Here at St. Peter Lutheran Church, Saturday worship on December 6 was the children’s Christmas program. Since the elevator to the sanctuary was in the process of being repaired, we held it in fellowship hall!
This sermon was preached therefore only on Sunday, December 7, the second Sunday in Advent, year A. The texts for this week are Isaiah 11:1-10 and Matthew 3:1-12. Thanks to two funerals this week and baby preparations, this sermon is very similar to my Advent 2 sermon from December 4, 2016.
Last night, the Sunday School kids had a great time putting on their Christmas program. Even if you weren’t there last night, I imagine most of you have seen a children’s Christmas pageant.
I have fond memories of dressing up as a barnyard animal in the stable as a little kid, and being Joseph when I was a little older. I think my one line was “Please, my wife and I are very tired and have traveled a long way. Is there any room for us in the inn?”
Two of the Gospels, Matthew and Luke, tell that familiar Christmas story, the one most of us know, the version with Mary and Joseph traveling to Bethlehem and Mary giving birth to little baby Jesus and laying him in a manger.
John’s gospel tells the story from a different perspective. If you were here for Advent worship on Wednesday, you heard Pastor Joan talk about it. John in cosmic terms, with the light breaking into the darkness and the Word becoming flesh. Mark’s gospel doesn’t even mention the Christmas story. That’s not the important part for him.
And yet, all four of the Gospels tell about this character we meet today, John the Baptist. Something about this guy and his message is important, perhaps even more important than the details of Jesus’ birth.
If you paid attention to that reading, you might have realized John the Baptist is not a good fit for people who like religion nice and organized. He doesn’t appeal to people who like to gather in the still, quiet peace of Christmas Eve, singing carols in the candle-light. I’m not even sure he’s good for the energetic, cute chaos of a children’s program. John’s message is more urgent, more demanding. “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”
The way Matthew tells it, John the Baptist is a sort of wild man, a religious radical. He’s wearing strange, simple clothing made of camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he’s out there in the wilderness.
We know from Luke’s version who John’s parents were, and that he’s Jesus’ cousin, but in today’s reading, all we’re told is John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness of Judea.
He’s a mysterious, compelling figure, the kind of fire and brimstone preacher we don’t see much today, the kind of prophetic voice no longer common even then in Israel. He seems to be living on a diet of locusts and honey, eating bugs for lunch, as a sign of the urgency of his message. He doesn’t have time for anything else, anything fancier.
Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.
And his message isn’t especially appealing either. When I prepare sermons, I pay attention to my wording, and I think about trying not to offend people in church.
John the Baptist has no such fears. He’s never heard of political correctness. Pharisees and Sadducees, religious leaders, upstanding citizens curious about his message come to him, and he doesn’t hold back. He calls them out. “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?”
You think you’re safe because Abraham is one of your ancestors?
You think God owes you something you because your parents raised you to go to church?
You think this message is only for those others, the really sinful ones?
Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees, every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.
This is not a nice message. You don’t go hear John preach, and shake his hand afterwards and say, “Nice sermon today, Mr. Baptist.”
And yet, wrapped up in his radical, abrasive warnings, behind his strange clothes and insults, there is a message of hope. There is a call to peace, a promise of new life. John’s demand of repentance is the first step, not the last word.
Repent…for the kingdom of heaven has come near. Repent, not to dwell in guilt or shame, but because God offers something better than the junk you’re hanging on to.
To repent means to turn around, to stop what you are doing. It means to apologize and say you’re sorry, but it’s more than that. Repenting means changing your life, re-orienting your life towards God. It means recognizing the kingdom of heaven is near, and so this world isn’t everything.
This is a message for desperate people, for people in trouble. John’s first audience is not the well-off Pharisees and religious leaders; he’s speaking to the poor, the suffering, the ones at the edge of giving up. The people who urgently need a sign of hope, an indication that God cares about them too. John speaks to the ones who have been waiting for centuries for a messiah, a savior, the people at the end of their rope.
When you’re in a desperate situation, when you’re next to a hospital bed, when your house is on fire, when the enemy is threatening your homeland, when there’s not enough to pay the bills, you don’t want a nice, calmly mundane message that it’s ok, because God is somewhere watching over you.
When you’re in the wilderness where John comes from, you need something more blunt, more visceral. Repent, turn around, change your whole life, because the kingdom of heaven is near, and that means everything changes. God is breaking in.
John’s message is for the hopeless, the overwhelmed, the ones who need the world to be flipped around, the ones in the shadows who need the light to break through.
It’s the image in the first verse of the Isaiah reading. Get out your bulletin and read that first sentence with me, on the back of the bulletin, from Isaiah 11. “A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots.”
In Isaiah’s time, Israel’s glory days are long behind it. The Jesse he mentions is the father of King David, the greatest king of Israel who reigned hundreds of years earlier.
Since David’s time, the monarchy has fallen apart. The kingdom has split, the people have been defeated and taken into exile. The promise that God gave to Israel of an everlasting kingdom seems forgotten. The family tree of Israel has been cut off. All that’s left is a useless, dead stump, the corpse of a kingdom, the relic of a promise.
And yet, Isaiah promises, this is not the end. God is still faithful. A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots. In the wilderness, in the moment when all hope seems lost, God will act.
Out of death comes life. Out of betrayal at a last supper comes the promise of God’s presence.
Out of a brutal execution on a cross comes salvation and love for the whole world.
Out of the tomb comes resurrection.
And this new life, this new hope, this promise changes everything.
No more will there be war, or suffering, no more hurt or destruction on God’s holy mountain, in the kingdom of heaven.
No more school shootings, or cop killings.
No more cancer, or starvation, or flooding.
No more racism or hatred.
Instead, the wolf shall live with the lamb, a calf shall lie down with a lion, and a little child shall lead them all.
Justice and mercy shall prevail. Peace and love will triumph. The whole earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord. Everything changes.
As we’ll hear on Christmas Eve, “The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who lived in a land of deep darkness— on them light has shined.”
Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is near. The light is coming.
A voice cries in the wilderness, “Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.” Don’t let anything block God from coming, don’t let anything stand in the way of God’s promise.
For those in the wilderness, this is good news. No matter how desperate the situation looks right now, no matter how bad whatever’s going on might be, no matter how dead the stump looks, God is coming.
Not because of any credentials you have, or how good you are. Not because of who your parents are, or how long you’ve been in church, but because God has promised to come, and God is faithful.
Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is near. Come quickly, Lord Jesus. Amen.