Hope in Wilderness - 2nd Sunday in Advent
John
the Baptist is a character, isn’t he?
And
he’s quite a character to throw into our Advent mix. Amidst angels and shepherds, Mary and Joseph,
even Elizabeth and poor speechless Zechariah, he seems a little dissonant…like
one of these things is not like the others.
He
fills the role of forerunner – one who announces the coming of someone and
something great. To fully understand
what those gathered hear in his promises of what is to come, we have to go back
to our Hebrew scripture passage from Isaiah.
The
passage read first today from Isaiah 11 begins to describe the expected
Messiah.
But
to fully understand how this coming happens, we have to back up a little
further and look at Isaiah 10: 33 – 34:
Look,
the Sovereign, the Lord of hosts,
will lop the boughs with terrifying power;
the
tallest trees will be cut down,
and the lofty will be brought low.
He
will hack down the thickets of the forest with an ax,
and Lebanon with its majestic trees will
fall.
Before
a new leader comes to town, the power structures that exist will be cut to the
ground. Because the new leader – never
once referred to in royal terms at this point – the new leader will seek God’s
wisdom, look deeply at what is true and right based on his fear of the LORD,
and seek justice for those who suffer.
And that justice may feel like death to those who have held power in the
old ways of being:
11:3
His delight shall be in the fear of the LORD. He shall not judge by what his
eyes see, or decide by what his ears hear;
11:4
but with righteousness he shall judge the poor, and decide with equity for the
meek of the earth; he shall strike the earth with the rod of his mouth, and
with the breath of his lips he shall kill the wicked.
11:5
Righteousness shall be the belt around his waist, and faithfulness the belt
around his loins.
In
the gospel text, John the Baptist is proclaiming the time of preparation – and
he’s proclaiming the fall that is to come – the axe is at the roots. The old ways are about to be struck down. And
the historic and prophetic promise in the wake of that destruction is a reign of
justice that reclaims the poor and the suffering.
In
Advent, when we visit this story about John the Baptist each year, we are
necessarily remembering the hard edges of the world Jesus would enter into and
serve…and the promise that his arrival foretold.
And
we also visit this story to try to understand how bold the claim of the Kingdom
of God really is. I think in doing so we
have to find ourselves in a world order today that our scriptures tell us will
be challenged and changed.
It
is way too easy to make the Gospels into a tidy story where all will be well. This is not one of those stories.
If
we believe that the baby born in Bethlehem is indeed the son of God, and we
believe that his birth 2000 years ago began a chain of events, then we ought to
boldly embrace the gospel promise that what God intends to do is to deliver
justice that ends suffering.
to deliver
justice that ends suffering….
I
need us to hold on to that.
In
Matthew’s gospel, John is in the wilderness offering a baptism of repentance.
We Christians tend to think we have a corner on the concept of baptism – ritual
cleansing, but in Jewish tradition, immersion would have been a way of
cleansing ritual impurity.
John
was the ultimate “anti-establishment” character. His odd manner of dress and his bizarre diet
set him apart as someone who is doing life differently. He’s in the wilderness and people must to
leave the big city – the center of culture and power in places occupied by Rome
– and come out into the sticks, the dessert, the far away places in order to
receive something new.
For
those who were poor and oppressed, leaving the city might have been a really
vital getaway. It is likely that the
pressure of occupation weighed most heavily on those who were the poorest, those
who were the least privileged. Those
without status. Immigrants. Those with
disabilities. Those who came from mixed
marriages or no marriage at all. Those
who didn’t have a skillset needed in the marketplace of the Empire. The underclass.
Because
for these folks, the wilderness could have represented an escape, a place to
recover from the hardship of the city…it might have represented safety. Or the gateway to whatever might be next. The wilderness might have been a pathway to
hope.
As
John looks around to see who is showing up for this baptism gathering, he sees
the Pharisees and the Sadducees – the religious establishment. We don’t really know why they are showing up
– maybe because they are suspicious of this man and his claims to be preparing
the way for the Messiah spoken of in Isaiah. Or maybe they are having their own
misgivings about the power structures and pressures of being occupied by Rome. Or maybe they are worried that they are about
to be called out.
Because
what has the religious establishment been doing while the poor grew poorer and
the widow and orphan were left to beg? While the sick gathered at pools in
hopes of a miracle?
I
don’t think that the religious establishment has been suffering.
And
John calls them out. He calls them a
Brood of Vipers – the offspring of venomous snakes. He challenges them – the ax
is at the root of the trees – ancestry and position won’t save you. Bear fruit.
Bear fruit. You will be known by
your fruit.
John
offers a baptism of repentance – metanoia
in Greek – a word that means a turning away from a way of life – a turning away
from what is not of God toward that which is of God. John is challenging the Pharisees and
Sadducees to walk away from what they have been doing and to seek instead a
life that bears fruit.
A
life that makes justice the focus.
So…why
are we here in the wilderness with John?
I’ve
sat with that a lot this week.
Here
in a season where we are looking to remember the birth of a baby in Bethlehem,
we’re also waiting for Christ to return – we’re looking at what was and
watching for what will be. We’re waiting on a promise that is thousands and thousands
of years old. That’s Advent in a nutshell.
And
that is liminal space. Space where we are between things. And that space
between things has stretched out over time and distance, and the story and the
circumstances have evolved. But in space like that, space between what was and
what will be, transformation happens. That is one of the roles wilderness plays.
I
think that if we are doing Advent right, we need to spend time in the
wilderness with John. Because we have to
understand the hope of the gospel. The hope that surrounds the coming of
Christ.
I
have been thinking a lot about the hope with which the Jews awaited the arrival
of the Messiah. I have been thinking a
lot about how scary it must have been for the unwed Mary to say yes to an angel
telling her she would bear a child. I have been thinking a lot about the risk
that Joseph took to go ahead and take Mary as his wife. I’ve been thinking
already about the fear with which they fled to Egypt to keep that precious baby
safe from harm.
The
whole story, while familiar to me, is not so relatable, you know?
This
week news broke about 16 year old Carlos Gregarios Hernandez Vasquez, who died in
May of complications from the flu after hours of suffering without care or
supervision in a detention center, held by Customs and Border Protection, an
agency of our government.
Let’s
not quibble about the liberal media here.
Kids are dying in US custody on our borders.
Let’s
look at this story through the lens of those kids and their suffering.
The reality is that I have not had to run for my life.
I
have not had to plea for my dignity.
I
know that I canNOT fully understand the promise of a return of justice that
will end suffering.
Because
when the truth is told, I am NOT suffering.
I
lead a pretty comfortable life.
I am the 3% if not the 1%.
I
have a house.
I
have a car.
I
have a job.
It
is legal for me to work in this country.
I
have a graduate degree and another just around the corner.
It
is acceptable for me to be ordained and serve in the United Methodist Church.
No
one questions my right to vote when I show up at the polls.
When
I walk into the mall, security guards aren’t keeping their eye on me.
My
children have had access to education and travel and connections.
When
I speak, generally, someone listens.
I
am not suffering.
So
can I fully understand a promise of a reign of God’s justice that will end
suffering?
I
certainly cannot with just my own ears hear this promise in the same way that
Mary and Elizabeth and Joseph and John heard the promise of the one to come. I
cannot hear with my own ears the promise to kids like Carlos that God’s justice
will ultimately reign.
Because
I have more than a HOPE to be safe and secure.
I
AM safe and secure.
I
have resources. I have rights. I have abilities.
And so, as I hear this story again, I place myself among the Pharisees and the Sadducees. I show up NOT as the primary recipient of the expected promise, but as one who has been comfortable. One who has been protected and connected.
I
show up as the one challenged by John.
And
I have to listen to John’s charge - Bear
fruit worthy of repentance.
What
is my role in the promised Kin-dom?
To
bear fruit now.
To
seek justice now.
To
work to make hope real for those who need it now.
Which
likely means giving up a bit of my own power and comfort.
To
give up some of my status and control.
To
let myself be made low so that God’s justice reigns.
The wolf shall live with
the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid, the calf and the lion and
the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them.
The cow and the bear
shall graze, their young shall lie down together; and the lion shall eat straw
like the ox.
The nursing child shall
play over the hole of the asp, and the weaned child shall put its hand on the
adder's den.
They will not hurt or
destroy on all my holy mountain; for the earth will be full of the knowledge of
the LORD as the waters cover the sea.
May
it be so.
Amen.
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