(1) In those days John the Baptist
appeared in the wilderness of Judea, proclaiming, (2) "Repent, for the kingdom of
heaven has come near." (3) This is the one of whom the prophet Isaiah spoke when he
said, "The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: 'Prepare the way of the Lord,
make his paths straight.'" (4) Now John wore clothing of camel's hair with a leather
belt around his waist, and his food was locusts and wild honey. (5) Then the people of
Jerusalem and all Judea were going out to him, and all the region along the Jordan, (6)
and they were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. (7) But when he
saw many Pharisees and Sadducees coming for baptism, he said to them, "You brood of
vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? (8) Bear fruit worthy of
repentance. (9) Do not presume to say to yourselves, 'We have Abraham as our ancestor';
for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. (10) Even
now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good
fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. (11) I baptize you with water for repentance,
but one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to carry his
sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. (12) His winnowing fork is in
his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor and will gather his wheat into the
granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire."
- Matthew 3:1-12
Judgmentalism is the bane of liberal Protestantism. For generations, mainline
Protestant preachers have sought to buffer the judgmental acid of Biblical orthodoxy to
make it more palatable. Sin has been recast as brokenness. Hell is pictured as separation.
Dante's Inferno is understood as the creative product of poetic imagination rather than a
literal description of a physical reality. The harsh rhetoric of fear-based religion has
been transformed into the soothing tones of love, peace and compassion.
Then along comes John the Baptist preaching fire. Snacking on crickets, smelling of too
many days in the wilderness, his grim visage smears the screen of our Christmas good cheer
with irritating bad taste. "Repent!"
Every year the lectionary thrusts him into our lap smack dab in the middle of the
second Sunday of Advent. He tears through our wreaths and peace and hope and love and
sweet baby Jesus with harsh judgment. "Woe to you, you brood of vipers! Who
warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Repent!"
Who invited this guy to the Christmas party?
Judgment is not a pretty thing. Most good church folk with whom I associate -
Presbyterians, Episcopals, Methodists and our ilk - have spent a good portion of our lives
getting away from the judgmentalism of the Fundies and the Pentecostals. We don't go for
that kind of Christianity. It makes us squirm. It makes us feel like someone's breathing
down our back and in our shoes and in our underwear. We don't go for that kind of
religion.
So when John the Baptist comes crashing into our holiday party every Advent with his
locusts, vipers, repentance and wrath, we politely turn the other way. The last thing we
want is some holier-than-thou, self-righteous, full of himself, arrogant religious fanatic
coming right up to our faces and telling us that we need to repent or we're going to hell.
Good God. That's why I'm a Presbyterian, to escape that kind of narrow-minded bilge and
find some kind of spirituality that speaks of love, peace and the higher things of life.
Except that's what the text says we need to do: repent! If we are to prepare for him,
if we are really going to prepare for Christ, if we are to get ready to enter the stable
and make room in the inn our of our own heart, then we need to repent. There's going to
need to be some reckoning and some fire. Judgment is part and parcel of this faith of ours
and we're on the judgment seat. John is saying that if you want new life, you first have
to go through a self-examining fire.
On a societal level we're really not into self-examination. We've had enough of knowing
that we are vulnerable. We can wave the flags, rally the troops and eradicate evil, but
we've had enough of self-examination. It's practically unpatriotic.
John the Baptist comes crowding into our Deck the Halls and God Bless Americas like a
bad smell in a crowded theater. He says if we want to get ready for the birth of Jesus
then we need to exposed to fire and repent.
Repent. There's a loaded word. It conjures up images of tent revivals and Billy Graham
crusades. It means coming to Jesus. Why would Presbyterians need to come to Jesus? We
assume that we're already there. Then we build on it. We fill in the details. We rely on
others to do the converting routine: Baptists and Inter-Varsity. Then we polish the
product once it's time for horizons to be expanded. We bring intellectual respectability.
Talk of repentance makes us squirm. It makes us uncomfortable.
The crowds stream down to the river Jordan to be baptized by John. Hundreds arrive from
Jerusalem and from the lands along the Jordan and all of Judea. They must have been
uncomfortable. They must have been uncomfortable with the conditions of their lives and
they were ready for a change. They must have been uncomfortable with the current
arrangements of their world and they must have longed for something better. Whatever
purifying fire they were stepping into had to be better than what they were leaving
behind.
You see, before September 11 shocked us into discovering our vulnerability and the
uncomfortable fact that life - all life - hangs by a fragile thread, some of us were
getting an inkling that not all was well. We were getting uncomfortable. There was a
nervous beating of the foot, a nervous tick just below the eye.
Despite all our prosperity and confidence in our superiority, there was an unease, ill
defined, a sense that something is missing in the collective psyche. Some of us were
wondering how it could be that though we are the one remaining superpower in the world,
our levels of political participation are the lowest ever. Some of us were wondering how
cynicism and distrust can be so high?
Some of us were wondering how we as a society can be so obsessed with the latest sexual
scandal of our politicians, or the latest celebrity tummy tuck, but have public schools
and the children within them tossed away like garbage, so that Dr. Percy Clark calls this
public school system "a throw-away school district." How can we wave our flags
and throw away our children? How can we do that?
How is it that the wealthiest nation in the history of humankind, enjoying the longest
economic boom in history of the world until the last few months, has the highest poverty
rate in the industrialized world save Russia and Portugal? How can that be?
And how can it be that suburban, affluent white kids with every privilege imaginable
can spray mayhem and mass murder with ever more powerful weaponry so that we lead all
nations in deaths by gunfire? How can that be? Why is it despite our amazing blessings,
our prodigious productivity, our military and financial muscle, our affirmation of human
freedom and economic opportunity that our children can be affected with so much unease and
alienation?
As long as this war lasts, and as long as we can be seduced into denying our soft
underbelly, then we can roast our chestnuts, sing our fa la la la las, and wave our flags,
but when it is over then the alienation will still be there. You and I know it. It will
still be there.
To bear the name of Christ is to be uncomfortable with the current arrangements of this
world. To be a Christian is to be in the world, but not of it.
The grim visage of John the Baptist confronts our patriotic fervor, our happy Christmas
preparations and our ever-present capacity for denial with a prophetic voice crying from
the wilderness, "Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.
Repent."
Despite all the Baptist associations with scruples against dancing, card playing, and
rock and roll, to repent means literally to turn around, to head a new direction, to
journey toward the right direction: toward God and God's purposes.
To turn around and head the right direction means to look deeper. It means to look
beyond fluff, hype and jingoism into what in AA they call a searching and fearless moral
inventory and to recognize our complete and utter need for God.
But our preparation to receive God doesn't stop there. "Bear fruit worthy of
repentance," the Baptist proclaims. Bear fruit worthy of the new direction we
affirm. Work for racial reconciliation. Uphold the dignity of all people, not just
Americans but all people. Engage in civic affairs. Read to your children. Tutor. Run for
office. Pray for your enemies. Work on your anger problem. Bring beauty to someone's life.
Turn off the T.V. Prepare a meal for the homeless. Know what your children are doing.
Listen to them. Stick your nose into somewhere where it doesn't belong. Bring a Muslim
family into your home. Give sacrificially. Pray for peace. Grow uncomfortable with the
current arrangements of this world's power. Move from complacency to conversion. Bear
fruit worthy of repentance.
This sweet baby Jesus whose birth we celebrate in a few weeks is no baby. For of him
the prophets write, "His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his
threshing floor and will gather his wheat into the granary; but the chaff he will burn
with unquenchable fire."
Repent! Turn around! Get ready! Get ready for Jesus! The kingdom of heaven draws near.
Amen.
