our inreach and outreach ministries going. We’ll need our elders to remind us where we’ve been, and prophets like our fantastic building committee to help us stay focused on the future. 

We’ll need workers of all sorts, young and old, and in between. It will be challenging, fun, and sometimes crazy making. As we watch our new building going up, as we continue praying and caring for one another, we will be co-creating something new with God. Not every church community gets a chance to do what we are doing. I pray we will listen faithfully for where God might be calling us to participate.

At St. Mark’s, we have this excellent tagline: Built on faith, rooted in love. Very soon, it will be tested, as the proverbial rubber meets the road. If we can acknowledge our anxiety and do the good work over the months ahead, continually reminding one another of God’s presence with us throughout, I think we’ll be in good shape.

As followers of Jesus, we’re all called to be on the transition team. We’re all called to share the good news of the resurrection with one another and the world. 

I spoke with an old friend on Friday who’d not only grieved the loss of his wife to cancer but also received his own scary diagnosis. Now, ten years cancer-free, he told me the doctor had spoken the word “cure.” Thanks be to God. My friend asked for prayers that he would stay healthy and alive. He’s 72. “How long do you want to live?” I asked him. “Forever,” he said facetiously. No worries there, I thought. But I’ll still keep him in my prayers. 

Rather than focusing on an incomprehensible future, I think our better question just for now might be: How can we move most faithfully and gracefully through the next transitions? My sense, based on Jesus’ example, is that if we’re patient with ourselves and one another, we will get there together, and resurrection will be ever so much clearer to us from the other side. Amen.