“Prepare the way!” How often have we heard these words over the past two weeks, if not earlier?. When we think of preparing for Christmas, we conjure up images of that corner in the attic, lots of totes and boxes, praying for weather that is at least warm enough for you to hang the lights outside before we get any busier.
I don’t know about you, but I am literally trying to “make straight in the desert a highway,” as the scripture says, though in my case it is more like a jungle that desperately needs a machete to clear as much as a path in order to get those boxes and totes downstairs in the first place. Whatever we need to do before Christmas, we are, in a sense, preparing by coming out of a wilderness.
We might think of wilderness in various ways. Here are two. First as rough, barren land unsuitable for farming. Second as an area outside of the control of the nearest city, where we can ponder in quiet and solitude.
What a contrast to the 21st century, where we have such a cacophony that it becomes difficult to hear the word of God. A 24/7 city has perhaps too much to offer, too many distractions that the word becomes one thing among many. We might even think of Sunday morning worship as the wilderness, a time to shut off the noise of the world and listen to the word of God, A time to turn off cell phones, place to one side the little issues that nag at us, and give our concentration to things eternal.
Our wilderness doesn’t need to be a deserted, wild or desolate place. The point is simply that it is a different place from where we came, or where we are trying to go. It can either be retreating to a quieter place, or even plunging into greater cacophony as a way to distract ourselves the cares or mundane things in life. This is quite easy to do as Christmastime seemingly approaches - which is now practically before Halloween. But there is a voice that calls us out of our respective wildernesses, a voice that alerts us, wakes us, challenges us — that voice that indeed is crying , “Prepare the way of the Lord!”
What sort of wilderness are you coming from today? What brings you here this morning? If you could put it into words, what do you have to proclaim in your life today?
Today marks the second Sunday in Advent. By the end of the week, we’ll be more than halfway through to Christmas. Our second candle on the Advent wreath is the Bethlehem candle that stands for faith. In our Psalm reading today, we hear from the old prophet Zechariah - his song in Luke 1 - as well as the Gospel, taken from the third chapter. Last week, we started Year C at the end of Luke at the end, when we heard of the fulfillment of God’s promise of redemption. Ad somehow, now, we find ourselves in the wilderness. This Advent seems to be calling on our powers of time travel as we learn increasingly more about God’s time. God, being the Alpha and Omega, the beginning and the end….more like a circle than a linear time line. And through it all echo the words we heard last week, “Heaven and earth may pass away, but My words are here to stay.”
We can cling to the Word made flesh, Jesus Christ. In fact, today we hear from his cousin, John the Baptist. The voice in the wilderness that we hear in the third chapter of Luke is actually the full-grown John, just 6 months older than Jesus, crying out prophetic words that themselves fulfill Isaiah’s earlier prophecy, “The voice of him crying in the wilderness, ‘Prepare ye the way of the Lord. Make straight in the desert a highway for our God.” Talk about time travel! This is very close to the time that Jesus Himself is baptized by John. I think we just missed the Christmas story. Or did we?
This is just one example of the way our Advent readings are structured this year. It’s like a set of bookends that talk about God’s breaking into the world in weeks 1 and 4. Sandwiched in between are weeks 2 and 3, which focus on the hearts and wills of the people - sort of an A-B=B=A structure, if you will. Also a circle. God in Christ is at work in us this season — not only in our past and future, but in the here and now.
And into this ordered scheme of time, God breaks in — in a very unexpected way. Advent, like it or not, is a season of high expectations. Some years we think we succeed more than others. Here in this place, we are getting off to a very festive start. Witness the beautiful events we’ve already hosted thus far as well as those to come — the Pages and Pirouettes ballet last week, followed by the beautiful contemplative Advent music that Tom Keesecker shared with us last week. This afternoon promises to kick off the holiday season in earnest. Here Comes Christmas!
Don’t get me wrong. I’m all for it and then some. I generally strive to begin the season with brand-new Advent candles in my wreath, the Elf on the Shelf, and a fresh new Advent calendar chock full of chocolates. Inevitably, though, the kids miss opening a few windows on the calendar and end up playing catch-up, arguing about whose turn it was to open it next. I fall behind on my daily devotions. Some years I even did a craft every day, only to have that plan fizzle out in a little over a week or so.
But there was one year I almost had it all together. I was even getting a little excited and smug about it. And within that sliver of perfection, the phone rang one night. It was my sister calling, tearfully explaining that my mother had suffered a stroke. Life had changed in an instant, and once again those little things fell by the wayside. We cannot move on to new things without experiencing rough, bumpy places on the journey. The holidays are not always packed with glee for everyone. We find ourselves ill or hospitalized at this time of year, still more are financially strapped, lose loved ones, or just woefully overstressed, or depressed.
It is then that the third verse of a beloved Christmas carol comes to mind — “It Came Upon A Midnight Clear.” -
O ye beneath life's crushing load,
Whose forms are bending low,
Who toil along the climbing way
With painful steps and slow;
Look now, for glad and golden hours
Come swiftly on the wing;
Oh rest beside the weary road
And hear the angels sing.
Just listen. Listen to the voice of the Spirit.
“Comfort ye, my people, says your God.” The crooked, rough, the unexpected may happen at any time. Here is where I love today’s words from St. Paul - he is, here in Phillippians,”speaking comforting words to Jerusalem, even as he says, “I thank God every time I remember you, constantly praying with joy in every one of m prayers for all of you….I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work among you will bring it to completion by the day of Jesus Christ.” Though we celebrate Christ’s coming year after year, and we anticipate by waiting, our waiting is not to be passive, but proactive. We have lots to do in that waiting time. We can, as John did, proclaim the coming of the Lord. We can speak words of comfort to one another, thanking each other each time we remember them.
This is probably the principle behind sending Christmas cards and greetings. You can do it so many ways these days — emails, video chats, phone calls, you name it. But those greetings, those connections mean a lot, and they keep us connected within the Kingdom of God.
Today, as ever, there is as sharp a distinction between this Kingdom of God and the Kingdom of this world as there was in the days of the Roman emperor Tiberias. Two thousand years ago, Judea’s political landscape had changed. As a result, there was a whole set of new rulers aligned against the word of God. So John had to go to the wilderness to hear the word and then becomes the word of God through his preaching.
It’s a very sharp contrast to the names of those holding power on this earth. But God lifts up the lowly, and through folks like John, Mary, Jesus, and Zechariah, power becomes reoriented towards God’s kingdom..
Tiberius, Pontius Pilate, Herod, Philip, Lysanias, Annas, and Caiaphas are powers in time only and not forever. Their time will not last. Their reign is only temporary. We hear hope in this promise, that those who have claimed power now, will not be in power indefinitely. Their names are temporary placeholders in history.
John the Baptist’s ministry reminds us, however, this does not mean we can just sit around and wait it out. A “this too shall pass” mentality is not the mindset of the Kingdom of God. We recognize the temporality of today’s authorities and yet actively prepare so as to bring God’s time to bear. “Let every heart prepare him room, and heaven and nature sing.”
So it is into this landscape that we hear the voice crying the wilderness - John the Baptist, the bearded man who clearly stands out in society, the man who “ate locusts and wild honey.” He is the son of Zechariah and Elizabeth, that couple, in many ways not unlike Abram and Sarah. By typical standards, they were old and apparently Elizabeth was also barren. And so we hit rewind once more before I close — to our “Psalm” for today, which is actually a reading from Luke
1 - Zecharaiah’s naming ceremony for the infant John the Baptist. Quick recap - the Angel Gabriel comes to Zechariah the old priest and tells him his son will be filled with the Holy Spirit and essentially pave the way for the Messiah. The old priest, of course, does not believe this. “How can I have a son?/“ Because Zechariah said this, Gabriel renders him unable to speak until his son is born.. The old priest has been unable to speak for months and as he finally fulfills the angel’s demands from earlier in the chapter, he bursts like a dam. The words of prophecy pour out. Perhaps in the months when Zechariah couldn’t speak, he did a lot more thinking and listening than usual.. Clearly it was a time in which his faith grew. Zechariah’s prophetic song, typically called the Benedictus, is an ironic moment in Luke’s telling
All that silence - that “wilderness time” - also gave Zechariah time to create something to honor the occasion of something holy. When the spirit comes upon Zechariah, his tongue is loosened, and he is given voice to debut his new song for John. But it is a rather strange moment. At his own son’s naming ceremony, Zechariah begins his song by singing about his wife’s cousin’s kid.
Suddenly the subject of the song switches from John to Jesus. The song assumes that the savior has already been “raised up” when Jesus hasn’t been born. Zechariah’s song ends with a conclusion before the question has been asked.
“Already but not yet.” It’s another paradox. The Quaker sociologist and author Parker J. Palmer describes this as the “tragic gap ” between what is and what will be. — if we want to hang in for the long haul with birthing a better world:
“On one side of that gap are the harsh and discouraging realities around us. On the other side is the better world we know to be possible — not merely because we wish it were so, but because we have seen it with our own eyes. We’re surrounded by greed, but we’ve seen great acts of generosity. We’re surrounded by violence, but we’ve seen people make peace.
This tragic gap will never close once and for all, a fact that can lead us into despair and resignation. But we know the end of the story. if we recall the ample evidence that “the better angels of our nature” are still with us, we are more likely to keep working at making the world a better place.”
“Already, but not yet.” “Time is the fire from which we burn,” says Captian Pickard in one of the Star Trek movies. “but time is more like a companion on our journey.”
Year after year, we count the days toward Christ’s coming at the end of time, yet right now He comes down to us in love each and every day. It’s not just one neat little box after another in a series of 24 windows. It is round, more like our wreaths. God finds us. Christ comes down to us. That is the promise -
For lo! the days are hastening on,
By prophets seen of old,
When with the ever-circling years
Shall come the time foretold,
When the new heaven and earth shall own
The Prince of Peace, their King,
And the whole world send back the song
Which now the angels sing.
Already, but not yet. AMEN.
