In the John the Baptizer, we encounter the very revelation of God. An encounter we have to recognize is also with us.
Stories
Advent 2C | Luke 3:1-6
Last weekend, as we gathered for Thanksgiving with my parents, my sister and her family, one of the things we talked about was history. Specifically the high-school history classes my niece and nephew are taking. We talked about the curriculum, with its attachment to early human development, Native Americans, and the Enlightenment in Europe.
But what they spoke about primarily was the absence of narrative and consequence. What they were learning was all names and dates (who hasn’t complained about that part), but not how any of these events lead to what happens next. Without the connective tissue of consequence, it strains the purpose of learning anything.
We might have learned that those who do not remember the past are doomed to repeat it. But I am more concerned with a half-remembered past devoid of what makes it important to remember: as in what did it lead to. It would mean that we remember only that the Holocaust happened and not how. Or why. Or most importantly, how we would prevent another.
It is a way of removing ourselves from our environment. And our responsibility.
Our gospel reveals consequence.
We don’t just encounter a man named John in an ambiguous time and place. That it could be any time. Any place. A random figure. Stranger. Without environment, context, or place in the story.
But that’s not what we get.
We have already met John—and we have met his parents. Elizabeth and Zechariah. In the first two chapters of Luke, we learn of their place: Aunt to Mary, mother of Jesus, and the other: a priest “who belonged to the priestly order of Abijah.”
We also know that they encounter Jesus before he is even born and Zechariah is silenced by God and given his voice again.
The evangelist we know as Luke has also given us a time, marking who was ruling the known world. And a place: “all the region around the Jordan”.
To us, these all could be just names and dates. And perhaps characters. The people in these funny little stories that we can remember and then move on from. The very definition of trivia.
Or this could be something we acknowledge and learn from.
The consequence of this history.
While John just appears from the wilderness in the story, we meet him after his parents’ encounter with angels and God’s intervention. He himself is the igniting element of divine revelation for his parents!
His father, Zechariah, the priest, was visited by an angel who told him he would become a father. And because he didn’t believe the angel, God stole Zechariah’s voice. Now, don’t worry, he gets it back. When his son is born. And what does he do with that voice? He proclaims the greatness of God.
Zechariah is not just a witness to a miracle. He becomes an aspect of the miracle. One that other people can witness and see.
John comes from that miracle and grew up in a home with people who experienced the miracle. He is the tangible product of that experience.
The evangelist also locates the adult John in a time and place.
It isn’t just where he comes from, but who he is in this space. How he relates to it.
And this space is ruled by an emperor, notorious kings, and high priests who collaborate with the occupying empire. It is a time of great longing for freedom and grave disappointment in their civic and religious leaders. There is little trust in authority and even less faith in the idea that anyone in charge of anything cares about the people under their authority.
For them, this was the consequence of the leaders cozying up to Rome. Or, perhaps more accurately, being bought off by the occupiers. And therefore the people are left with a sense that nothing can actually be accomplished. I know that’s probably hard to imagine, but you know…give it a try.
And all this disappointment, anger, frustration, fear, resignation, and malaise is stewing when John begins preaching a message of repentance.
Repent!
Now, we might have a pretty negative response to the word: repentance. Because we often associate it with people shouting at other people to repent. Or it is on signs along with messages of hate. Or perhaps we were in the room at Holypalooza when that young man told us we needed to repent…after already confessing our sins, by the way.
But repent simply means to turn, as in to go in a different way.
When we’re on the right track, repentance doesn’t make any sense to us. But when we feel off, like things aren’t working out? It is a whole different thing.
When John preaches repentance, like when Jesus preaches repentance, we aren’t being told that we are bad. They invite us to align with God’s dream.
Remember the story of the pious young man? The one who comes to Jesus looking to figure out life and be assured that he’s all good with God. That he’s a “good person”. And Jesus is like, yeah, there’s only one thing left to do: sell your stuff, give the money to the poor, and follow me.
Jesus offers him a new way. A way that puts him on a different course.
That is repentance.
All these people who gather around John are looking at the world and saying to themselves this is not what I want from my life! And this guy is telling them that they can change things.
That Feeling
I don’t know what brought you here today. Or the first time. Some of us have been doing this church thing as long as we’ve been alive. But I’m sure you know this feeling.
The feeling that something isn’t right. And you want help making it right.
Repentance begins by looking at the life you know and saying “how’s that working out for ya?” All that selfishness and greed. Working like a slave. Snapping at strangers or the people you love. Is that working for you or not?
If not, here’s a new way of being.
Repentance is an invitation of peace.
And when we realize this, those associations with angry people telling us to repent feel even further from the mark. Because repentance isn’t a scold, but an invitation to live in the kin-dom now.
Now, don’t get me wrong, this isn’t easy. When Jesus invited the pious young man to repent, he ran away crying. But the pious young man also didn’t understand the message. Because repentance isn’t about being good. That isn’t even a question with God: you are good! The question is how we live.
It is way easier to make this about who we think we are than how we behave. Or more precisely, how we make community.
And this has a lot to do with the consequences that come from our stories. It isn’t just who we are or what we want.
Our lives always impact other lives.
John invites the people into repentance, by seeking forgiveness for sins. Again, not because the people are bad. But also, it’s not because we all do bad things. We seek forgiveness because hurting each other hurts the kin-dom. And the way we can be restored and made whole is if we seek forgiveness for doing that.
It’s about consequences. And the need to restore community afterward.
That looks like seeking forgiveness for withholding love. Or compassion. For ignoring the plight of the poor. Supporting systems which steal widow’s homes and deprive the sick of healthcare.
We seek forgiveness for messing up the planet we live on. Not knowing how to get out of it. And not moving fast enough to fix it.
We all need a new way.
None of us is perfect. We haven’t figured it all out. Walking the true way to God’s heavenly glory. We’re all a bit messed up. But that also means that we are all in need of that grace.
Let this be our new story: that we leave our obsession with our lack and move toward God’s abundance. Away from our imperfection and toward God’s goodness.
And let us write that story on our hearts. Full of rich characters whose love moves mountains, whose compassion saves lives, and whose commitment to neighbors protects them from violence. This is our story. A story we live for.