Third Sunday of Advent (C), December 13, 2015, The Rev. Pamela L. Werntz
Zephaniah 3:14-20 I will change their shame into praise.
Philippians 4:4-7 Do not worry about anything, but in everything by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known to God.
Luke 3:7-18 He proclaimed good news to the people.
O God of bountiful grace and mercy, grant us the strength, the wisdom and the courage to seek always and everywhere after truth, come when it may, and cost what it will.
On this third Sunday of Advent, our scripture lessons all contain great and prophetic dissonance. The dissonance is easy to hear in the Gospel reading from Luke. John the Baptist is yelling things at the people who came to be baptized by him, like “You brood of vipers!…Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees…He will baptize you with fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire” and then the writer of Luke adds in his best story-telling voice, “with many other exhortations John the Baptist proclaimed the good news to the people.” That always makes me think, “Boy, if that’s the good news, I’d hate to hear the bad news.”
The dissonance in Philippians isn’t contained in the passage before us, but in the whole letter of Paul to the church in Philippi. Paul was writing from prison (probably in Ephesus) where he was awaiting trial and a possible death sentence. He was writing to a faith community with a turbulent past, to people with more than their share of pain. His instruction to rejoice and to not worry, then, is particularly striking and poignant to me, because he is taking full account of fear and grief. The rejoicing that Paul is encouraging is defiance, according to theologian Karl Barth. “’Joy’ in Philippians is a defiant ‘Nevertheless!’ that Paul sets like a full stop against the Philippians’ anxiety…” that things are getting worse and not better. [1] Rejoice, Paul writes, because of the unnumbered blessings you have already received.
The dissonance in Zephaniah also has to do with rejoicing in the midst of devastation and disaster, in the midst of the indignities that have been cause for shame and reproach, that have caused hands to grow weak with fear and despair. Zephaniah laments the corruption and injustice rampant in the city of Jerusalem. The covenant of living in Love has been violated and the religious leadership is implicated once again.
It’s not a stretch to imagine folks responding to any one of these three readings with an incredulous, “are you kidding me?” And when they all come together, it means that it must be Advent. Presbyterian Pastor Gary Charles once wrote, “Stories of Advent are dug from the harsh soil of human struggle and the littered landscape of dashed dreams. They are told from the vista where sin still reigns supreme and hope has gone on vacation.” [2] Doesn’t that ring true? On this third anniversary of the massacre at Sandy Hook Elementary School, the bulletin at anti-gun violence vigil the other night at First Parish noted that more than 90,000 people in this country have been killed by gun violence since December 2012. Meanwhile, in an attempt to deflect attention from our own home-grown appetite for responding to conflict with killing, xenophobia is on the rise, while so many are madly rushing around to buy gifts celebrating a child born to a middle eastern refugee family seeking shelter. Gah! Advent is, as one of my friends recently put it, a time for “waiting, expecting, preparing, and trying not to freak out.” [3]
The prophets Zephaniah, the Apostle Paul, John the Baptist and Luke the Evangelist are all giving sage advice about how to live in the midst of injustice and oppression, disaster and shame, uncertainty and fear. It’s always worth pausing to remember that the only reason to give instruction, especially in writing, is because people aren’t doing whatever is being recommended. And it’s always worth pausing to remember that the prophetic words being offered, that the call, as it were, is to the city, to the nation, to the church, to the community gathered expectantly at the Jordan River or anywhere. It’s corporate, not individual repentance being called for in Advent. Participation in systems of oppression, exploitation, and extortion must stop. Complacency in economies that work to make rich people happy and make everyone else afraid must come to an end. Whether it’s physical or financial or spiritual, whatever tempts us to behave badly toward one another toward one another must be disarmed.
And what could be more disarming than Love?
Zephaniah tells us that in the midst of injustice and oppression, disaster and shame, uncertainty and fear, is another (an Other): a warrior who is already rejoicing over the people with gladness, exulting and singing loudly, and renewing the people in Love, and the word here rendered renewing can also be translated engraving – as a metal artist might inscribe a design! Engraving the people with Love. Paul tells us that Love (aka the Lord) is near. As I said last week, Luke tells us that the Word of Love came not to the people in positions of power and public trust (like Emperor Tiberius, or Pontius Pilate or Philip or Lysanias, or the high priests of the religious establishment, to name a few). No. The Word of God came to John the Baptist, a nobody who lived in the middle of nowhere. The Love of God came and continues to come into the midst of the people, covering our enormous debts, removing our disasters so that we will not bear reproach for them, gratefully receiving all that is good and true and just, and letting the rest go.
And what is our right response according to these biblical prophets?
Our right response is singing aloud, making music, and rejoicing; making our pleas for mercy, for healing, for justice, in the context of thanksgiving; and sharing whatever we have with any who are in need. (My colleague, Gretchen Grimshaw, notes that John the Baptist commands sharing rather than giving. Sharing is so much more challenging than giving, isn’t it? Sharing a coat, sharing food demands ongoing relationship and frequent negotiation.) Our right response is dispelling the fear that weakens us and embracing the hope that invigorates us, to help those around us know just what Love looks like. According to our scripture, and according to our tradition, that is work best done in a group – because none of us can make a sustainable right response alone. Our right response is to gather and to remember that we are all beggars who know where a little bread is and can share it. Our right response is to practice the sharing in here so that we can do it out there. This is our laboratory. This is our training room to develop muscle memory of God with us, Emmanuel.
Part of our laboratory experiment, our practice, our exercise here has to do with not ever letting one’s own suffering or the suffering of the community go to waste, or be for naught. As Martin Luther King, Jr. once said, “We are called upon to help the discouraged beggars in life’s market place. But one day we must come to see that an edifice which produces beggars needs restructuring.” [4] The Apostle Paul promises us that when we maintain our posture and practice of expressing gratitude in the midst of suffering, defiant rejoicing, the peace of God will guard our hearts and minds. The peace of God will guard our hearts and minds so that, so that, our hands are strengthened to work for justice for all who suffer wrong, and freedom for all who are oppressed. So that we might be stirred up as our Advent collect prays.
Whenever Rabbi Berman preaches in our worship services, he always adds a song to conclude his sermon. It is a way of moving his message more deeply into our collective body. I thought of that because a hymn text in the Presbyterian hymnal came to my mind when I was reflecting on the rejoicing, thanksgiving and justice-making we are called to do together in community. It’s a paraphrase of Psalm 126. So I’m going to take a page from the Rabbi’s playbook and ask you to stand as you are able and sing with me.
When God restored our common life, our hope, our liberty,
at first it seemed a passing dream, a waking fantasy.
A shock of joy swept over us, for we had wept so long;
the seeds we watered once with tears sprang up into a song.
We went forth weeping, sowing seeds in hard, unyielding soil;
with laughing hearts we carry home the fruit of all our toil.
We praise the One who gave the growth, with voices full and strong.
The seeds we watered once with tears sprang up into a song.
Great liberating God, we pray for all who are oppressed.
May those who long for what is right with justice now be blest.
We pray for those who mourn this day, and all who suffer wrong;
may seeds they water now with tears spring up into a song. [5]