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Commentary
Object:
Alone for his first cruise ship voyage, a young man felt a stranger among crowds of aging
patrons. But one youngish woman kept sidling up to him in the most unlikely of spots.
She seemed to recognize him, at least by the knowing look in her eyes. Finally, he
apologized for not having a clue who she was.
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to stare at you, but you look so much like my first husband."
Taken aback, he stammered a halting condolence, and asked hesitantly what had happened to her husband. "Oh," she replied cheerfully, "I haven't been married ... yet!"
That is hope and expectation! Such we need in these days of northern hemisphere winter. And such Advent brings to us in the visions of Isaiah, the exhortations of Paul, and the fiery preaching of John the Baptist.
Isaiah 11:1-10
Isaiah stands at the head of the collection of Old Testament prophets for good reason. While he is not the earliest among them (Samuel was already considered a prophet, and many of the first prophets noted in the Bible -- such as Nathan or Ahijah -- were evidently not "writing prophets" and left us no documents to peruse), he is chief over them, giving the prophetic message lyrical power and addressing every theme that others would pursue only in part. Isaiah is the grand master of covenant prophecy.
According to the list of kings that Isaiah identifies, during whose reigns he received and declared messages from Yahweh, this prophet's work spanned about fifty years (740-690 BC). During that time, Assyria was the constant superpower threat in the contemporary world. "Israel" (the northern portion of David and Solomon's kingdom) had been split off from "Judah" for nearly 300 years (since 930 BC). Because of the tenacious advance of the Assyrian war machine, Israel was desperately seeking ways of forming alliances that might hold it back for a time. Syria and Israel became partners throughout most of the eighth century, often as much by the sheer dominance of Syria's military might coercing Israel into defensive pacts as by the choice of the Samaria-based government. This temperamental twosome made many overtures, both friendly and threatening, toward Judah, seeking to draw the smaller kingdom into their anti-Assyria alliances either by compliance or force. Throughout a succession of kings, Judah tried to retain its own identity in several ways:
* Uzziah chose to come under the protectorate of Israel, and thus allowed Judah to become a vassal province of the Israel-Syria alliance.
* Ahaz made an end run around his northern neighbors and appealed directly to Tiglath-pileser of Assyria for protection against Israel and Syria, hoping that in their destruction Judah would regain some of the old territory as its administrative district.
* Hezekiah first formed a tentative alliance with ambassadors from Babylon as that eastern province of Assyria was beginning to stir in rebellion. Later, he joined Egypt in a stop-payment of tribute to Assyria, which roused their ire against him until he was forced into reasserting submissive ties to Nineveh. After a miraculous escape from what seemed an imminent crushing defeat by Assyrian forces, Hezekiah renewed his subversive contacts with Babylon.
Each of these international political policies, and more, were possible for tiny Judah. The prophets probed them all, setting them out as evaluated by Yahweh, and then advising the only true Sinai covenant theological and political option. Among the possibilities at the time were these:
* Join Egypt, the only nearby strong nation, in opposing Assyria.
* Join the Israel-Syria confederation in opposing Assyria.
* Declare allegiance to Assyria and become a vassal province of that empire in hopes of reaping enlarged borders when the fighting was finished and northern neighbors Israel and Syria were destroyed.
* Ally with Babylon, the restless eastern province of Assyria, in hopes of an overthrow of Assyria which would net independence in their remote mountainous locale.
* Stay neutral from all international alliances, relying solely on Yahweh for protection and deliverance.
It was this latter advice which Isaiah and the other prophets consistently gave. This was the only path open to those who truly believed that Yahweh was sovereign over all nations, and that Israel's (Judah's) mandate was to continue as a witness to the surrounding nations rather than becoming a subservient vassal to their gods and cultures.
The vision recorded in Isaiah 11 paints that advice in powerful terms. While Ahaz is still wobbling in indecision over whether to buckle under Syrio-Israelite threats (see Isaiah 7), plead for help from Egypt (see Isaiah 18-20, 31), or do an end-run around everyone and appeal directly to the dreaded Assyrians in hope that they will subdue Israel and allow him to rule it on their behalf (see 2 Kings 16), Isaiah strides into the marketplace and poetically crafts this stirring portrait of a true savior in Israel. He will emerge out of David's family, according to the great promise made through Nathan in 2 Samuel 7. He will separate himself from the little political machinations of the nations, with all of their hullabaloo. His eyes will rest on the poor, alien, homeless, disenfranchised outsiders, and his political platform with trumpet justice and hope. In so doing, this great leader with turn back the threats of the nations, and instead raise a banner of peace around which all of them might rally.
While Isaiah was thinking about a local ruler in Jerusalem with a lot more backbone than Ahaz -- perhaps his son Hezekiah? -- the images are too grand to be realized by any short-term king on the throne of David. For precisely that reason, this passage is chanted year by year in the Advent worship of the church. We have not seen such a leader emerge from our presidential campaigns or our power-brokering dynasties. If we pin our hopes on the pantheon of potentates that pause for a time on our histories and agendas, we find them pale in comparison to this promising benefactor.
So we look and pray and long for a king who will change the fortunes of our world. We cry out for a deliverer who will right wrongs and steady social systems that have been eroded by corruption. Most of all, we dream about pastoral vistas in which the pollution of our global-warming consumerist frenzy has dissipated, and we find ourselves again in the garden of God.
Isaiah's vision was realized in part when Jesus sneaked into our world the first time. In that expectation we wait for his return engagement. Maybe this year.
Romans 15:4-13
There appears to have been some tension between the Jewish and Gentile communities in the early Roman church. Paul had not yet visited there himself (see Romans 1:11-13; 15:23-29), but as he brought to a conclusion his third mission journey (Acts 18-19), he spent the winter months in Corinth with his good friend Gaius (Romans 16:23), and while there learned that Phoebe from the Corinthian port suburb of Cenchrea (Romans 16:1-2) was headed for Rome, so he sent this missal along with her.
The difficulties between Jew and Gentile pop up at times in Paul's letter. First, he acknowledges the dual groups that make up the congregation in his summary statement that opens the letter (Romans 1:14-17). Next, he identifies the guilt that both groups bear for sin and evil in the societies of the world (Romans 2:9-10). Then he undermines the religious benefits of Jewish identity (Romans 2:17-29). Almost immediately, he reinstates the privileged position of the Jews in the chronological unfolding of the divine plan of salvation (Romans 3:1-20). Following that, he preaches a sermon on the relationship between grace and works within the life of the great Jewish ancestor Abraham (Romans 3:21--4:25). Finally, he wrestles with the problem of the divine election of the Israelite nation and then its seeming loss of special favor, arguing that the Jews misunderstood the former, and that the latter is only a perception useful for evangelizing the Gentiles (Romans 9-11).
All of these hints and ideas and theological arguments suggest that the Jewish and Gentile participants in the Roman congregation were not always on the same page when it came to doctrine or hospitality. While Paul has attempted throughout his letter to clarify the issues of theology that speak to these matters, in these final paragraphs he moves on to a strong ethical exhortation that makes a case for the differing racial groups to find a deeper commonality in Christ.
The unity of the Christian community, according to Paul, is modeled by Jesus, who gave up his rights and privileges as a favored Son of God in order to become a servant among us. And in this incarnation, the Jewish community is uniquely blessed to have been the caretakers of the redemptive plans; this does not, however, mean that Jews are thus sociologically elevated above the Gentiles. Instead, the Gentiles praise God for the work of salvation brought through Jesus, and they thank the Jews for being willing and able to process the divine incursion into the human race.
Reaching back to Isaiah's prophecy, Paul lifts the great messianic portrait of chapter 11 as an early telling of these things. All the nations of the world were weary with strife, and looked with longing for a leader who would take them to a new and different promised land. While Isaiah may have been thinking of Hezekiah, or someone else in the Davidic royal family of the day, God's purposes and intentions were higher and broader. In these last times Jesus has been revealed, the true son of David and the mighty heir to all the best of the prophetic promises.
So it is that even in Rome, where Caligula (37-41 AD), Claudius (41-54 AD), and Nero (54-68 AD), were taking successive stabs at world domination during those very times, an even greater king was provided as a model of hope and justice. He had emerged from the Jewish community, but he was the hope of the nations.
This is a great message for the second Sunday in Advent. In some ways, the Christian church has taken over the role held in Paul's mind by the Jewish community. The church carries the heritage of God's work for the salvation of the human race. The church plays out the drama of redemption from week to week. The church preaches and displays an eschatological ethical morality that is shaped by the teachings of heaven. But the church, like the Jewish community of Paul's day, is merely a tool in the larger plans of God to win back the entire human race to divine grace.
If the church celebrates Advent as a private family party, it misses the missiological emphasis of Paul in Romans 15. It is precisely because the church can enjoy the special favor of a relationship with God as provided by Jesus that it then becomes a partner with the rest of the world. It must breathe the word of incarnation as a respirator into the dysfunctional lungs of all societies, giving them a cleansing inhalation that provides the hope of healing and life.
Matthew 3:1-12
John the Baptist is an unlikely hero. He lived out in the wilds, apart from the mainstream of society. He had a weird diet and wore body coverings that could hardly be called "clothes," much less "fashionable." When he spoke, he embarrassed everyone in earshot. His political views were anything but correct.
Yet, there was a strange attractiveness about him. Precisely, because he did not live in the mainstream of contemporary existence, people were caught by his novel insights. The rules that they had assumed applied to the games people played every day simply did not enter the world of John's perspectives. While they were busy keeping their schedules full, John stopped time to talk about meaning and purpose.
So when John sent out a message of judgment, and a strident call to repentance, people actually responded. Some, probably, stepped into the waters of renewal for only a little while, using them as the latest pop-psyche fad for cleansing the pallet or the soul. (Fred Craddock has a marvelous sermon on this curiosity called "Have You Heard John Preach?") But many appear to have been deeply and genuinely moved by his urgent revival message.
What must have puzzled most, though, was John's constant self-deprecating dismissals in favor of someone still to come. While John only sounded the Claxton as the heavens grew dark with storm clouds of judgment, someone soon would actually walk out of those clouds flicking lightning bolts from his fingertip, in John's graphic portrayal.
Of course, Jesus disappointed John. Luke reports (Luke 7:18-34) that when John the Baptist was later imprisoned by Herod, he found himself wondering about the kindnesses of his cousin. Obviously, John had gotten things wrong about Jesus, since Jesus was playing with children and enjoying raucous parties with the wild bunch in town. Where was the fire? Where were the lightning bolts? Where was the judgment?
That brings us to the church's Advent preaching. The prophets of the Old Testament knew that the great missional experiment of Israel as a redeemed community, perched on the hills of Palestine as a testimony to the nations, had failed. God may have been trying to take back the world, but Israel lost its footing and foundered down into the slough of despond she had been sent to call others from. So the prophets shouting in increasing agitation about the coming "Day of the Lord" in which the creator/judge of the human race would pound a fist, stomp a foot, and interrupt this sordid affair we call life and history. God would enter our times again, like God had in the days of Moses when God battled it out with Egypt's pharaoh. The coming "Day of the Lord" would involve destructive divine vengeance on the evil stinking through all the nations of earth (including Israel/Judah), the sparing and renewal of a remnant who would carry the story on into the future, and the beginning of an eschatological kingdom in which righteousness and peace and prosperity would be the very atmosphere.
John was the last of the Old Testament prophets, stepping out of a bygone era with his strange clothes and wagging finger. When he thundered "Repent!" it was because he smelled the sulfur of spent ammunition in the civil war being fought for planet earth. And when he talked of the kingdom of heaven, he peaked through the acrid smoke of the battlefield to see the world of the future waiting to be born. So, for John, Jesus' coming was the harbinger of the whole "Day of the Lord" package, terrible, tumultuous, and threatening.
What John never imagined was that Jesus would split the "Day of the Lord" in two, bringing the blessings of the eternal age in their incipient nature before pouring out the final bowls of plagues and judgment. But that is what Jesus did. And so we, who are able to celebrate Advent year by year, know something that John did not. Jesus' first coming brought the missionary message of hope and salvation. Jesus' second coming, still to happen tomorrow or next week, will seal the deal in ways that terrified John.
So we live with a profound and powerful insight. How will we make the most of these Advent days of reprieve as the world waits for someone to do something significant?
Application
The accent of all three passages for today is on hope. One great illustration of such hope is found in the last minutes of the movie, The Shawshank Redemption. Based on a short story by Stephen King, The Shawshank Redemption tells a sordid tale of a man wrongly accused of murder imprisoned in an unjust system and made the pawn of a self-righteous and sadistic warden. While he is not a person who appears to have much strength or bargaining collateral, the prisoner proves surprisingly resourceful and wins the begrudging respect of both his fellow inmates and the guards of Shawshank prison.
Unknown to all, he is taking his revenge by staging a masterful escape and bringing down the corrupt officials who used the prison as their personal gold mine. After he disappears, he sends a carefully worded postcard to his closest convict friend, who later gains parole. But life on the outside is threatening and lonely, and the friend nearly succumbs to his despair, toying with suicidal thoughts that caused the death of an earlier releasee. The postcard beckons the former convict to find some hidden resources and plan a journey into the unknown, which carries the promise of a new life.
In the final scenes of the movie, hope has transformed the beaten and degraded man into an energized and thoughtful soul. As he rides the bus toward his destination, he slowly tells of his hope. His hope of a friend who will meet him. His hope to see the vast blueness of the Pacific Ocean. His hope that there is still meaning to life. "I hope ..." he says.
So do we, on this Sunday of Advent. For all who have been imprisoned by fears, impoverished by wants, imperiled by wrongs, impersonalized by society, and immobilized by threats, Advent calls out with the hope of eschatological promise. Jesus came. Jesus died. Jesus rose again. Jesus ascended. Jesus is coming again. I know. And so "I hope...."
Alternative Application
Isaiah 11:1-10. Isaiah's marvelous images leap from the pages of chapter 11. There are many, many themes to develop from that passage which can color peoples' lives with hope and expectation during this season. A fitting connection might be made to the lamppost in Narnia which marked the edge of that strange and wonderful kingdom in C. S. Lewis' fine tale of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. There it was "always winter, but never Christmas," as Lewis puts it so powerfully. But when Aslan lands, spring rolls through the hills and countryside until stone statues become people once again, and every hill springs with flowers. The scenes of the culminating chapters of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe make excellent visuals to bring Isaiah 11 to life for people who need the warmth and expectation of Advent.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 72:1-7, 18-19
A wise teacher once pointed out that much of scripture is said in dialogue. It is a confusing point, at first. Certainly narrative and conversations between biblical figures are communicated throughout our Bible, but scripture itself as dialogue? How so? Well, think of it this way.
In Psalm 23, when the writer declares that the "Lord is my Shepherd" (Psalm 23:1), this is not just a passing fancy. It is an announcement that a choice has been made. The Lord God of Israel is my shepherd, the implication being that there is a choice. And of course, we know that this is true. We can choose among gods as we see fit. The choice is between God our Creator and redeemer, or as Paul indicates the God of our "belly" (Philippians 3:19). In the Lord's Prayer when the people pray, "thy will be done (Matthew 6:10)," it is a prayer for God's will, as opposed the will of others.
This sense of dialogical opposition is important in hearing holy scripture, and it is present as well in this psalm. The writer begins with the plea, "Give the king your justice, O God." Clearly there are other ideas about justice in play here. The writer is calling for God's justice and no other. And just in case the reader is unclear about this, the writer is happy to provide details.
God's justice gives fairness to the poor. It offers prosperity to the people and defends the needy, even going so far as to "crush their oppressor." This is God's justice. Justice that does not achieve this is not the justice of God. The king's justice, it would seem, does not come up to God's standards. So the call comes. The prayer is issued. Give the king your justice, O God. "Let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an everflowing stream" (Amos 5:24). Let this be "a day acceptable to the Lord!" (Isaiah 58:5).
So where, the question must come, is God's justice present today? Which "king" needs to discover the power and wonder of God's justice? Which ruler should be lifted up in prayer as the call comes for God's justice to reign down among the people? This is a question worth asking in prayer and dialogue, in discernment and community. It is a call that comes -- not from political agenda or ideological stance -- but rather from the holy word itself. Hear the prayerful plea echo down the centuries. "Give the king your justice, O God!"
"I'm sorry," she said. "I didn't mean to stare at you, but you look so much like my first husband."
Taken aback, he stammered a halting condolence, and asked hesitantly what had happened to her husband. "Oh," she replied cheerfully, "I haven't been married ... yet!"
That is hope and expectation! Such we need in these days of northern hemisphere winter. And such Advent brings to us in the visions of Isaiah, the exhortations of Paul, and the fiery preaching of John the Baptist.
Isaiah 11:1-10
Isaiah stands at the head of the collection of Old Testament prophets for good reason. While he is not the earliest among them (Samuel was already considered a prophet, and many of the first prophets noted in the Bible -- such as Nathan or Ahijah -- were evidently not "writing prophets" and left us no documents to peruse), he is chief over them, giving the prophetic message lyrical power and addressing every theme that others would pursue only in part. Isaiah is the grand master of covenant prophecy.
According to the list of kings that Isaiah identifies, during whose reigns he received and declared messages from Yahweh, this prophet's work spanned about fifty years (740-690 BC). During that time, Assyria was the constant superpower threat in the contemporary world. "Israel" (the northern portion of David and Solomon's kingdom) had been split off from "Judah" for nearly 300 years (since 930 BC). Because of the tenacious advance of the Assyrian war machine, Israel was desperately seeking ways of forming alliances that might hold it back for a time. Syria and Israel became partners throughout most of the eighth century, often as much by the sheer dominance of Syria's military might coercing Israel into defensive pacts as by the choice of the Samaria-based government. This temperamental twosome made many overtures, both friendly and threatening, toward Judah, seeking to draw the smaller kingdom into their anti-Assyria alliances either by compliance or force. Throughout a succession of kings, Judah tried to retain its own identity in several ways:
* Uzziah chose to come under the protectorate of Israel, and thus allowed Judah to become a vassal province of the Israel-Syria alliance.
* Ahaz made an end run around his northern neighbors and appealed directly to Tiglath-pileser of Assyria for protection against Israel and Syria, hoping that in their destruction Judah would regain some of the old territory as its administrative district.
* Hezekiah first formed a tentative alliance with ambassadors from Babylon as that eastern province of Assyria was beginning to stir in rebellion. Later, he joined Egypt in a stop-payment of tribute to Assyria, which roused their ire against him until he was forced into reasserting submissive ties to Nineveh. After a miraculous escape from what seemed an imminent crushing defeat by Assyrian forces, Hezekiah renewed his subversive contacts with Babylon.
Each of these international political policies, and more, were possible for tiny Judah. The prophets probed them all, setting them out as evaluated by Yahweh, and then advising the only true Sinai covenant theological and political option. Among the possibilities at the time were these:
* Join Egypt, the only nearby strong nation, in opposing Assyria.
* Join the Israel-Syria confederation in opposing Assyria.
* Declare allegiance to Assyria and become a vassal province of that empire in hopes of reaping enlarged borders when the fighting was finished and northern neighbors Israel and Syria were destroyed.
* Ally with Babylon, the restless eastern province of Assyria, in hopes of an overthrow of Assyria which would net independence in their remote mountainous locale.
* Stay neutral from all international alliances, relying solely on Yahweh for protection and deliverance.
It was this latter advice which Isaiah and the other prophets consistently gave. This was the only path open to those who truly believed that Yahweh was sovereign over all nations, and that Israel's (Judah's) mandate was to continue as a witness to the surrounding nations rather than becoming a subservient vassal to their gods and cultures.
The vision recorded in Isaiah 11 paints that advice in powerful terms. While Ahaz is still wobbling in indecision over whether to buckle under Syrio-Israelite threats (see Isaiah 7), plead for help from Egypt (see Isaiah 18-20, 31), or do an end-run around everyone and appeal directly to the dreaded Assyrians in hope that they will subdue Israel and allow him to rule it on their behalf (see 2 Kings 16), Isaiah strides into the marketplace and poetically crafts this stirring portrait of a true savior in Israel. He will emerge out of David's family, according to the great promise made through Nathan in 2 Samuel 7. He will separate himself from the little political machinations of the nations, with all of their hullabaloo. His eyes will rest on the poor, alien, homeless, disenfranchised outsiders, and his political platform with trumpet justice and hope. In so doing, this great leader with turn back the threats of the nations, and instead raise a banner of peace around which all of them might rally.
While Isaiah was thinking about a local ruler in Jerusalem with a lot more backbone than Ahaz -- perhaps his son Hezekiah? -- the images are too grand to be realized by any short-term king on the throne of David. For precisely that reason, this passage is chanted year by year in the Advent worship of the church. We have not seen such a leader emerge from our presidential campaigns or our power-brokering dynasties. If we pin our hopes on the pantheon of potentates that pause for a time on our histories and agendas, we find them pale in comparison to this promising benefactor.
So we look and pray and long for a king who will change the fortunes of our world. We cry out for a deliverer who will right wrongs and steady social systems that have been eroded by corruption. Most of all, we dream about pastoral vistas in which the pollution of our global-warming consumerist frenzy has dissipated, and we find ourselves again in the garden of God.
Isaiah's vision was realized in part when Jesus sneaked into our world the first time. In that expectation we wait for his return engagement. Maybe this year.
Romans 15:4-13
There appears to have been some tension between the Jewish and Gentile communities in the early Roman church. Paul had not yet visited there himself (see Romans 1:11-13; 15:23-29), but as he brought to a conclusion his third mission journey (Acts 18-19), he spent the winter months in Corinth with his good friend Gaius (Romans 16:23), and while there learned that Phoebe from the Corinthian port suburb of Cenchrea (Romans 16:1-2) was headed for Rome, so he sent this missal along with her.
The difficulties between Jew and Gentile pop up at times in Paul's letter. First, he acknowledges the dual groups that make up the congregation in his summary statement that opens the letter (Romans 1:14-17). Next, he identifies the guilt that both groups bear for sin and evil in the societies of the world (Romans 2:9-10). Then he undermines the religious benefits of Jewish identity (Romans 2:17-29). Almost immediately, he reinstates the privileged position of the Jews in the chronological unfolding of the divine plan of salvation (Romans 3:1-20). Following that, he preaches a sermon on the relationship between grace and works within the life of the great Jewish ancestor Abraham (Romans 3:21--4:25). Finally, he wrestles with the problem of the divine election of the Israelite nation and then its seeming loss of special favor, arguing that the Jews misunderstood the former, and that the latter is only a perception useful for evangelizing the Gentiles (Romans 9-11).
All of these hints and ideas and theological arguments suggest that the Jewish and Gentile participants in the Roman congregation were not always on the same page when it came to doctrine or hospitality. While Paul has attempted throughout his letter to clarify the issues of theology that speak to these matters, in these final paragraphs he moves on to a strong ethical exhortation that makes a case for the differing racial groups to find a deeper commonality in Christ.
The unity of the Christian community, according to Paul, is modeled by Jesus, who gave up his rights and privileges as a favored Son of God in order to become a servant among us. And in this incarnation, the Jewish community is uniquely blessed to have been the caretakers of the redemptive plans; this does not, however, mean that Jews are thus sociologically elevated above the Gentiles. Instead, the Gentiles praise God for the work of salvation brought through Jesus, and they thank the Jews for being willing and able to process the divine incursion into the human race.
Reaching back to Isaiah's prophecy, Paul lifts the great messianic portrait of chapter 11 as an early telling of these things. All the nations of the world were weary with strife, and looked with longing for a leader who would take them to a new and different promised land. While Isaiah may have been thinking of Hezekiah, or someone else in the Davidic royal family of the day, God's purposes and intentions were higher and broader. In these last times Jesus has been revealed, the true son of David and the mighty heir to all the best of the prophetic promises.
So it is that even in Rome, where Caligula (37-41 AD), Claudius (41-54 AD), and Nero (54-68 AD), were taking successive stabs at world domination during those very times, an even greater king was provided as a model of hope and justice. He had emerged from the Jewish community, but he was the hope of the nations.
This is a great message for the second Sunday in Advent. In some ways, the Christian church has taken over the role held in Paul's mind by the Jewish community. The church carries the heritage of God's work for the salvation of the human race. The church plays out the drama of redemption from week to week. The church preaches and displays an eschatological ethical morality that is shaped by the teachings of heaven. But the church, like the Jewish community of Paul's day, is merely a tool in the larger plans of God to win back the entire human race to divine grace.
If the church celebrates Advent as a private family party, it misses the missiological emphasis of Paul in Romans 15. It is precisely because the church can enjoy the special favor of a relationship with God as provided by Jesus that it then becomes a partner with the rest of the world. It must breathe the word of incarnation as a respirator into the dysfunctional lungs of all societies, giving them a cleansing inhalation that provides the hope of healing and life.
Matthew 3:1-12
John the Baptist is an unlikely hero. He lived out in the wilds, apart from the mainstream of society. He had a weird diet and wore body coverings that could hardly be called "clothes," much less "fashionable." When he spoke, he embarrassed everyone in earshot. His political views were anything but correct.
Yet, there was a strange attractiveness about him. Precisely, because he did not live in the mainstream of contemporary existence, people were caught by his novel insights. The rules that they had assumed applied to the games people played every day simply did not enter the world of John's perspectives. While they were busy keeping their schedules full, John stopped time to talk about meaning and purpose.
So when John sent out a message of judgment, and a strident call to repentance, people actually responded. Some, probably, stepped into the waters of renewal for only a little while, using them as the latest pop-psyche fad for cleansing the pallet or the soul. (Fred Craddock has a marvelous sermon on this curiosity called "Have You Heard John Preach?") But many appear to have been deeply and genuinely moved by his urgent revival message.
What must have puzzled most, though, was John's constant self-deprecating dismissals in favor of someone still to come. While John only sounded the Claxton as the heavens grew dark with storm clouds of judgment, someone soon would actually walk out of those clouds flicking lightning bolts from his fingertip, in John's graphic portrayal.
Of course, Jesus disappointed John. Luke reports (Luke 7:18-34) that when John the Baptist was later imprisoned by Herod, he found himself wondering about the kindnesses of his cousin. Obviously, John had gotten things wrong about Jesus, since Jesus was playing with children and enjoying raucous parties with the wild bunch in town. Where was the fire? Where were the lightning bolts? Where was the judgment?
That brings us to the church's Advent preaching. The prophets of the Old Testament knew that the great missional experiment of Israel as a redeemed community, perched on the hills of Palestine as a testimony to the nations, had failed. God may have been trying to take back the world, but Israel lost its footing and foundered down into the slough of despond she had been sent to call others from. So the prophets shouting in increasing agitation about the coming "Day of the Lord" in which the creator/judge of the human race would pound a fist, stomp a foot, and interrupt this sordid affair we call life and history. God would enter our times again, like God had in the days of Moses when God battled it out with Egypt's pharaoh. The coming "Day of the Lord" would involve destructive divine vengeance on the evil stinking through all the nations of earth (including Israel/Judah), the sparing and renewal of a remnant who would carry the story on into the future, and the beginning of an eschatological kingdom in which righteousness and peace and prosperity would be the very atmosphere.
John was the last of the Old Testament prophets, stepping out of a bygone era with his strange clothes and wagging finger. When he thundered "Repent!" it was because he smelled the sulfur of spent ammunition in the civil war being fought for planet earth. And when he talked of the kingdom of heaven, he peaked through the acrid smoke of the battlefield to see the world of the future waiting to be born. So, for John, Jesus' coming was the harbinger of the whole "Day of the Lord" package, terrible, tumultuous, and threatening.
What John never imagined was that Jesus would split the "Day of the Lord" in two, bringing the blessings of the eternal age in their incipient nature before pouring out the final bowls of plagues and judgment. But that is what Jesus did. And so we, who are able to celebrate Advent year by year, know something that John did not. Jesus' first coming brought the missionary message of hope and salvation. Jesus' second coming, still to happen tomorrow or next week, will seal the deal in ways that terrified John.
So we live with a profound and powerful insight. How will we make the most of these Advent days of reprieve as the world waits for someone to do something significant?
Application
The accent of all three passages for today is on hope. One great illustration of such hope is found in the last minutes of the movie, The Shawshank Redemption. Based on a short story by Stephen King, The Shawshank Redemption tells a sordid tale of a man wrongly accused of murder imprisoned in an unjust system and made the pawn of a self-righteous and sadistic warden. While he is not a person who appears to have much strength or bargaining collateral, the prisoner proves surprisingly resourceful and wins the begrudging respect of both his fellow inmates and the guards of Shawshank prison.
Unknown to all, he is taking his revenge by staging a masterful escape and bringing down the corrupt officials who used the prison as their personal gold mine. After he disappears, he sends a carefully worded postcard to his closest convict friend, who later gains parole. But life on the outside is threatening and lonely, and the friend nearly succumbs to his despair, toying with suicidal thoughts that caused the death of an earlier releasee. The postcard beckons the former convict to find some hidden resources and plan a journey into the unknown, which carries the promise of a new life.
In the final scenes of the movie, hope has transformed the beaten and degraded man into an energized and thoughtful soul. As he rides the bus toward his destination, he slowly tells of his hope. His hope of a friend who will meet him. His hope to see the vast blueness of the Pacific Ocean. His hope that there is still meaning to life. "I hope ..." he says.
So do we, on this Sunday of Advent. For all who have been imprisoned by fears, impoverished by wants, imperiled by wrongs, impersonalized by society, and immobilized by threats, Advent calls out with the hope of eschatological promise. Jesus came. Jesus died. Jesus rose again. Jesus ascended. Jesus is coming again. I know. And so "I hope...."
Alternative Application
Isaiah 11:1-10. Isaiah's marvelous images leap from the pages of chapter 11. There are many, many themes to develop from that passage which can color peoples' lives with hope and expectation during this season. A fitting connection might be made to the lamppost in Narnia which marked the edge of that strange and wonderful kingdom in C. S. Lewis' fine tale of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe. There it was "always winter, but never Christmas," as Lewis puts it so powerfully. But when Aslan lands, spring rolls through the hills and countryside until stone statues become people once again, and every hill springs with flowers. The scenes of the culminating chapters of The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe make excellent visuals to bring Isaiah 11 to life for people who need the warmth and expectation of Advent.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 72:1-7, 18-19
A wise teacher once pointed out that much of scripture is said in dialogue. It is a confusing point, at first. Certainly narrative and conversations between biblical figures are communicated throughout our Bible, but scripture itself as dialogue? How so? Well, think of it this way.
In Psalm 23, when the writer declares that the "Lord is my Shepherd" (Psalm 23:1), this is not just a passing fancy. It is an announcement that a choice has been made. The Lord God of Israel is my shepherd, the implication being that there is a choice. And of course, we know that this is true. We can choose among gods as we see fit. The choice is between God our Creator and redeemer, or as Paul indicates the God of our "belly" (Philippians 3:19). In the Lord's Prayer when the people pray, "thy will be done (Matthew 6:10)," it is a prayer for God's will, as opposed the will of others.
This sense of dialogical opposition is important in hearing holy scripture, and it is present as well in this psalm. The writer begins with the plea, "Give the king your justice, O God." Clearly there are other ideas about justice in play here. The writer is calling for God's justice and no other. And just in case the reader is unclear about this, the writer is happy to provide details.
God's justice gives fairness to the poor. It offers prosperity to the people and defends the needy, even going so far as to "crush their oppressor." This is God's justice. Justice that does not achieve this is not the justice of God. The king's justice, it would seem, does not come up to God's standards. So the call comes. The prayer is issued. Give the king your justice, O God. "Let justice roll down like waters, and righteousness like an everflowing stream" (Amos 5:24). Let this be "a day acceptable to the Lord!" (Isaiah 58:5).
So where, the question must come, is God's justice present today? Which "king" needs to discover the power and wonder of God's justice? Which ruler should be lifted up in prayer as the call comes for God's justice to reign down among the people? This is a question worth asking in prayer and dialogue, in discernment and community. It is a call that comes -- not from political agenda or ideological stance -- but rather from the holy word itself. Hear the prayerful plea echo down the centuries. "Give the king your justice, O God!"
