Joel D. Kline
December 14, 2003
Highland Avenue Church of the Brethren
The Third Sunday of Advent
When the Gospel writers portray John the Baptist as a voice crying in the wilderness, they are drawing upon imagery that would have been quite familiar to the people of that day. Chapter forty of Isaiah speaks of a voice crying out:
In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord,
make straight in the desert a highway for our God.
Every valley shall be lifted up,
and every mountain and hill be made low;
the uneven ground shall become level,
and the rough places a plain.
Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed,
and all people shall see it together … (40:3-5).
These words in Isaiah were spoken to a people who lived in unspeakable darkness and despair, for their homeland, Jerusalem, and the Temple, dwelling place of God, had been destroyed. Further, many of the people had been forcefully carried off into exile in Babylon, cut off from all that had been familiar in their lives. But rather than urging the people to wallow in grief and pain, the prophet invites them to begin imagining something new: the creation of a highway through the wilderness, over which God and the people might return to the holy city.
Several chapters earlier, in Isaiah 35, the prophet imagines the desert being transformed in anticipation of the return from exile:
The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad,
the desert shall rejoice and blossom;
like the crocus it shall blossom abundantly,
and rejoice with joy and singing …Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened,
and the ears of the deaf unstopped;
then the lame shall leap like a deer,
and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy.
For waters shall break forth in the wilderness,
and streams in the desert…And the ransomed of the Lord shall return,
and come to Zion with singing;
everlasting joy shall be upon their heads;
they shall obtain joy and gladness,
and sorrow and sighing shall flee away (Isaiah 35:1-2, 5-6, 10).
Among the most recurring themes in the Scriptures, this conviction may be the most intriguing, that precisely when life is bleakest, this is not the time to give up, but a time to look up, a time to anticipate the coming of something markedly new. For the Gospel writers to identify John the Baptist as a voice crying in the wilderness was to assert that John was indeed the forerunner of something radically new, something so profound that it was akin to the desert beginning to blossom, and streams of living water breaking forth in the wilderness. Is it any wonder that John’s listeners, hearing this remarkable message, asked him on a number of occasions, “What then shall we do? How ought we prepare for this remarkable event? What are we supposed to do now?”
“Bear fruit worthy of repentance,” John the Baptist shouts in the wilderness. The Greek word for repentance, metanoia, literally means to turn one’s mind around, to take on a whole new identity. J. B. Phillips translates the Baptist’s words, “See that your lives prove that your hearts are really changed.” In order words, embark upon a journey of transformation.
The crowds who initially hear John’s call to repentance are the first to question, “What then should we do?” John responds by asserting that it is time to put to an end a lifestyle based upon greed and centered upon the accumulation of material possessions. “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.”
Two other groups of people question, “What are we supposed to do?” The first are the tax collectors, so despised in that day because of serving as agents of the hated Roman oppressors. “Collect no more than the amount proscribed to you,” comes the answer. In other words, refrain from exploiting your position for personal gain at the expense of others. A group of soldiers, no less hated than the tax collectors by the crowd of the day, also ask this question, and they too are admonished by John, “Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.”
With each response John the Baptist is calling his listeners to embrace an ethical lifestyle, a manner of living that respects the integrity of others and assumes that the redeemed have a responsibility to serve those in need. The challenge is to live, not for ourselves alone, but for the good of the larger community. The charge is to allow our hearts, and our actions, to be transformed by God’s spirit of compassion and loving-kindness.
In an article in Weavings: A Journal of the Christian Spiritual Life, theology professor Doris Donnelly reminds us that the gospel of Jesus Christ invites us to think beyond the usual. Asserts Donnelly, “We are invited to think beyond this life … We are invited to think and to hope beyond parameters, beyond the doubts scattered in our paths, beyond those who think accepting the status quo is the best course. We are invited to imagine a different world …” To envision new possibilities for living; to dream of peace and justice as living reality, not just an idle dream; to consider new ways of walking in the Spirit of Christ—this is what it means to embrace metanoia, repentance.
In the familiar Christmas carol, “It Came Upon a Midnight Clear,” we sang the words:
And you, beneath life’s crushing load, whose forms are bending low,
who toil along the climbing way with painful steps and slow:
Look now! For glad and golden hours come swiftly on the wing.
O rest beside the weary road, and hear the angels sing.
Advent is a time to rest beside the weary road, and listen for the song of the angels. But we rest in order to find new strength and discern new vision for living. Our times of quiet rest and renewal guide into times of action, embracing the call of the gospel to love and serve both God and neighbor, to say no to every course of action based on self-seeking, to let go of our limited vision and take hold of God’s vision for life.
Robert McAfee Brown once wrote,
Where there is beauty apparent, we are to enjoy it;
where there is beauty hidden, we are to unveil it;
where there is beauty defaced, we are to restore it;
where there is no beauty at all, we are to create it.
The story is told of a monk named Telemachus, late in the fourth century, who, in the face of an increasingly corrupt church and society, withdrew into the desert to live a life of solitude, a life of prayer and meditation and fasting. But as time went on, Telemachus became convinced that something critical was missing. During a time of prayer it suddenly dawned on Telemachus that his life was based, not on a selfless love, but on a selfish love of God. The monk determined that he needed to return to the city and put his faith into action in relationship with others.
Telemachus set out for Rome, the central city of that day, a city that had become, by this time, officially “Christian.” But the tradition of gladiator games in the arena continued. No longer were Christians thrown to the lions, but those captured in war now were forced to fight and kill each other, as entertainment for the population.
When Telemachus arrived in Rome, he followed the gathering crowds to the arena, and was appalled when he heard the gladiators shout their greeting, “Hail, Caesar! We who are about to die salute you!” As the fights began and the allegedly Christian crowd roared for blood, Telemachus could not stand by indifferently. Instead, the monk jumped over the barrier and placed himself between the gladiators. For a moment the fighting stopped, but then the anxious crowd began to shout, “Let the games go on.” The monk was pushed aside, but once again Telemachus attempted to bring an end to the bloody competition. This time the crowd began to hurl stones at Telemachus, and without much thought, shouted at the gladiators to kill the monk. The commander of the games gave an order; a gladiator’s sword rose and flashed; and Telemachus lay dead.
Suddenly the crowd was silenced, the people shocked and dismayed that they had been a part of killing a monk in such a crass way. Instantly they saw the gladiator games for what they were, “games” characterized by a brutal and callous disregard for human life. Through his death, Telemachus was able to do what he could not do in life. The gladiator games that ended abruptly that day never resumed. Where Telemachus saw no beauty at all, he sought to create it; where previously there had been cruel inhumanity, the monk worked to bring a word of life and love and hope and peace.
During the Advent season some years ago Washington Post columnist Colman McCarthy observed that the coming of Jesus Christ “was the beginning of an improbable kingdom” and that throughout history, very few of those who would call themselves followers of Jesus have fully embraced the kingdom of God and its radically transforming nature. McCarthy then went on to assert that Christmas joy is marked by humanity being summoned to celebrate and embrace this improbability, and to rejoice in the Nativity moment when new vision and new possibilities are given to us.
With those early hearers of John the Baptist, we may well ask, “What are we supposed to do?” The answer remains clear: begin to live now in the light of God’s improbable kingdom. See that your lives prove that your hearts have really changed. Become peacemakers and ambassadors of love and hope, all in the name of the One whose holy birth we celebrate this season. Embrace new possibilities as the people of God. Serve God wholeheartedly, and love neighbor as you love yourself. Look up, rather than give up. Rejoice in God’s glorious gift, born among us on a holy night long ago. Celebrate the wonder of God’s incredible love for all humanity.
May this be the calling that brings meaning, wholeness, and joy to our living. Amen.
Lord God, with the angles we anticipate the promised coming of Jesus into the world—a birth that promises peace, that carries hope, that creates joy, that speaks of love beyond measure.
O God, our God, how incredible is your grace and loving-kindness. We can scarcely fathom how deep and wide and broad and long is the reach of your love, and yet we come this day praying that you would transform our hearts—and indeed, the hearts of the whole world—and plant a new song of joy and hope in our spirits.
Gracious God, forgive us when we become so involved in the scurry and bustle of this season that we no longer see and experience its radical power of love. Slow us down, Lord, and grant us eyes to see your presence in the beauty of creation, in the life of a neighbor in need, in the improbable story of angles appearing to lowly shepherd and a Savior born to a poor young couple that has journeyed to Bethlehem.
O God, in this Advent season, may we also journey to Bethlehem, to that unexpected place where dreams are born, where new vision comes alive, where life is made new by your compassion and goodness and grace.
Hear us now, holy God, as we remember those who need a special touch of your healing care this day…
God of peace, we yearn for that day when nations no longer teach the ways of war, when the lion and the lamb lie together, when swords are beaten into plowshares and bombs transformed into instruments of healing and wholeness. We pray, God, for the people of Iraq, and we ask that you would guide all creation in paths of peace and justice.
May your kingdom come, holy God. May your will be done, here and now on earth, even as it is in heaven. Through Christ our Redeemer we pray. Amen.