A sermon by Associate Minister Elsa A. Peters, December 13, 2009
Luke 3:7-18
What should we do? It’s not the question asked over and over again on a snow day. It’s not even whined by little ones going back to school. Instead, this is the question that the crowds ask John the Baptizer. What should we do? Enough with the waiting. No more preparations. They want answers. And so, the crowds eagerly ask him, What should we do?
No matter how many times John the Baptizer answers this question, the answer doesn’t sit well. And it shouldn’t. In this season where we slowly light candles one by one and remind each other over and over and over again to prepare, it’s hard not to feel like a child who doesn’t have the answers. It’s hard not to the answer like a Sunday School child that joyously answers every single question, “JESUS!” Their answer should be that simple. The story our children hear is all about Jesus. Next Sunday, when our kids transform into angels and shepherds, they’ll tell the story as it has been told to them. A baby is born. A small child came into the world to bring unexpected hope and promise for all people. It’s all they need to know. For children, the Christmas story is a simple story about love coming into the world. But, we are not children and we’re not satisfied with simple answers.
So, when we hear John the Baptizer shout, “You brood of vipers!,” we pay attention. It’s not because we don’t trust the love promised on Christmas, but instead, we’re wondering how we can possibly tell this story again when it seems that nothing has improved. I don’t have to tell you what those things are – those people and places and systems in our world that so desperately need love – you know them without me naming them. You know them so well that you are constantly asking yourself, as the crowd does, What should we do?
We want an answer to that question. And so, our ears perk up when this shouting man wades into murky waters of the chaos and disorder. What’s strange is we don’t think he’s crazy or even insulting. Sure, he’s calling us names. At any other time, we might be annoyed or even angry for such rudeness. But, now, we don’t judge because we know that “dangerous times call for direct speech.” Like those in the crowd wading into the chaos around John the Baptizer, we know that we can’t rely on the same things that we’ve always relied upon. Instead, we understand that things have to change. Something has to happen. We just don’t know what.
And so, it’s hard not to feel a little like children. It’s hard not to want to rush ahead to the joy of Christmas morning where we finally rip apart all of those beautiful packages that magically appeared under the tree over night. It’s hard not to be content with the simple answers that we offer our children. I find that to be the really amazing part of this story. It’s not that John the Baptizer is so insulting. It’s that the people in that crowd actually listened long enough to ask: What should we do? They don’t shy away from the insults singing, “Sticks and stones may break my bones.” They want to do something. They want to confront what is wrong with the world. And so, they ask individually and collectively: What should we do?
He’s already told them. They have to repent but these aren’t ordinary people asking for forgiveness. John the Baptizer is telling to tax collectors and soldiers to repent. These are people with real power in the Roman world. And John the Baptizer tells them to repent. Not just change. Not just shift their understanding. But, as in Marcus Borg and John Dominic Crossan’s The First Christmas, repentance is to “’go beyond the mind that you have,’ to enter into a new mind-set, a new way of seeing. To repent means to begin seeing differently.” John the Baptizer tells them to turn their world upside down.
During Advent, this is what we’re trying to figure out. We’re trying to figure out how we can possibly change not just our minds, but change all that is wrong with the dangerous world around us. And so, John the Baptizer earns his name in the action he invites us to take. He doesn’t ask us to just change our minds. He asks us to move with our bodies. To feel the water envelop us. To gasp for breath under the surface and be changed through a ritual action. And while it may seem like merely a bath or even a swim, it’s much more than that. To get dunked in these waters is to reject the name-calling exclusion of one system and feel the welcome of a truly inclusive community where radical generosity truly does matter. So when the crowds ask: What should we do? This is it. This is what John the Baptizer instructs. He wants them to move.
Of course, I’m still stuck on the question because it’s a tough one. So I understand the temptation to race ahead to joy. I understand not wanting to ask the question at all. I totally get it. And, I believe you can. It’s possible to race ahead to joy. Children do it all the time, but it’s all they know. The world isn’t upside down to them and shouldn’t be. So, this story isn’t for them. Instead, this is a story for those of us that know that we live in a dangerous time. This is a story for those who truly know what the opposite of love feels like and want more than anything to change it.
This is a story for all of the faithful that don’t really believe their loved. Children already know that they are loved. So, this story isn’t for them. Instead, it’s a story for you so that you will always remember to see the world differently because you are loved. It’s a story for you because God wants you to go beyond what you already know about love. And so, in God’s wild drama, John the Baptizer stands in the middle of chaos and disorder hurling insults simply so you’ll pay attention to the fact that you’re more loved than you know. God doesn’t want you just to know it. God wants you to move into it.