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THIRD SUNDAY OF ADVENT

Exhortations of Good News

Luke 3:7-18

            A preacher was once addressing his congregation, telling them how John the Baptist said to those who had come out to hear him that, if they had two cloaks, they should give one to someone who had none.
            “So,” the preacher went on, “if you had two million dollars, you’d give one million to someone else, wouldn’t you?”
            “Yes, preacher,” they said.
            “And if you had two Rolls Royce’s, you’d give one to someone who didn’t have a way to get around town, wouldn’t you?”
            “Yes, preacher,” they replied.
            “And if you had two hogs…”
             “Wait a minute, preacher,” a man shouted out.  “I have two hogs!”

We are not troubled about the coming judgment if we feel we have our bases covered.  We’re glad to hear about what other people have to do in order to get ready for what is to come.  We’re even glad to hear about what we have to do, just as long as we aren’t asked to do too much.

We get uncomfortable though when the prophet turns his gaze on us.  We start to feel the heat when he speaks directly to us.  We get hot under the collar when he tells us we must let go of something we’ve got our claws into and don’t want to let go. 

Then we get defensive.  We start offering excuses.  We protest our innocence.  “But I live a pretty good life,” we say.  “Better than most anyway!”

But, in the face of what is to come, there are no excuses.  There are no easy answers.  And no one is innocent.

For great crowds, Luke tells us, were coming out to see John the Baptist.  He addresses not just the scribes and the Pharisees.  He speaks to everyone.

You snakes! he cries.  Have you all slithered out here just to cool yourself off in the river?  It’s going to take more than that to escape the fire!  It’s your life that must change, not just your skin.  If you think you are innocent, you’re just fooling yourself.  So, what is your life really like?  Is it green and blossoming?  Or is it deadwood, ready for the fire?

The people start to ask him what they must do.  He tells the whole crowd, “If you have two coats, give one away; and do the same with your food.”  When the despised tax collectors ask, he says, “No more extortion; collect only what is required by law.”  When the hated Roman soldiers ask, he says, “No shakedowns, no blackmail, and be content with your rations.”

People were amazed at him and wondered if he might be the promised one of God.  But John told them, “You think I’m hot stuff?  Well, I’m only helping get you ready for the main event.   I’m just splashing a little water on you.  Somebody’s coming who is going to ignite a fire within you and change you from the inside out.  Everything that’s right and true will remain.  Everything that’s false will go out with the trash.”

At the conclusion of John’s preaching, Luke tells us, “So, with many other exhortations, he proclaimed the good news to the people.”  It hardly seems as if such dire warnings can be understood as good news.  Yet, in the face of impending judgment, repentance and forgiveness is good news.  The point is to sift the chaff and to burn it, not to burn the wheat.

John calls us to repentance and he calls us to bear the fruit of genuine repentance.  But the fruit itself will not save us.  It will only prepare us for the one who is to come.  If we believe that the fruit will save us we may fall into the trap of the Pharisee. 

For the One who is to come tells us that two men went up to the temple to pray – one a Pharisee; the other a tax collector.  The Pharisee went right up to the front row, raised his hands and said, ‘Thank you, Lord, that you have not made me like other people – robbers, crooks, adulterers, or, heaven forbid, like that tax man over there.  I fast twice a week and tithe on all my income.’  Meanwhile, the tax man hung back in the shadows.  He buried his face in his hands and said, “God, have mercy and forgive me, a sinner.”

If John were to confront that Pharisee, he wouldn’t tell him to fast three days a week instead of two and give 15% instead of 10%.  I think John would say, “You see that man back in the corner?  Why don’t you go over and start a conversation with him, get to know him, maybe even have coffee with him?

Genuine repentance will turn us away from our own concerns, our own possessions, our own hold on life, and bring us to our own need for God.  But it will also bring us into contact with others, especially those we need to serve.

For the One who is to come also tells us that there was a man who prepared a great dinner and sent out messengers to let people know it was time to eat.  But they all made excuses.  One said, “I just bought 40 acres of land.  I need to look over it.  Send my regrets.”  Another said, “I just bought a new truck.  I need to go check it out.  Send my regrets.”  And another said, “I just got me wife and I need to get home.  Send my regrets.”  Then the man said to his servants, “Go into the highways and byways and get everyone who looks like they need a square meal, all the misfits and outcasts and homeless, and bring them here.”  And the servants said, “We’ve done that and there’s still room.”  And the man said, “Then go out again and don’t take ‘No’ for an answer.  I want my house full.  Only don’t let the people who’ve made excuses come near the place.”

The fruits of repentance, rather than inflating our pride, teach us humility.  It may be the humility of coming smack up against the limits of our own efforts.  It might be the humility of connecting in a human way with someone we consider less fortunate than ourselves.  It might even be the humility of serving those others in love.

Nora Gallagher, in Things Seen and Unseen, tells of her own preparation for Christmas:

At the soup kitchen just before Christmas we serve a meal of turkey, cornbread stuffing, gravy, green beans, and home-made cranberry sauce.  I come in late, to serve at the salad table.  A man walks across the room toward me and tries to take a salad from the trays.  “If you want to, you can sit down,” I say.  “We’ll serve you.”
            “You’ll serve me?”
            “Yes.”
            “A sit-down meal,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief.  “A sit-down meal.”
I scoop out salad onto plates and the servers take them away.  It has a nice routine to it; I can see the whole room.  Almost all the tables are filled with men, but near me is a table of Spanish-speaking women and children.  I scoop the salad, put it on a plate, put the plate on a tray.  At one point, I turn from the salad to face the room.  It happens without warning, just as I turn.  I see the people in the room in slow motion, as if they are moving through molasses.  Their faces are shining.  A middle-aged woman walks across the room holding in front of her a plate piled with food; she smiles at the man she is about to serve.  Between them, for a second, I see a cord drawn taut, a connection of light.  Her face is lit up.  She places food in front of him, sways slightly, as if she were aboard on a ship, then rights herself and walks away.  One of the women with the children looks up.  Our eyes meet.  She points at her daughter, who is eating a huge plate of turkey and stuffing, and we both laugh.

We prepare by this, by falling down before each other.

To get ready for the coming One John the Baptist calls us to repentance, a genuine repentance that shows the fruit of a changed life.  It is not that this fruit itself that we get us ready to receive.  It is in falling down before each other.  It is in acts of humble service to others, so that when he comes to us in a stable, in a manger, poor, disregarded, even offensive, we may fall down and serve him.  And his name is Jesus.