15 December 2024 Advent 3
Zephaniah 3.14-20 A Song of Isaiah Philippians 4.4-7 Luke 3.7-18
Today is Gaudette Sunday, or ‘Rejoice’ Sunday. And Paul says it ‘in spades’ ‘Rejoice and exult with all your heart’, ‘Sing praises to the Lord, for he has done gloriously’, ‘Shout aloud and sing for joy’. Wonderful exhortations, but sometimes, they might just feel too ‘forced’, it might seem like they are using language that is not part of our ‘common vocabulary’. ‘rejoice’ or ‘exult’ are not words that are part of our normal conversations. And ‘joy’ is one of those words that sometimes feels like it is so overused, it has lost its meaning. So, how do we respond to this instruction to ‘rejoice’ and ‘exult’. What if we are not feeling particularly joyful, or even mildly happy; what if rejoicing is the last thing on our minds because of how our lives are turning to custard.
Luckily, our lectionary does not leave us ‘out on a limb’. Our Gospel saves us, John the Baptist comes in with language that would silence any cheering crowd. ‘You brood of vipers’ he shouts across the wilderness. ‘Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bear fruits worthy of repentance’. Wow. Harsh. I wonder, when was the last time you were called a viper? These are hard words for hard lives.
According to Luke, huge crowds were streaming into the wilderness to get yelled at by John. And we would have to ask ‘Why’? What was it in this fire-and-brimstone preaching that made them, not just willing, but eager, to hear it. What attracted them.
And the first clue is in the question they ask him at the end of his sermon. ‘What should we do?’ This is not a question that people ask when things are going well. This is not something that needs to be asked if everything in front of me is ‘as I expected it’, or ‘according to plan’. This is a question that says – I have run out of ideas, I don’t know where I am supposed to be going or what I am supposed to be doing, I’m at my wits end, at the end of my tether. This question speaks of desperation.
So here is the challenge. Is this a question we are asking during this season of Advent. As we wait in darkness, as we look forward with expectation to the coming of the Messiah, are we engaging in the kind of robust ‘self-reflection’ that leads to action. Or have we become smug, complacent and sluggish. Are we streaming, like the crowds, toward genuine repentance, or are we turning away, offended that repentance has a place in the Christmas Story.
John’s answer gives us another clue. Try, if you can, to picture this wild beast of a man, rough, bearded, hairy, wearing camel skin and eating locusts; I suspect this is not the sort of man that most of us would approach willingly. And what does the crowd expect the answer to their question will be, - do they expect him to tell them - leave your home and kin; spend time in the desert start a revolution?. And, given his demeanour and appearance, a revolution would not be unexpected or ‘out of character’ for John. But this radical character gives them an answer that is even more radical, in fact it is so radical we are in danger of missing it. What should you do? You should go home.
Go home to your family, your neighbours, your occupations, your colleagues. Stop running away. Stop insisting that God is far removed from the nitty-gritty dailiness of your lives. Instead of waiting for a holy somebody that will never come, inhabit the stuff of your life as deeply and generously as you can right now. Share now. Be merciful now. Do justice now. Inhabit your life, no matter how simple, or obscure, or unglamorous, or routine, it is. Why? Because the holy ground that matters most is the ground beneath your feet.
To the tax collectors, John says ‘collect no more than you are owed’; to the soldiers, ‘do not extort money by threats or false accusations and be satisfied with your wages’; to the Pharisees and Sadducees ‘don’t allow your religious heritage to make you arrogant or complacent’. To everyone who has anything ‘you have gifts to give, stop hoarding, stop procrastinating, stop making excuses, the day of repentance is now’.
What John is daring to suggest is that holiness is not the ethereal or mysterious thing we like to make it. If we are willing to look closely, if we are willing to believe that nothing in our lives is too mundane or secular for God, then we will understand that all the possibilities for salvation we need are embedded in the lives God has already given us. The kingdom of heaven is here, within and among us.
What does this mean? It means we have work to do. Work that is so ordinary, it may well disappoint us. Put simply, John calls us to all be honest, kind, and hardworking, and in case you think these qualities don’t matter much. Consider for a moment what it would be like if our political candidates all acted this way; what would it be like if our elected leaders, our police, our armed forces acted this way. And before you think it is just others who need to act this way, what would it be like if we left here this morning looking for opportunities to be honest, kind, and hardworking. Because really, extraordinary acts of grace are within the reach of ordinary people. Are we able to believe, and act on the belief, that being honest and kind and hardworking in a society that is short-tempered, impatient, and fearful, really makes a difference. That is part of John’s message – and Jesus’ witness – that precisely because God has promised to redeem all creation in due time, we are free – right here, right now – to tend the little corner of the world in which we live. There is, according to John and Jesus, no such thing as small gestures, but there are varied, and contagious, acts of both random and intentional kindness and honesty that really do make a difference in the world, particularly when caught up in the faith that in Jesus, God has drawn near to shower us with the good news of grace, mercy and redemption.
The thing is, crusty and old as John may be, he understands something hard about joy. Joy is not a sentiment. Joy is not happiness. Joy is not cheap. ‘bear fruits worthy of repentance’ John tells the crowd. Bear fruit. But bear it, carry it, shoulder it, endure it. Your life is a golden field, ripe for sacred fire. Fire may hurt, but the One who wields the flame is trustworthy. This One knows you. This One sees you. This One loves you. And this One will gather you with joy.