Advent 3C; Zephaniah 3:14-20; Isa.
12:2-6; Phil. 4:4-7; Luke 3:7-18
St. Paul’s, Smithfield, NC;
12/13/2015
Jim Melnyk: “Wandering Through
Advent, Part 3”
This Advent we are using the image of labyrinth walking as a metaphor for
our Advent journey. As we move through week three of our Advent
labyrinth journey we may find ourselves surprised. In the third quarter of the labyrinth we make
a tight turn and then find ourselves on a long, wide, curve that reaches almost
completely around the circle. In fact,
one might be tempted to close one’s eyes and try to walk the curve without
looking – well I’ve tried it, anyway. I
find the long curve a welcome break from the many turns experienced toward the
end of week two. Perhaps the break is
fitting on this Sunday in Advent which we call Gaudete Sunday – the Sunday of
Advent Joy. The pink candle we light
breaks us from our more serious consideration and brightens the day.
In our first lesson for the Third Sunday in Advent the prophet
Zephaniah tells Judah who is in exile to shout out with joy! “Rejoice and exult with all your heart!” The prophet speaks of Israel’s – and by
extension our – consolation: God’s promise of Judah’s return from exile, and
God’s promise to be in her midst. The
prophet Isaiah echoes Zephaniah’s command to cry out in joy – promising Judah
that she will “draw water with rejoicing from the springs of salvation.”
Paul, someone trained in the Pharisaic tradition, was probably familiar
with both Isaiah’s and Zephaniah’s proclamations. Whether he had either of the prophets’ words
in mind or not, we’ll never know. But
Paul commands the church in Philippi to “rejoice in the Lord always!” Paul then commends the church for their
gentleness – and commands them – commands us – to let our gentleness be made
known as the Lord draws near. No fear
here. No acting good to avoid getting
smacked upside the head by a vengeful God.
Let your gentleness be made known as a way of letting others understand
that Christ is near. In the midst of a
troubling time in a less than tolerant culture, Paul promises that “the peace
of God, which surpasses all understanding, [and which] will guard [our] hearts
and [our] minds in Christ Jesus.” He reminds
us to rejoice in our new-found faith in God through Christ Jesus.
But then as the wide arc comes to a conclusion, only a couple of feet
away from where it began, we suddenly find ourselves in a series of tight,
spinning turns – sending us this way and that along the path. Once again the tight turns remind us of God’s
call to repentance – God’s call to turn and return to the One who creates us,
who loves us, and who lives within us.
Our last few steps in week three bring us directly toward the center of
the labyrinth – we turn and walk alongside that sacred center space, seemingly
sure that we’re about to step within its boundaries. And then just as suddenly
another series of tight turns sends us away from the center – catching us by
surprise the first few times we walk the path.
We are not yet ready to enter that sacred place of meeting.
Perhaps in the midst of the turns and the turning away we can hear the
wild-eyed Baptist shouting out across the centuries: “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee the wrath that is to
come?” Nobody likes being called a
snake. I don’t imagine anyone – or any
group of people – would like being called a “brood – [or a nest] – of vipers”
either. It’s just not nice. But John the Baptist isn’t all about the
niceties of life.
I don’t know about you, but I just want to get up and walk away from
his rant. Why would I, why would
anybody, want to be the subject of his wild finger pointing, or listen to his
rants about axes put to the root, and sinners thrown to the fires? It sounds so much like our dysfunctional twenty-first
century, doesn’t it – with all the finger pointing and the name calling? But despite all that I feel compelled to stay
– John is so mesmerizing – and his message begs my attention.
But why should we pay attention to this proclamation about axes and fires? We’re Episcopalians – we don’t do much of
that fire and brimstone stuff much anymore.
Sure, we talk a little about sin – especially around Lent or the times
we baptize someone or renew our Baptismal Covenant – or find ourselves talking
about John the Baptist – but really – axes and fires? The wrath to come? Fruit worthy of repentance? Me, repent? I’m not that bad! Now we’re starting to sound a bit in the face
and judgmental, aren’t we? What about
the love of God? What about sweet baby
Jesus, meek and mild lying in the manger?
We don’t get that sweetness and love from the Baptist – we get what
folks used to call “tough love” – the kind of love that says “For God’s sake,
stop what you’re doing and make some changes in your life.”
Remember from last week that the word of God comes to John – this wild-eyed
prophet in the wilderness – wearing camel hair and eating locusts and wild
honey. The word of God doesn’t come to
Pilate, or the High Priests, or Herod – the word of God comes to John, who
tells his listeners – and tells us across the ages – your power won’t save you –
your position in life won’t save you – even your Godly pedigree won’t save you. John is what one homiletics professor calls “lunatic-on-the-corner-crazy”
– so who in their right mind would listen to him? (Jason Byassee, Sojourners On Line: Preaching the Word,
12/13/2015)
It seems obvious from Luke that the ones who listen to John – the ones
who listen and hear his message – seem to be the ones who need the consolation
of God the most in their lives – those who are down-trodden and hurt – those
who have been coerced into lives of violence by the powerful.
Perhaps they listen because, as homiletics professor Jason Byassee
writes, “John’s altar call is remarkably gentle. What do we do?” [John’s
audience asks, and] John gives tepid requirements indeed – share with those who
have no coat or food, don’t collect too much tax or extort money, be satisfied
with your wages. Really? That’s it? That’s it, John says. Share. Don’t coerce.
Be content. Small as they may seem, these are… priorities that would indeed
turn the world upside down—John’s and ours.
Try them,” writes Byassee. “Go
ahead. And you’ll soon find yourself rejoicing and sorrowing, with enemies as
powerful as John’s and friends as powerful as God and God’s beloved poor.
Rejoice! For the king of the world is a poor infant, and before him the idols
fall and shatter” (ibid).
We might wonder where in the world Jesus comes up with preaching as
comforting and as staggeringly challenging as what we call the Beatitudes and
we may have found part of the source right here in John’s preaching. Jesus will come preaching the love-filled extravagance
of the kingdom of God – and all the challenges that come with making that
kingdom a reality in our present day – “Thy kingdom come,” O Lord. “Thy kingdom come!” Those words should both terrify us and fill
us with expectation and hope!
Walking the labyrinth in Advent reminds us that this period of
anticipation and preparation is not simply a time of passive reflection – though
reflection certainly plays a part.
Advent is a time of mixed emotions – of rejoicing and repenting – of hoping
and longing – of waiting and acting – a time of being and becoming what God has
created and called us to be in this world: the image of God in us alive to each
other and the world –
our becoming more and more like Christ, which is Christ’s greatest
desire for each of us.
Walking the labyrinth in Advent is gentle and quiet enough to allow us
time to consider what it means for God to be breaking not only into the world,
but into our very hearts and souls. But
at the same time we are moving forward – we are facing the twists and turns of
our lives and realizing Advent is a time of seeking as well – of asking, “What then
should we do?”
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