Matthew
3:1-12
Advent
2
December
8, 2019
William G. Carter
In those days John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness
of Judea, proclaiming, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come
near.” This is the one of whom the prophet Isaiah spoke when he said, “The
voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make
his paths straight.’” Now John wore clothing of camel’s hair with a
leather belt around his waist, and his food was locusts and wild
honey. Then the people of Jerusalem and all Judea were going out to him,
and all the region along the Jordan, and they were baptized by him in the
river Jordan, confessing their sins.
But when he saw many Pharisees and Sadducees coming for
baptism, he said to them, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the
wrath to come? Bear fruit worthy of repentance. Do not presume to say
to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor’; for I tell you, God is able
from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. Even now the ax is
lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good
fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. “I baptize you with water for
repentance, but one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not
worthy to carry his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and
fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing
floor and will gather his wheat into the granary; but the chaff he will burn
with unquenchable fire.”
We
begin a second week in the season of Advent, so we will talk about hope. Advent
is the season of hope.
Today
we encounter John the Baptist, that strange preacher in the wilderness. He
dresses in the animal skins of an Old Testament prophet. He keeps to a
desert-based diet. There is fire in his eyes and there is fire on his tongue. And
everybody went out to hear him.
That
might be the most curious detail. Why would anyone go to hear a preacher who
yells at them?
I
remember the preachers I have heard. There haven’t been many screamers, but
there were a few. In the preaching class in seminary, we had a Baptist from New
Rochelle. He introduced us to the rhythms and tones of African American
preaching. His enchanting sermon was a forty-minute journey that seemed like a
few ticks of the clock. When it was done, it had reached such a crescendo, we
hadn’t realized he was yelling.
By
contrast, there was another preacher who took to the pulpit to denounce our
school’s investment policies. I guess he must have done a lot of research. His
message was full of energy. It started at high decibels and went even higher. It
was a ten-minute sermon and seems like an hour. All he did was yell. Nobody was
listening.
And
then, there was the preacher in Scotland, on the outskirts of Stornoway. That morning’s
sermon was nearly an hour. Now, I know that sounds unbearable, but in that
little town, they don’t go into comparison shopping. Everybody goes to church.
He stood and spoke with passion and energy, rising to a high pitch. It was in
Gaelic and I didn’t understand a word – but from the fire in his eyes, I knew
exactly what he was talking about. When 6 p.m. came around, we went back to
hear him again.
From
experience, I know why everybody went out to hear John the Baptist. It wasn’t
the volume. It was the passion. He meant what he said. He didn’t waste words.
He got right to the point. And everybody came.
Certainly
there was the spectacle of it all. Most of the other preachers were talking in
their sleep. But when John spoke, everybody was wide awake. He spoke to their
memory, evoking the prophets from 500 years before. He spoke to their future,
pointing to the Messiah who was already on the way. When memory and the future
come together, hope is born. “Repent,” he said with fire, “for the kingdom of
heaven is at hand.”
John
did his work at the Jordan River. That’s about 27 miles from Jerusalem, which
people would have traveled by foot. That’s 27 miles downhill, a drop of about
3700 feet in elevation – just to hear the preacher! And then you have to walk
back uphill. I don’t know a lot of people who would walk eight hours (each way)
to hear a nine-word sermon. That’s about an hour per word, especially if you
stop to take a breath.
But
the people came. They came from all over. They came from Jerusalem and all the
region of Judea. They heard John preach and had their sins washed away.
We
had a conversation with our men’s group on Thursday morning. What would it take
for people to confess their sins? To tell the truth about what they have done
wrong and what they have left undone? What would it take to ‘fess up and say
what’s really going on? The guys in the group said that’s a really good
question.
Many
of us get to that prayer in our worship bulletin and treat it like a speed
bump. Just slow down a little bit and keep going. No reason to scrape the undercarriage
of your soul. I often advise our worship leaders to slow it down even more.
Give them 30 seconds for the silent confession; I know what some of them have
been up to. Yet even then, it’s tempting to keep it light.
I
ran into a friend who is going through a terrible divorce. The Pennsylvania law
may say there’s a no-fault divorce, but it’s always more complicated than that.
Certainly there’s the case for my friend. Hadn’t seen him since the news of the
break-up. I caught his eye when nobody else was around: “How are you doing?” With
a big plastic smile, he said, “I’m doing just fine.”
I
pushed gently and said, “I’m here for you if you need me.” He smiled even more
broadly, “Hey, I’m doing great.”
What
would it take for any of us to be honest enough to reveal our own wreckage?
Good question.
Down
at the Jordan River, the Pharisees and Sadducees show up. What are they doing
there? They represent the Jerusalem Establishment! The Pharisees were the Bible
Keepers, guardians of morality, purists in every regard – and they come to hear
the preacher who dined on locusts. The Sadducees were the high brows, the
liturgical elite, the religious nobility, and the families from which all the
highest priests were named.
There
they are – traveling perhaps by chariot, to hear John preach and step up to the
river for their turn to get baptized. Clearly, they believed this was the thing
to do. All the peasants were there. The whole country was abuzz with the
appearance of John.
Some
suggest there might have been ulterior motives at work. The Pharisees hated the
Roman army that occupied their land. If John declared God’s kingdom is near, that
the Messiah is coming on his white horse of power, they might want to be first
in line to greet him.
And
the Sadducees? They were willing to give a pass to the Romans as long they didn’t
interfere in their priestly duties and the commensurate income. Perhaps they came
to keep an eye on the Pharisees, to make sure they didn’t rabble-rouse around
the edges. Who can say?
As
we heard, John the Baptist won’t have any of it. He calls them out as snakes.
He accuses them of coming only to get a pass to keep them out of hell. He denounces
their assumption that privilege will put them on the right side of God. “I don’t
care who your granddaddy says he was; you’re all a brood of vipers.”
At
heart, what is he saying? He is saying that they are faking it. That they are
going through the motions. That they show up only for the benefits of an appearance.
That they really have no interest in preparing a way for the Lord to reach
their own hearts.
So
we dwelled with the question in our men’s group: what would it take for people
to truly confess their sins? It would have to be something more than noticing
it’s the next item on the worship agenda. It would have to be the clear and
present knowledge that God is truly knocking at the door, that the kingdom of
heaven is just about here.
To
put it in Jesus-language, to wake up and realize that the Light of the World is
here, and he is going to expose every dark corner in our hearts, every broken
deed whether done or left undone, every foul thought and every hurtful word. We
might as well say what it is, because it will all be revealed sooner or later.
Here's
how Frederick Buechner once put it:
“To confess your sins of God is not to
tell God anything God doesn’t already know. Unless you confess them, however,
they are the abyss between you. When you confess them, they become the Golden
Gate Bridge.” (Wishful Thinking: A Theological ABC)
God
can get to you, in other words. It requires making a way for God to come
closer, removing the roadblocks, straightening the highway, lifting the valleys
and leveling the mountains. No more excuses, just honesty. No more faking it or
putting on appearance, just being real. This is our spiritual work for Advent:
getting real. Replacing the artificial with the truth.
Every
Advent, I re-read an essay from Alfred Delp. He was a Jesuit priest who resisted
Hitler and the Nazis, and paid the ultimate price for it. Here is what he wrote
from a prison camp, as a warning to his own nation when it was intoxicated with
power and consumed with mendacity:
Advent is the time for rousing. We are
shaken to the very depths, so that we may wake up to the truth of ourselves. The
primary condition for a fruitful and rewarding Advent is renunciation, surrender.
We must let go of all our mistaken dreams, our conceited poses and arrogant
gestures, all the pretenses with which we hope to deceive others and others. If
we fail to do this, stark reality may take hold of us and rouse us forcibly in a
way that will entail both anxiety and suffering.
The
alternative, of course, is to surrender to God, which is always a surrender to
grace. We do not let down our guard and fear that heaven will hurt us. We let it
down because heaven is moving toward us – and heaven can heal us. That is our
ultimate hope.
So
John the Baptist appears in the stark wilderness with a fierce promise. God is on
the way. God will see us clearly. We cannot presume that God will take us as we
are. This is the invitation to change, to drop our bad habits, to straighten
out our souls, to name the brokenness that has been lingering far too long, and
to present ourselves for healing.
We
cannot do any of this on our own, nor do we have to. The kingdom of heaven is
at hand. Help is on the way.
So
rather than cross our arms and say, “John’s not speaking to me,” let us move
toward the One who is moving toward us. God’s intent from the beginning has
been for us to live completely in Christ’s light, with no shame, but complete
peace.
This
is the Advent invitation, for you, for me, for all who can hear John preach.
The Lord is at hand; turn around and come home.
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