Advent 3, Yr. C, December 16,
2012
Zephaniah 3:14-20; Canticle
9; Philippians 4:4-7; Luke 3:7-18
Sermon preached at St.
Stephen’s Episcopal Church
So
here we are again on the third Sunday of Advent, listening to John the Baptist
rail against those gathered at the river.
That crowd of people had come out to be baptized by John, to be washed
clean, purified by a baptism of
repentance, a baptism intended to re-orient them to God. I imagine them standing there in that crowd
eagerly awaiting their dip in the muddy waters of the Jordan. Standing ready to take that plunge and make
that commitment. Instead of cheers and
congratulations, they are met with name calling and accusations. “You brood of vipers! Do not begin to say to yourselves, ‘We have
Abraham as our ancestor.’” I wonder how
many baptisms we’d have at St. Stephen’s if that’s the way I greeted people at
our baptismal font? How many would
continue on? How many would leave angry
… or run away in fear?
I
think what John is getting at … in his own peculiar sort of way … is the real
meaning of baptism. He’s being brutally
honest with those he has called out into the wilderness to be baptized. His own life is an example of the kind of
change he feels God expects from people being baptized. It’s a life often at odds with mainstream
culture, a life dedicated to spreading the good news … even if John doesn’t
quite make it sound as good as it is.
In
our first reading, Zephaniah is speaking to the Israelites under the rule of
King Josiah, the good king. As Michael
Hopkins tells us in the commentary for today’s reading, life has been
relatively good for them. But as often
happens in our world, those receiving the good, often do so at the expense of
those who have less, whether that be less money, less education, or less
status. It all comes down to power. Those with less power and influence often
form the base of support for a system that benefits the more prosperous. In his day, and in ours.
Zephaniah’s
message to the people of his day, in this last oracle, after giving them a good
dose of judgment … and predicting the destruction of Jerusalem … is not to
despair. This proclamation appears to
wilt in light of the horrific events of Friday morning in Connecticut. The unbelievable in our world has become the
new reality, too often. A gunman forces
his way into an elementary school. He
attacks the most innocent and vulnerable in our society. Responsible adults try to stop him, but die
in the attempt. Lives are cut short,
some before they barely have had a chance to begin. It’s an event that reveals the vulnerability
of us all, young and old. Who wouldn’t
despair?
Even so, on this morning, we
read Zephaniah’s words together. The
Lord will come. Do not
fear, O Zion; do not let your hands grow weak.
The Lord, your God, is in your midst. (Zephaniah 3:16-17) Evil is not the only force at work in the
world. And when the unthinkable happens,
a remnant will remain, one that can be transformed by God’s presence, and in
time rejoicing can begin again. As the
Common English Bible says, God will
create calm with his love; God will rejoice over your singing. God will deliver the lame; God will
gather the outcast. (Zeph 3:17, 19) That all too persistent theme of God
turning the world’s order upside down will be played out in full. But first, each of us will be turned upside
down as well.
Maybe
John the Baptist is doing these new recruits a favor. He’s preparing them for what is to come …
struggle, disappointment, the reality of despair, the reality of an
unpredictable world. Like Zephaniah, he
knows that the world is not yet as it should be, our power to control the
events of our lives is very limited, and too often those with power wreak havoc
on the weak. A shockingly small number
are really feasting at the table … confident, secure, untouched by the world’s
vicissitudes. Maybe John is telling
them, “if you join with God, you will have to do things differently, and it won't be easy”. Not every tree in the forest will make it
through the pruning. It doesn’t matter
what kind of tree you are. What matters
is the kind of fruit you bear. It
matters how you go about weathering the storms.
I give the people in that crowd
a lot of credit. They don’t run for the
hills. They don’t tremble and walk
away. They stay. One by one they ask, “What then should we do?”
Even tax collectors and soldiers, the ones who openly make their living
by extortion and threats, come forward and ask … “What should we do?” What should we do?
How should we be? These are good questions to ask at your
baptism, and in times like now.
John tells them. Be
generous. If someone needs a coat,
give them your own. If they need food,
share yours. Don’t turn away from the
pain of the world. Look outward with
care. We are not powerless in God. Be honest and just. Don’t cheat people out of their money. Don’t manipulate or abuse them to get more
out of something than it’s worth. Be kind.
Treat one another fairly. Pray
for the grieving, and speak out against oppression and injustice, stand with
the suffering of this world. Be satisfied with enough. Don’t let greed lead you into seeking more
than you need. These are good baptismal
values. We could use a little reminder
in our own day.
It would be a good exercise for
us to look at our economic system, and ask ourselves who benefits most from
it. To ask, whether it embodies
generosity, justice and kindness … especially to the poor and powerless in our
present society. It would be a good
exercise for us to look at the social fabric of our society and ask, how does
culture encourage us to be generous, kind and just? How do those values inform our response to
disappointment and loss? What do our
young people see on a day to day basis … in the movies, on TV, in
advertisements, in magazines, on T-shirts, on the news … that empowers them to handle fear,
disappointment and loss in healthy ways?
What social supports exist in our communities that encourage … heart-felt tears, a
loving touch, sharing our grief with compassionate friends, or just as
importantly … empathy, self-reflection, and transformation for the good?
Our vulnerability is a
given. It’s a part of our human
condition. Let’s not deny it to suppress
our fear. Can’t we accept it with hope? Our vulnerability is a gift, it’s that shared
aspect of our humanity that makes us most able to help one another … it’s that
shared experience of powerlessness that actually empowers us to act with
compassion and generosity. We see
another’s pain and we, at some level, can experience the fear of love lost, the
despair of helplessness, the pain of a lost child … and we are transformed by
it. How will we let it change us? Will it be for the good, to work even harder
to usher in that kingdom of compassion and justice … or will it drive us into
violence and despair?
Both Zephaniah and John tell
their listeners that the Lord is coming.
One of Luke’s main messages of hope to the early church is that the
kingdom of God is at hand. It is in our
midst. That kingdom is lived out in the
lives of the baptized … through the generosity of serving, through simple acts
of kindness, through hearts that forgive, through laws and relationships that
are just. By our baptism we have chosen
to take part in that coming; the seeds have been planted in us, and rooted in
God … and for that we can be joyful! That
is something to rejoice about in troubling times. Now we need to let them sprout, bloom and
bear fruit.
It really comes down to
this. Whose brood will we be? Will we act like children of vipers, sons and
daughters of snakes? Snipping and biting at each other? Or will we choose
to live into that baptism we’ve chosen … and live as children of God. Until we are willing to stand with the
suffering, there will always be someone acting out in the loneliness of isolation. We are God’s no matter what we choose,
because we have been sealed as one of Christ’s own forever. But the joy of that baptism will elude us as a
community until we find a way to live faithfully as a brood of the One we call
God.
God’s
dream for the world may seem like a nighttime fantasy to most of us. We don’t stake our lives on it. It’s sounds so good, we can hardly believe
that it’s real. It’s utopian. It’s idealistic. It’s pie in the sky. It’s for dreamers. It’s not practical. It can never work. It’s not real. What do you believe? Do we want a different world? If we
don’t believe it, how can we expect others to believe it? If we don’t believe it, how do we expect
anyone to act on it? It takes guts to
believe in a dream that big. It takes
courage to act on a dream that big.
The good news that Advent
proclaims to us, is that God is coming
… constantly coming into our
midst. Not just in a one-time whomping
big event that gets talked about in the book of Revelation, that got everyone
in a buzz when the Left Behind
series came out. No, Advent reminds us
that God is coming in every moment. God is coming. God is coming. God is coming. God is coming now … into our midst, over and
over again, and each time God makes God’s self known to us, it is an invitation
to live into that baptism we’ve accepted, and to bring in more of the joy that
comes with God’s kingdom on earth.
That’s a joy worth living for.
That’s a joy worth working for.
That’s a joy that comes right out of the heart of God. As Dr. McMickle told those of us at
convention, it’s not pleasure, simple happiness or a cheap thrill … it’s deep joy. It’s a joy that is only God's to give. May we each have a glimpse of it, during this
Advent season, and in the coming days.
May we feel it’s current run deep within us like the cold waters of the
Jordan on our baptism day.
Amen.
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