Joel D. Kline
Highland Avenue Church of the Brethren
December 12, 2004
The Third Sunday of Advent
The cast had rehearsed the show for weeks, pleased with their production, and the crowds who came each evening to witness the amateur creation shared their appreciation. But as the final performance neared, the star of the show found himself increasingly concerned that the production was becoming stale, and so, without signaling his fellow cast members ahead of time, he did the opposite of what had long been rehearsed at a critical moment in the flow of the drama. His fellow dramatists all jumped like startled rabbits, as if they had been practicing the move for ages. The audience loved it, and the atmosphere was electric. It was not what the other cast members had expected, but it was better than they had dared to hope.
N.T. Wright, canon theologian at Westminster Abbey, suggests that the events described in Matthew, chapter eleven, have much the same quality. Jesus is not doing what the people are expecting of him. Many, none more so that John the Baptist, anticipate an Elijah-like character who would call down fire upon his opponents. But instead Jesus proclaims the unfolding kingdom of God by healing the lame and the blind, extending compassion to the broken, reaching out to those on the fringes of society, restoring the lost. Unlike the fellow cast members in the amateur play, John the Baptist—and many of his cronies—seems unable to grasp this new thing that Jesus is doing. John does not yet recognize that, even though Jesus does not readily fit John’s expectations, he nevertheless is doing something far better than John had ever dared to imagine!
To the Baptist, noted for proclaiming a message of repentance with an air of menacing threat, Jesus seems to be working from a totally different script, and John finds the change confusing. In his book Peculiar Treasures: A Biblical Who’s Who Frederick Buechner writes:
Where John preached grim justice and pictured God as a steely-eyed thresher of grain, Jesus preached forgiving love and pictured God as the host at a marvelous party or a father who can’t bring himself to throw his children out even when they spit in his eye. Where John said people had better save their skins before it was too late, Jesus said it was God who saved their skins, and even if you blew your whole bankroll on liquor and sex like the Prodigal Son, it still wasn’t too late. Where John ate locusts and wild honey in the wilderness with the church crowd, Jesus ate what he felt like in Jerusalem with as sleazy a bunch as you could expect to find. Where John crossed to the other side of the street if he saw any sinners heading his way, Jesus seems to have preferred their company to the WCTU, the Stewardship Committee, and the World Council of Churches rolled into one. Where John baptized, Jesus healed.
Jesus apparently took this morning’s text from Isaiah 35 as one of his scripts. It is a text set in the context of the Exile, that bleak period in Israel’s history when much of its leadership was forced to live in Babylon, cut off from their beloved homeland. Isaiah 35 promises a time of transformation as the people return to Jerusalem from their exile, a time when the very desert will blossom forth as a fertile garden and those who are broken shall be restored to fullness of life. Hear again these words from the prophet:
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…
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 (35:5-6, 10).
What Isaiah envisions is a total remake, a complete re-creation, a total reversal of life as it is currently experienced. Ours is a redeeming God, affirms the prophet—a God who will restore all creation. The wilderness will be transformed. The desert will blossom. Wild animals will be tamed. The broken will be healed. Captives will be set free. For God knows we cannot reform ourselves, on our own strength alone. Ancient Israel had to go through the dread onslaught of foreign invaders and a time of exile. Something had to die in order for life to be recreated and reborn. So it was for the people in the days of Jesus as well, and so it is for us. Those who would cling to life as we know it will lose life, while those willing to die to the old order will experience new and abundant life and peace and joy.
Comforting words, at one level, yet at the same time frightening words. Comforting, because the inherent goodness of God is affirmed—this portrayal of God yearning for us to experience forgiveness and grace, healing and compassion, new life emerging out of the old. But it is also a message that threatens, for it reminds us that we are not masters of our own fate. We need a power, a strength, far beyond our own. We must let go of our self-centeredness and self-possession, if we are to embrace the wonder of God’s gracious love.
The story is told of a fellow who found the cocoon of a butterfly, and watched in fascination for several hours as the butterfly struggled to force its body through the small opening that appeared in the cocoon. But seemingly all of a sudden the butterfly stopped making any progress. Concerned, the fellow decided, after some time, that the butterfly had gotten as far as it could on its own, and so he decided to offer assistance. Taking a pair of scissors, he snipped off the remaining bit of cocoon, and the butterfly was able to emerge easily.
Problem is, the butterfly came forth with a swollen body and tiny shriveled wings. The man continued to watch the butterfly, anticipating that, at any moment, the wings would enlarge and expand to support the body which, he assumed, would contract in time. But neither happened! In fact, the butterfly spent its short life crawling around with a swollen body and shriveled wings, never able to fly. The man’s actions, though well-intentioned, circumvented the struggle that would have forced fluid into the butterfly’s wings so that it would be ready for flight as soon as it achieved freedom from the cocoon.
Truth is, at the very time when life seems most out of control, God may well be doing something remarkable in our hearts and lives. From John the Baptist’s perspective, languishing in prison, impatient to see the message of God’s kingdom go forward, life could not have seemed more out of control. And while imprisoned the Baptist receives reports of Jesus acting in ways that do not easily fit his expectations of a promised Messiah wreaking fire and wrath upon sinful creation. So John sends several of his followers to confront Jesus. “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” (Matthew 11:3).
It’s our question as well, is it not? What do we do when Jesus does not act in ways that make sense to us? When life seems out of control, dare we trust Jesus as the one who is to come, or should we be looking for someone else to serve as our Redeemer? Is it possible that God is in fact, even now, doing something remarkable in our hearts and lives, even though we little sense it? Dare we trust the promise of Jesus, that God is present with us, that even now God is at work within us and among us? In a world accustomed to imposing its will upon others, what are we to make of a God who acts in God’s own time, a God who urges us to embrace an alternative experience of power—the power of servanthood, the power of compassion, the power of gracious acceptance and love, the power of new life? Are we willing to place our trust in a God who chooses to work, frequently in unnoticed ways, in us and through us and among us—and sometimes in spite of us—to bring about the day of transformation when the redeemed shall return to God’s presence with singing and joy?
The shocking truth at the heart of the gospel is that you and I are confronted with a choice—whether we will go our own way, whether we will be satisfied with business as usual, or whether we shall embrace a new vision, whether we shall trust that God is planting a new purpose and direction for our living, deep in our hearts. In an article in The Other Side magazine professor of religion Richard Horsley reminds us that the Gospel narratives concerning the birth of Jesus were in fact subversive narratives. In an era in which the Roman Emperor was being extolled as redeemer of the world, as creator of a new peace in the world—Pax Romana, peace imposed by Roman power—in such an era, the Gospel writers dare to announce the coming of a new Savior, one who stands in radical opposition to the imperial Savior. In a time when worship of Caesar was being demanded throughout the Roman Empire, when Caesar was being defined as savior and lord, the Gospel writers dare to assert that the true Redeemer and Lord is born among the poorest of the poor in an out-of-the-way corner of the world, and that this Redeemer, Jesus, shall bring peace, not through military power and coercion, but through the gift of redeeming and recreating love.
Writes Richard Horsley,
It is difficult to imagine two more different saviors than Caesar Augustus and Jesus, or the dramatically different values they represent. The first stood at the apex of a worldwide domination system, whose “salvation” was manifest in hierarchical imperial power relationships…The newly born Messiah of Israel, laid in a feeding trough, was the very opposite of a symbol of dominant power. He represented the hopes and aspirations of a subject people yearning to be free from the exploitative imperial system that controlled their lives and devastated their communities.
We still face the choice of Saviors today…. The challenge of the Gospel stories of Jesus’ birth goes far beyond a simple call to “put Christ back in Christmas.” These stories force us to discern the powers at work in our world; they unmask, with uncanny literary skill, the injustices and violence that wreak havoc on human communities—while at the same time inviting us to envision a new world, a new peace, a new salvation. Ultimately, the stories ask us to decide; to pledge allegiance.
Speaking to the ancient Israelites who have entered the Promised Land, Joshua urges them, “Choose this day whom you will serve”(Joshua 24:15). A similar choice confronted the first followers of Jesus, and that choice is ours yet today. In a world still waiting to see the lame leap for joy and to hear the speechless sing for joy—in such a world the Advent season nevertheless prods us to take on new vision, a new allegiance, to place our trust in the One who, even now, us doing something far better than we dare imagine. Jesus’ instructions to the disciples of John are our instructions as well: “Go and tell…what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them” (Matthew 11:4-5). The One who is to come, even Jesus Christ—this is the One who brings hope to our lives, who offers peace in our relationships, and who fills our hearts with joy and singing. Thanks be to God! Amen.
God of compassion and grace, listen to us as we come praying, yearning to experience a fresh taste of your Spirit. You have planted within us, O God, hearts longing for peace, hearts aching to embrace good rather than malice, reconciliation rather than animosity and rancor, healing rather than willful pride. Yet we confess that our pride does indeed often get in the way, keeping us from the fullness of life you have created us to experience. O God, send your Spirit of power upon us. Transform our fear into hope and courage, our brokenness into new possibilities.
We remember, holy God, those who find the joy of Christmas hard to bear. A loved one is at a distance; an old wound festers; a tragic loss threatens to overwhelm; a grief tears at the heart. God of healing, bring wholeness to those who are hurting. In this Advent season, when many are drawn more to the mall than to the ancient story of Bethlehem, renew in us the touch of your Spirit’s grace and power and peace and joy.
Compassionate God, hear us now as we hold in your light and love those in special need of healing. We pray for…
God of all life, hear these our prayers. Bring your kingdom among us, that we might live and proclaim the gospel of your love, made visible in the coming of Christ Jesus. O God, grant us your Spirit of peace, of power, of grace. Amen.