To misquote the poet Emily Dickinson, something there is that loves a line. When I was growing up in the 80s in Dorchester, near Ashmont station on the red line, I remember the fights in the press about extending the red line all the way to Alewife from Harvard Station, where it ended at the time. Some residents of Arlington, it seemed, wanted the red line kept out so that some other, less visible lines would kept firmly IN. They expressed concern that poor blacks from Dot were going to get on the T at Shawmut or Field’s Corner, and ride in air-conditioned comfort all the way to Alewife, for the express purpose of burgling their homes. Presumably, then, the would-be burglars would take a cab back to Dot with all their booty.

When I read this old, old story again a couple weeks ago, one phrase stood out to me like it was glowing in golden Elvish script: the wise ones were “overwhelmed with joy” when they arrived at their destination. Why overwhelmed with joy? Why not “overcome” with joy; “transported” by joy? Overwhelmed is a bad thing, right? Overwhelm was one of the words that marked the candle-lighting stations we provided for people at our Longest Night service just after the massacre in Newtown, along with the words Grief, Loss, Doubt. Overwhelm is a bad thing.

The lectionary reading this morning, the first Sunday after Christmas, is from the Gospel According to Luke, chapter 2, verses 41-52.

The lectionary reading this morning, the second Sunday of Advent, comes from the Gospel According to Luke, chapter 1, verses 67-80.

The lectionary reading this morning, the second Sunday of Advent, comes from the Gospel According to Luke, chapter 1, verses 67-80.

There is a form of literature in the Bible known as an “apocalypse,” a description of the end times. Revelation is one such, the book of Daniel is another. The story from scripture today is known as the “Little Apocalypse.” Isn’t that comforting, somehow? It’s just a tiny, little apocalypse. It probably didn’t feel little to the people suffering it, though. As Mark was writing these words down, 40 years after Jesus died, the Roman occupiers were tearing down the temple at Jerusalem, ripping out the heart of Jewish religious life, and persecution of the early Christians was well underway. The world obviously didn’t come to an end then, not in an absolute sense, but it felt like the end, for many.

Jesus sat down opposite the convenience store, and he watched people putting money onto the counter. He saw the elderly person put their whole Social Security check. He watched the waitress put her cash tips. He saw the day laborer take all he had and give it up to the clerk. And he watched as the clerk handed over strips of scratch tickets, sparkly, with those silly names, Lucky Stars, In The Chips, 7-come-11.