Joy embodied

Sermon on John 1:6-8, 19-28

During our last vacation we hiked a lot. Ask the kids. They got tired of it after about 10 days and refused to get out of the car in Sequoia National Park, just to see another big tree. They had walked enough.

We hiked for several reasons. It’s literally one of the few things one can still do this year. It’s good exercise and leads you to great places. And we, the parents, just love it. But, of course, the kids didn’t buy into any of these arguments, really.

Until nature itself gave them the best explanation. It was at Bryce National Park. We hadn’t even planned to visit it because I had never heard about it before and had certainly not seen any pictures. While we were at Zion some people talked about Bryce and basically told us that we just had to go there. So, we googled it and within minutes had cancelled a night at Zion and booked another one at Bryce. There was no doubt we had to go there.

When we arrived the first day, we parked at the Rim – and were overwhelmed by the beauty of the place. The largest collection of hoodoos are to be seen there. And if you wonder what hoodoos are. It’s the funkiest way a column-style rock formation can look like mixed with the funkiest name. Add a great mix of orange and red colors and your rock fairyland is created.

Then, we walked into the hoodoos. Through the hoodoos. Below the hoodoos. The magic grew every minute. Behind every turn there was a new view, new natural sculptures to discover. We saw queens and kings, knights and dragons, towers and walls and moats. And the best part: The kids never complained about the hike. Not that day and not the next one when we did a full 6-mile hike including icy paths and 1,500 feet of elevation gain. Pretty strenuous. And no complaints from the kids. And they claimed that this was their favorite National Park.

So, we reflected a little bit about it. (After all, there mom is a pastor…) We all agreed that we had loved the park at first sight. And that we now felt physically connected to it after having hiked it for 9 hours total. That feeling our own bodies working hard to make it up and down the narrow paths built a connection between our bodies and this place. That not just looking at the beauty but feeling it, sitting on it, singing about it, running towards it, telling stories about it, brought this park into our hearts and touched our souls. At the end of the 2 days we all felt deeply joyous. Joy that we could feel in our bodies. In aching legs and tired feet. In being hungry and thirsty. We had experienced a wilderness, formerly unknown to us and had connected to it. We had found holy land in the wilderness. A place where I felt God’s presence so intense that I had to sing and praise God. We had found a place so many people before us have found God at. A place that’s been holy to Native Americans for thousands of years.

The wilderness in the old times was considered the natural habitation of demons. Depicted as a daunting place full of menacing sounds. A place to be conquered and defeated. Sounds about right to me who has always lived in cities. Except for my year in Canada when I lived in a small town. Which didn’t make me love the countryside. Especially as a 16-year-old without a driver’s license living on a farm. The wilderness is a place I often dream about, I like to visit for vacations, but I wouldn’t want to live there.

However, theologian Delores Williams offers a different version of the wilderness. Rather than a place to be feared, Williams reinterprets wilderness as a place of struggle and Spirit, both problematic and promising. It’s a positive place conducive to uplifting the spirit and to strengthening faith. It’s a place you better bring enough water with you and a strong will to endure. And a place that will reward you spiritually with more than you can imagine.

I know, a day-hike is not the same as being in the wilderness forever. That kind of wilderness probably feels more like 2020. And yet, long hikes and hard months of waiting for things to get better have a lot to do with Advent and John the Baptist. The wild angel. The guy who ate honey and flowers.

Covid-19 first hit us when we had just began lent. Back then we talked about this being a time of Sabbath and fasting. None of us anticipated that this would go on for many months to come, of course. Yet, again, we find ourselves in a time of preparation and anticipation. In a time of fasting. At least within the Orthodox tradition.

You can imagine how strange and hard that was for me when I spent my year in Romania studying Orthodox theology. No chocolate before Christmas, no cookies, no hot wine. Except for Sundays. That’s when we feasted with our church choir after the 3-hour-worship-service. But during the week, people fasted. Regular people just did Wednesdays and Fridays strictly. My colleagues and professors did the real thing. Orthodox fasting means basically a vegan diet of raw fruit and vegetable and some dry bread and water. That’s it. While around them the world smells like gingerbread and cinnamon and hot chocolate.

Well, I only did the light version, 2 days a week. That was already challenging enough for me.

Just like a strenuous hike this rigorous fasting did something with me. It connected me with my body and the world around me. And you can’t imagine the bodily joy I felt when eating breakfast on a Thursday or Saturday morning.

My seemingly ascetic professors and friends didn’t despise the body. They took it seriously. They celebrated Advent with their entire body. Waiting patiently during the week, feasting on Sundays in huge anticipation for Christmas. And let me tell you, Romanian food is amazing! It’s worthwhile waiting for.

John the Baptist did both. He fasted and he walked in the wilderness. And the people who came to him from Jerusalem had to at least walk quite a bit to get to him. They probably didn’t pack a rich lunch, dinner and breakfast either. When they got baptized in the Jordan, their bodies were ready to be filled with joy. They were ready to see the light that was to come.

In the last several months most of us admittedly didn’t fast. But after all these months of wilderness and uncertainty, we too are ready to see the light. And we have been fasting indeed. In not seeing most of the people we love. In seeing some of the people we love too much. Like 24/7. In not meeting in-person at church. In missing out of so many things. For some of us this fasting even meant losing a beloved job, fearing for the future. We are ready to see the light. And it will come, we will see and feel it. The joy to be seen and loved. The joy of sharing what we have. Our hope, our faith, our love, our very beings. And at one point we will again hug people and it will be a joy embodied after a long time in the wilderness. And God will be our light on the way in Christ. Amen.