Same Question, Same Answer
Sermon
Praying For A Whole New World
Gospel Sermons For Advent/Christmas/Epiphany Cycle C
"Preacher, why don't you tell me what you want me to do?" She stood with a frown on her face, while the rest of the churchgoers shuffled out the door. The preacher was taken aback. The sermon had seemed to go well. For once, he hadn't tripped over his tongue or turned down an obscure alley. Yet the woman wouldn't let him off the hook.
"I've wanted to ask that question for some time," she said. "As you know, I come to church just about every week. I have heard a lot of interesting sermons, and learned some things about the Bible that I never knew before I began coming to this church. But today, I finally found the words to ask you a question that has nagged at the back of my mind."
"What's that?" said the minister.
She said, "Preacher, why don't you tell me what you want me to do?"
Is there anybody here who has asked the same question? I think so. It is possible to attend worship every week, to sit in these pews and take part in everything that happens, and still go out the door wondering, "So what?"
Or more to the point, it is possible for people like you to come in here, and listen to a minister like me stand up and talk for twenty minutes or so, and when the sermon is over, you say, "What was that all about?" To put it in the words of that woman, "Why don't you tell me what you want me to do?"
It is a sobering challenge for preachers, and it's a good question for the rest of you to ask.
Perhaps you have gone to a meeting where some important topic is discussed and debated. Various points of view are given. A consensus begins to form. Soon, everybody is nodding his or her head in agreement. "Yes, something needs to be done!"
Just then, somebody raises a hand and says, "I move we adjourn." And nothing more ever happens.
Or say, for instance, that you sign up for a class. You've been waiting for that particular topic to be offered. You rearrange your schedule and screen out all other distractions. You give your time to learn about, and analyze, and discuss some very important issue. Before you know it, the class is over, and that's all that ever comes of it. If you're still interested, it is only as an armchair activist.
Or say, for example, you are sitting in church on a Sunday morning. The minister is up front, stomping around in theological muck of his own making. Your mind begins to wander. You start thinking about the roast beef back in the oven, or the fight you had with your teenage daughter about her boyfriend, or whatever it is that you are probably thinking about now. Why does it happen? One reason is because the sermon is not clear. As one of my teachers declared: "A mist in the pulpit becomes a fog in the pew."
Sooner or later, we want the truth pinned down: "Preacher, why don't you tell me what you want me to do?"
That's a good question, especially in the church. In here, we are under the obligation of the gospel to talk about life and death, sin and forgiveness, grace and judgment. Sometimes, particularly after we hear a sermon, we want somebody to put a period on the end of the sentence. Tell us straight out: what does this mean for us?
Now John the Baptist was a preacher. There was fire in his voice as he spoke about life and death, sin and forgiveness, grace and judgment. When people heard John preach they knew that God was swinging the ax at the root of their trees. When John said, "You people are a bunch of snakes," they stood there and took it, because in the depths of their hearts they knew it was true. Yet to their credit, the people who heard John preach were not satisfied with high temperature rhetoric or soft heavenly platitudes. As they heard John speak, the one question that formed on their lips over and over again was this: "What should we do?"
The essence of his message is clear, and we regularly hear it at this time of year. John the Baptist points his bony finger at Jesus and says, "This is the One for whom we've been waiting. He is coming to comfort those who are disturbed, and to disturb those who are comfortable. Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord. Look at him!"
Then John turns toward you and me and points his finger once again. "Prepare the way," he says. "Straighten out the crooked paths. Flatten the arrogant mountains. Smooth out the splinters in your heart ... or else!"
With that, we look at one another, and then we head to the mall to go shopping.
Let's face it: that's how we prepare for Christmas. We buy a lot of things and we spend a lot of money. When John says, "Prepare the way of the Lord," our first response is to haul out the holly. If there are any crooked paths at this time of year, we throw down a little salt to melt the ice and then we get on our way. We don't have the energy to bulldoze any mountains; most of us are too busy circling the parking lot to find empty spaces. As a merchant once said to me, "You preachers talk about the four weeks of Advent as a time of getting ready for Jesus; but you have to understand -- for me, it's a season to move the merchandise."
It's all the more urgent, then, to ask John, "What should we do?" If his sermon essentially points to Jesus as the Coming Messiah, and if he also points to you and me and urges us to prepare for Christ's arrival, then our question is the same as the question of those who first heard John preach. "What should we do?"
John's answer is as bracing for us as it was for his first audience, because the answer has to do with the ways we use or abuse our money. That's right: money! Three times a group of people responds to John's sermon about getting ready for the Messiah. Three times they ask, "What should we do?" Each time John says something specific about money and the power it holds over us.
When John began to preach, a crowd of people came forward and got baptized. They stood up in the Jordan River, their brows still glistening wet, and John gave them his charge. "Give away your extra coats, so that everybody who needs one can have one. Share your food with those who have nothing to eat."
Now, if you know the writings of Luke, you know this is the very picture of God's kingdom. In Luke's second volume, the book of Acts, a man named Peter stands up and preaches a sermon on Pentecost. It cuts people to the heart. They want to know, "What can we do?" (Acts 2:37). Within the next seven verses of that story, all the people were cashing in their extra belongings and sharing the financial proceeds with the poor "as any had need." Luke says they were so filled with the Holy Spirit that there was no room left in their souls for selfishness. They were so generous with one another that "there was not a needy person among them" (Acts 4:34). The name of that group of people was the church.
If somebody is serious about standing in the promised kingdom of Christ, the best evidence is found in that person's ability to share what he or she has. God has no room in the kingdom for a Scrooge or a skinflint, because God himself is not a cheapskate. God gives us Jesus; the very least we can do is share our sweaters and our casseroles with one another.
Draw your own Christmas conclusions from this. When the public school invites us to send in canned food with our children, it's a good idea to do it. We share our food, not merely because it is a nice thing to do, or because we have a few extra dented cans of creamed asparagus in the pantry. No, we share because generosity is an essential mark of the kingdom of God. If the kingdom of God is coming to us in Jesus Christ, then we must respond in generous ways that make it possible for us to belong to the kingdom when it comes -- like giving the extra coat or sharing the extra plate of food.
And then, we hear some tax collectors came to get baptized. Perhaps that strikes you as strange, but it does remind us that nobody stands outside the grasp of God. These people are tax collectors. Just picture them coming to the Jordan River to get baptized! I imagine them getting ready to go underwater, holding their noses with one hand and holding up their wallets really high with the other hand. All the time they're saying to themselves, "Yes, Lord, you can have my life, but you're not going to get my pocketbook."
In the first century, a tax collector made his money on the mark-up that he charged his neighbors. According to the system, the right to collect taxes was sold to the highest bidder. One of your neighbors, a Jew, could buy the privilege to take your tax money and give it to the Romans. The collector had to pay all the expected revenue for your town in advance. After that he was free to try to recoup the amount by assessing and collecting whatever tolls he could.1 If a tax collector could get away with assessing you something extra to feather his own pockets, then that's what he did. You had no recourse but to pay.
So when these tax collectors come up for air and ask, "What should we do?" John speaks so that their whole livelihood is drenched with the holiness of God. If the kingdom of God is at hand, no one can say, "I belong to God," on a Sunday, and then act on Monday morning as if faith is a weekend hobby. So John the Baptist says, "Don't let your greed separate you from the people around you. Take only a fair day's wage, and no more."
Finally, Roman soldiers stepped up and said, "Preacher, what should we do?"
John looked at them, shook his head, and said, "No more of these power games."
They clanked their swords, cleared their throats, and said, "What do you mean?"
John said, "No more manipulation to get your own way. No more threats for the weak. No more extortion, especially for money."
There is no room in God's coming kingdom for those who wish to throw around their power, and take advantage of people who are already feeling worn down. The verb in our text is the word for shaking a fig tree and watching the figs falls to the ground.2 To put it another way, John says, "No more shakedowns."
This is good advice for any foot soldier who wishes to enlist in the army of the Lord. You cannot act as if you are in charge of the world; the job is already taken. You cannot pretend that everybody needs to bow down before you; somebody else is already seated on the throne. In fact, you can't even demand to get your own way, because God is the One who rules with justice and fierce mercy. The only people who are fit for the kingdom are the people who are satisfied with God as our ruler.
So having heard all of this, what should we do? I think you know. If we are going to get ready for Christ to come and rule in our hearts, it will involve three things:
? Share your food and clothing with the needy.
? Sidestep every temptation of greed.
? Give up every form of abuse.
This is what God wants from us today. For John the Baptist, as for Jesus who came after him, the words of a sermon must always be translated into deeds of mercy. When the word of the gospel frees us to give generously, to act responsibly, to love willingly, then, indeed, it comes as blessed good news ... and in that moment, we know that the kingdom of God is at hand.
____________
1. Joseph A. Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke I-IX (New York: Doubleday, 1989), p. 470.
2. Fitzmyer, p. 471.
"I've wanted to ask that question for some time," she said. "As you know, I come to church just about every week. I have heard a lot of interesting sermons, and learned some things about the Bible that I never knew before I began coming to this church. But today, I finally found the words to ask you a question that has nagged at the back of my mind."
"What's that?" said the minister.
She said, "Preacher, why don't you tell me what you want me to do?"
Is there anybody here who has asked the same question? I think so. It is possible to attend worship every week, to sit in these pews and take part in everything that happens, and still go out the door wondering, "So what?"
Or more to the point, it is possible for people like you to come in here, and listen to a minister like me stand up and talk for twenty minutes or so, and when the sermon is over, you say, "What was that all about?" To put it in the words of that woman, "Why don't you tell me what you want me to do?"
It is a sobering challenge for preachers, and it's a good question for the rest of you to ask.
Perhaps you have gone to a meeting where some important topic is discussed and debated. Various points of view are given. A consensus begins to form. Soon, everybody is nodding his or her head in agreement. "Yes, something needs to be done!"
Just then, somebody raises a hand and says, "I move we adjourn." And nothing more ever happens.
Or say, for instance, that you sign up for a class. You've been waiting for that particular topic to be offered. You rearrange your schedule and screen out all other distractions. You give your time to learn about, and analyze, and discuss some very important issue. Before you know it, the class is over, and that's all that ever comes of it. If you're still interested, it is only as an armchair activist.
Or say, for example, you are sitting in church on a Sunday morning. The minister is up front, stomping around in theological muck of his own making. Your mind begins to wander. You start thinking about the roast beef back in the oven, or the fight you had with your teenage daughter about her boyfriend, or whatever it is that you are probably thinking about now. Why does it happen? One reason is because the sermon is not clear. As one of my teachers declared: "A mist in the pulpit becomes a fog in the pew."
Sooner or later, we want the truth pinned down: "Preacher, why don't you tell me what you want me to do?"
That's a good question, especially in the church. In here, we are under the obligation of the gospel to talk about life and death, sin and forgiveness, grace and judgment. Sometimes, particularly after we hear a sermon, we want somebody to put a period on the end of the sentence. Tell us straight out: what does this mean for us?
Now John the Baptist was a preacher. There was fire in his voice as he spoke about life and death, sin and forgiveness, grace and judgment. When people heard John preach they knew that God was swinging the ax at the root of their trees. When John said, "You people are a bunch of snakes," they stood there and took it, because in the depths of their hearts they knew it was true. Yet to their credit, the people who heard John preach were not satisfied with high temperature rhetoric or soft heavenly platitudes. As they heard John speak, the one question that formed on their lips over and over again was this: "What should we do?"
The essence of his message is clear, and we regularly hear it at this time of year. John the Baptist points his bony finger at Jesus and says, "This is the One for whom we've been waiting. He is coming to comfort those who are disturbed, and to disturb those who are comfortable. Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord. Look at him!"
Then John turns toward you and me and points his finger once again. "Prepare the way," he says. "Straighten out the crooked paths. Flatten the arrogant mountains. Smooth out the splinters in your heart ... or else!"
With that, we look at one another, and then we head to the mall to go shopping.
Let's face it: that's how we prepare for Christmas. We buy a lot of things and we spend a lot of money. When John says, "Prepare the way of the Lord," our first response is to haul out the holly. If there are any crooked paths at this time of year, we throw down a little salt to melt the ice and then we get on our way. We don't have the energy to bulldoze any mountains; most of us are too busy circling the parking lot to find empty spaces. As a merchant once said to me, "You preachers talk about the four weeks of Advent as a time of getting ready for Jesus; but you have to understand -- for me, it's a season to move the merchandise."
It's all the more urgent, then, to ask John, "What should we do?" If his sermon essentially points to Jesus as the Coming Messiah, and if he also points to you and me and urges us to prepare for Christ's arrival, then our question is the same as the question of those who first heard John preach. "What should we do?"
John's answer is as bracing for us as it was for his first audience, because the answer has to do with the ways we use or abuse our money. That's right: money! Three times a group of people responds to John's sermon about getting ready for the Messiah. Three times they ask, "What should we do?" Each time John says something specific about money and the power it holds over us.
When John began to preach, a crowd of people came forward and got baptized. They stood up in the Jordan River, their brows still glistening wet, and John gave them his charge. "Give away your extra coats, so that everybody who needs one can have one. Share your food with those who have nothing to eat."
Now, if you know the writings of Luke, you know this is the very picture of God's kingdom. In Luke's second volume, the book of Acts, a man named Peter stands up and preaches a sermon on Pentecost. It cuts people to the heart. They want to know, "What can we do?" (Acts 2:37). Within the next seven verses of that story, all the people were cashing in their extra belongings and sharing the financial proceeds with the poor "as any had need." Luke says they were so filled with the Holy Spirit that there was no room left in their souls for selfishness. They were so generous with one another that "there was not a needy person among them" (Acts 4:34). The name of that group of people was the church.
If somebody is serious about standing in the promised kingdom of Christ, the best evidence is found in that person's ability to share what he or she has. God has no room in the kingdom for a Scrooge or a skinflint, because God himself is not a cheapskate. God gives us Jesus; the very least we can do is share our sweaters and our casseroles with one another.
Draw your own Christmas conclusions from this. When the public school invites us to send in canned food with our children, it's a good idea to do it. We share our food, not merely because it is a nice thing to do, or because we have a few extra dented cans of creamed asparagus in the pantry. No, we share because generosity is an essential mark of the kingdom of God. If the kingdom of God is coming to us in Jesus Christ, then we must respond in generous ways that make it possible for us to belong to the kingdom when it comes -- like giving the extra coat or sharing the extra plate of food.
And then, we hear some tax collectors came to get baptized. Perhaps that strikes you as strange, but it does remind us that nobody stands outside the grasp of God. These people are tax collectors. Just picture them coming to the Jordan River to get baptized! I imagine them getting ready to go underwater, holding their noses with one hand and holding up their wallets really high with the other hand. All the time they're saying to themselves, "Yes, Lord, you can have my life, but you're not going to get my pocketbook."
In the first century, a tax collector made his money on the mark-up that he charged his neighbors. According to the system, the right to collect taxes was sold to the highest bidder. One of your neighbors, a Jew, could buy the privilege to take your tax money and give it to the Romans. The collector had to pay all the expected revenue for your town in advance. After that he was free to try to recoup the amount by assessing and collecting whatever tolls he could.1 If a tax collector could get away with assessing you something extra to feather his own pockets, then that's what he did. You had no recourse but to pay.
So when these tax collectors come up for air and ask, "What should we do?" John speaks so that their whole livelihood is drenched with the holiness of God. If the kingdom of God is at hand, no one can say, "I belong to God," on a Sunday, and then act on Monday morning as if faith is a weekend hobby. So John the Baptist says, "Don't let your greed separate you from the people around you. Take only a fair day's wage, and no more."
Finally, Roman soldiers stepped up and said, "Preacher, what should we do?"
John looked at them, shook his head, and said, "No more of these power games."
They clanked their swords, cleared their throats, and said, "What do you mean?"
John said, "No more manipulation to get your own way. No more threats for the weak. No more extortion, especially for money."
There is no room in God's coming kingdom for those who wish to throw around their power, and take advantage of people who are already feeling worn down. The verb in our text is the word for shaking a fig tree and watching the figs falls to the ground.2 To put it another way, John says, "No more shakedowns."
This is good advice for any foot soldier who wishes to enlist in the army of the Lord. You cannot act as if you are in charge of the world; the job is already taken. You cannot pretend that everybody needs to bow down before you; somebody else is already seated on the throne. In fact, you can't even demand to get your own way, because God is the One who rules with justice and fierce mercy. The only people who are fit for the kingdom are the people who are satisfied with God as our ruler.
So having heard all of this, what should we do? I think you know. If we are going to get ready for Christ to come and rule in our hearts, it will involve three things:
? Share your food and clothing with the needy.
? Sidestep every temptation of greed.
? Give up every form of abuse.
This is what God wants from us today. For John the Baptist, as for Jesus who came after him, the words of a sermon must always be translated into deeds of mercy. When the word of the gospel frees us to give generously, to act responsibly, to love willingly, then, indeed, it comes as blessed good news ... and in that moment, we know that the kingdom of God is at hand.
____________
1. Joseph A. Fitzmyer, The Gospel According to Luke I-IX (New York: Doubleday, 1989), p. 470.
2. Fitzmyer, p. 471.
