Go home and do God’s work
Sermon on Luke 3:7-18
We are back in our sanctuary! After over 2 years! What a joy!
And it looks wonderful. Like Christmas. We got the tree up and decorated yesterday. At 8 am on a Saturday morning! The choir is here, you all are here. We have prayed today and sang. It’s almost like back in 2018. When you were last in your church for Advent. 3 years ago!
So much is like it always used to be. And so much isn’t. Some of you are joining us via Zoom. We have rearranged the chairs. We are masked. We will have the “speed feed” communion for safety reasons. There is still some insecurity around how to be with each other after that long time of few contacts. And, we are all trying to navigate what it means when a pandemic turns into an endemic where we have done all we can to protect ourselves and each other. And where there isn’t much left for us to do. Except to live on and make smart decisions if need be.
Everywhere around us it’s beginning to smell and look and sound like Christmas. Like perfect harmony, coated with sugar and baked at 400 degrees to perfection. Like children dressed in clean, pretty clothes, quietly smiling while crafting gifts for their family and friends. Like Christmas cards assuring each other how much we love and honor each other. Like carols in an infinite loop. Like the holidays, basically.
At least, like the holidays in Hallmark movies. And in our dreams. In reality, it often looks more like our sanctuary today. Beautifully decorated but not perfect. We didn’t get the angels out this year or the stars. We just didn’t have the energy nor the ladders or people willing to climb up. As much as we might need angels this year, we aren’t quite ready for them yet. Our needs are still fairly worldly, our time and strength are limited. And so, we decided to do less. And enjoy that even more. Perfection isn’t what Christmas is about. It’s not even about harmony.
Sometimes, I wonder where those dreams have come from. Definitely not from our holy scriptures. There, Advent looks more like December in our home. Like last-minute organizing, like high expectations meeting a harsh reality. In todays Gospel Advent looks a lot like our church life right now. Like getting ready for something big without knowing exactly what that will look like. Getting ready for change because we strongly feel that the way things are isn’t working. Yet, we have no clue what to do about it. So, we just try some change and when it fails, we try anew. And we pray and trust that God’s spirit will lead us into life-giving ministries.
John the Baptist doesn’t have a place in a Hallmark movie. Or just as the annoying neighbor who keeps yelling over the street that it’s street sweeping day, so move your car, quickly. The guy we are kind of thankful to for saving us fines but also, why can’t he just mind his own business? How is calling people out, good news, like Luke dares to claim it is?
The answer lies in the people’s question after he finishes his fire and brimstone sermon, insulting them as “brood of vipers”. Instead of leaving him, angrily, people stay and sincerely ask: “What should we do? We have heard you preach; we get what you are saying. We understand that this cannot go on forever. We get it. But, how on earth, can we change that? What should we do?”
People asking those questions aren’t the ones with the perfect lives and relationships. They might have a beautiful home or enough money to feel safe and secure in this world. And still wonder what’s missing. Or, they might feel like they will never get ahead of the game. Like there is no future for them. Just hard work and no sense of safety. They have come to the ends of themselves. They are weary of the times, bored of starring at the same walls day in and day out, disillusioned about the future, desperate for hope or at least change. For something that will make them feel alive again. Connected to each other and to their creator.
Those people sound a bit like us. Like one of you sitting in the sanctuary on Saturday, after we had put up the tree. Remembering how much used to be possible at CTK, and seeing how everyone has gotten older. Wiser, too. And too old for many physical challenges, including elaborate decorations. It’s hard, it hurts. And the question up in the air is: What should we do? How can we be a church for and with our neighbors?
John calls his people out because he hopes that they will change. That his preaching will not be in vain. That God never gives up on her people and so shouldn’t God’s prophets and preachers. And that is what makes all the difference. God created us. To be people in God’s image. Meaning, to be generous, honest, respectful, caring people. Those attributes all of us hope to be remembered for one day. And, because John firmly believes that God created the heavens and earth and all that’s in it, John can be hopeful. He is sure that we, the people, have the capacity to rise and meet the challenge of living in God’s presence as presenters of God’s love.
Now, those things have been said for centuries. Long before John the Baptist. It’s easy to become cynical and say: “Well, it doesn’t look like people care at all, why bother?” Or “We have tried new paths before and they didn’t lead anywhere.”
Well, John’s preaching leads people to reconsidering their situation. They sincerely want to know what they might be able to change.
They probably expected to hear John say radical solutions like “Abandon everyone and everybody” or “stay in the desert” or “start a revolution”. After all, John lives a radical life off the beaten path, in the wilderness.
What John tells them instead, comes as a surprise. He tells the people to go home. To their families, neighbors, vocations and colleagues. Home to our loved ones who don’t agree with us on issues that are important to us.
Into our communities. Where we experience a country and a world drifting apart through polarization. Where the multitude of poisoned topics seems endless and sometimes makes any kind of meaningful conversation impossible.
Into that reality, John proclaims the Good News for us, that sound more like the reality we dread than Jesus’ love kumbaya style. John claims that Jesus will come and “clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.” Sounds a lot like us versus them. Or them versus us. Like vaccinated versus Covid-denier. Like right versus left, where purple only exists on paper.
Well, like so often, one has to listen closely to what is actually being said here. This is no Hashtag or bumper sticker material.
Let me give you some farmers’ background here that I just learned this week. Every grain of wheat has a husk, and farmers (even today) use wind to separate these husks — collectively known as “chaff” — from the grain. The goal being, of course, to save every grain, not to separate the good grain from the bad grain. This is a metaphor of cleansing and preservation, not division. What the wind and fire remove are the “husks”: all of our anxieties, self-absorption, apathy, or greed that make us less generous, less fair, or less respectful of others. I sure know my husks and I am sure you know yours. This is not a metaphor about how to deal with a country divided into good and evil people, good and evil voters, good and evil opinions, good and evil judges. This is a metaphor claiming something much greater and harder.
That there is a line between good and evil. But that it doesn’t run between groups. It runs through the heart of each person. Which is why each of us requires restoration, liberation from whatever “husks” are holding us back. Which also happens to be exactly how the wind and fire of the Spirit work: not to destroy, but to sanctify, refine, challenge, restore, and empower us with burning love and liberating storms.
And all of this doesn’t require us to give up everything, to lead a life in the wilderness like John. It just requires us to go back home. To look into our closets and cabinets and fridges and bank accounts and share what we have. To look into our souls and strong convictions and find the husks that keep us from connecting with more people deeper.
Like John says: “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.” Also: “Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.” And: “Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.”
We don’t have to go anywhere. We don’t have to be anyone different. Debbie Thomas puts it so beautifully, as always: “Stop fleeing. Stop insisting that God is far away from the nitty-gritty dailiness of your particular life. Instead of waiting for a holy someday that will never come, inhabit the stuff of your life as deeply and as generously as you can right now. Share now. Be merciful now. Do justice now. Inhabit your life, no matter how plain, how obscure, how unglamorous, how routine. Why? Because the holy ground that matters most is the ground beneath your feet.” And God’s spirit is right here to help you. Amen!
