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Sermon for Advent 2, Year B, 1999

St John's Episcopal Cathedral, Denver, CO

Readings: Isaiah 40:1-11; Mark 1:1-8

The people stood
shivering
in the knee deep river,
eyes gritty
with the sandy desert dust,
skin stinging
from cold river water
on blisters raised
by the white hot sun,
mud slimy
between their toes.

They had come to see a man,
a prophet, some said he was,
like that prophet in the old stories they had learned when they were just
children,
Elijah
his name.
They had come to see him,
throwback
to another century
in his nomad's rough-woven clothes
and belt torn
from a dead animal's
skin.
They had come to see him
on the strength of a rumor,
out
into this place
of desolation -
a wilderness
of sudden precipices,
thirst-quenching water
dissolving to salt
under your tongue,
caves sheltering bears
with honey-bronze coats
shielding mauling claws,
and the eerie scream
of a mountain lion
at night.

They had come to see him,
to jeer and to mock,
and had stayed to listen,
his words
curiously compelling in the strange desert silence,
insinuating their way
into their very guts.
They had come to see him,
and he had seen them,
seen past
their social smiles
and ready laughter,
past
their city suits
and business addresses,
past even
the callouses of work and the deep etched lines
of worry and blame, seen them
in all the nakedness
of their fear
and doubt
and shame, seen them,
and baptized them.
""Repent! Get ready for God!""
is what he said.

And as they stood there
with water trickling down their necks,
I wonder
what they were thinking.
Did they wonder
what they had got themselves into?
Did they wonder
if they had lost their minds?
Did they wonder
if it was someone's bizarre idea
of a practical joke?
What
had they come
to see?

*****

Close to 2000 years later, the story of John the Baptist
is as strange
as ever.

Walking into church
at the beginning of December
the last thing I have on my mind
is a desert preacher and his message of repentance.
My mind is filled with other things -
what on earth can I get my father this year? And when will I have time to
go shopping? Where on earth did I put the tree decorations? Who will I
spend Christmas with? And will the snow make a mockery of all my plans?
And over it all, around every corner I turn, constantly echoing in my mind,
carol's frenzied refrain
""Christmas is here, bringing good cheer, duh de-de duh, duh de-de duh...
Christmas is here, Christmas is here, Christmas is here.""

Walking into church
I'm looking for a respite
from the manic world outside
looking for a respite
a place
of peace
and quiet, to ponder
the real meaning
of Christmas.

And instead
I get John the Baptist.
A wild man
standing in the desert
his voice stridently shouting
""Repent!""

You know,
to be honest, the voice of John the Baptist
is not
a voice I particularly want to hear
this first Sunday in December,
and the penetrating eyes
are not eyes
I want to look into.
Because they come with a message
that I
am just not ready
to hear.

""Get ready,""
he says, with an urgency
I rarely feel,
except in the panic stricken hours before the stores close Christmas Eve,
""get ready
for God.""

*****

""Prepare the way of the Lord,"" John says,
""make his paths straight.""
His voice
echoes
through the centuries,
echoes
to us,
as he himself echoes
the words
of another prophet,
the prophet
Isaiah.

""In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord,
make straight in the desert a highway for our God.
Every valley shall be lifted up,
and every mountain and hill be made low;
the uneven ground shall become level,
and the rough places a plain.
Then the glory of the Lord shall be revealed
and all people shall see it together,
for the mouth of the Lord has spoken.""

If I were doing a children's talk,
I would probably have in front of me
a big box full of sand. I would have built a wonderful rugged landscape, with
tall mountains, higher than the Rockies could ever hope to be, and deep
gorges, the Grand Canyon repeated over and over again. Or even better,
modeling clay, because then I could add color and detail - there would be
precipices and black caves, jagged peaks and slopes of boulders and blue
green glaciers.
And then, when the earth stood before me
in all its glory
I would take a child's toy truck, a miniature bulldozer, and I would prepare
the way of the Lord
cutting a highway through the landscape. The clay I dug out for tunnels
would go to make bridges, and the cuttings from the sides of mountains
would go to fill in valleys, and over it all I would roll a nice smooth strip of
black clay, a highway for our God. Who would then appear, presumably, in his
miniature silver Mercedes
to drive along my beautiful road.

But is this what it's all about,
is this what Isaiah, is this what John the Baptist
really wanted us to hear? Is this
what it means
to prepare
the way?
You know,
I don't think so. The voice
in the wilderness
might be crying
""Prepare the way of the Lord""
but the way he is crying it
is not just
with words
but with a baptism
of repentance
and forgiveness.
And why?
Because God is coming. Because God is coming
and they'd better be ready.
Because God is coming, and all that fear
and doubt
and shame,
which John has seen in then,
needs to be cleaned away,
can be cleaned away,
so that they will be ready
for God.

*****

But its too late!
For the next thing they know,
God is there.
They are still standing
in the middle of that muddy river
wondering what on earth they have got themselves into
and God is there.

Right there beside them, knee deep in that
muddy river
with water trickling down his neck.
Jesus joins them
in their fear and doubt and shame,
stands beside them
in their broken-ness.

This
is the word
made flesh, the mouth of God
has indeed
spoken.

This word made flesh, this God
came not in a silver Mercedes
but on foot,
this word made flesh, this God,
doesn't wait
for everything to be cleaned up
and made safe
but came out into the place
which is most dangerous and dark and threatening
comes
and stands beside them,
and offers them
forgiveness.

Forgiveness, when
the lumps and bumps inside of them
could be smoothed, and the sharp points which tore every time they moved
could be sanded round,
and the bottomless empty valleys
filled,
and they could be healed and made whole.

Christmas time
we sometimes think
that everything has to be nice
for God to come.
A clean stable, the angels all in tune,
our hearts prepared, to use the old cliches...

But it was a whole lot more messy than that
when Christ came to the stable, a typical bloody, painful birth
it was a whole lot more messy
when he came to the wilderness, a dangerous, desolate
place,
it was a whole lot more messy than that
when he came to the cross, an excruciating, fearful death.
The words made flesh, come to stand
with us.

*****
And so it seems to me
that being ready
for God
isn't so much
about getting everything
cleaned up and perfect,
but more about
standing
in the midst of the mess, in the midst of the unfinishedness
of things,
in the midst
of danger
and desolation,
standing, and being honest
about who we are
and what we regret
and fear,
and dream,
learning to cry out to God,
from the depths of our being,
"God, why did you let me catch a glimpse
the beauty of love,
only to see
the horror
of love betrayed."
"Why did you give me these gifts
only to find
that no one
wants them?"
"God, why did you let me
begin on this course,
only to lose my way?"
Standing
in the midst
of the mess,
wondering
why on earth
we are here,
and ready to see
whatever answer
God may give.

And the answer
is Jesus. The answer
is Jesus, not like in Sunday School, when any five year old can work out
that the answer is always Jesus,
but the answer is...
is in the word made flesh
come to dwell among us
full of grace
and truth.

In the places which seem impenetrable, in the fears and the uncertainties
and the broken-ness, Jesus comes... Right there in the wilderness, where it is
most dangerous and threatening....Jesus comes...Right here and now...Jesus
comes, offering forgiveness, and healing, and hope.

Standing shivering in the river,
water trickling down their necks,
praying
for forgiveness
and healing
and hope,
the people look up.

And there, right beside them,
is the Christ.

Thanks be to God.

Raewynne J. Whiteley
5 December, 1999