Faithful Renegade (Sermon - Advent 1)

“Faithful Renegade”

Mt. 3:1-11

11/30/14

First Sunday of Advent 1

Allen Huff

Jonesborough Presbyterian Church

          Hearing of John the Baptist, the faithful and the curious creep to the banks of the Jordan River. They stalk the prophet as if he is some sort of dangerous prey. But like shepherds hunting a rogue wolf, none want to turn a corner only to discover that they are the hunted.  Not that John would hurt anyone, but people talk.

          John does cut a fearsome figure. Coarse pelts of camel’s hair hang about his lean frame as if his own skin is molting in great, matted clumps. His beard seems to explode from his face in a thick, brown spray littered with bits of locust and crystallized honey.

          John’s eyes make the deepest impression. Those eyes don’t just see the world. They confront it. One who had been held in John’s direct gaze spoke of feeling the flow of an icy river across his body. Another compared it to the burn of the sun on bare skin.

          John the Baptist. Wild-eyed prophet. Renegade preacher’s kid.

          Can’t you just hear the tongues wag in the synagogue?

          Poor Zechariah and Elizabeth. They had that boy when they were so old they didn’t know what to do with him. They’re such good people. And he had such potential.

          Yes, but he was always just a little – odd. I mean he never did like matzo, you know. And he kept trying to sit in Elijah’s seat at every Seder.

          Oh, I know it. And look at him now – out there living with the wild animals like he’s one of them. Hollering at us to repent. Now if that’s not the pot calling the kettle black!

          Mm, mm, what is this world coming to?

          Oh, mercy! Gentile at two o’clock! Quick, let’s go this way!

          That’s John’s world.  It’s Jesus’ world, too. Because the Jewish people have not had a truly memorable prophet in nearly twenty generations, no one really remembers what to watch and listen for. John’s job is to prepare the people for the arrival of God’s Christ. So he comes hardest at the religious leaders, the keepers of the Law.

          First century Judaism seems to have known little more than the Law. They do know it well, of course. Devout Jews even love it in order to love the God who gives it, but it appears that they no longer really expect anything from it. Perhaps many Jews don’t want to expect anything new. Maybe all they want from the Law is what they already think they know.  It is certainly much less threatening, and much less disappointing not to expect anything new.

          Lest we judge, we must ask: Are we any different? When we sing “Come, Thou Long-Expected Jesus” during Advent, what do we expect? Do any of us honestly expect all that we proclaim about Jesus?

          One way to interpret John’s dramatic appearance and predatory prophecy is as a call to renewed expectation, renewed hope and faith in God’s presence and power in the world. Preparation is all about expectation. To prepare without expecting anything is like planting seeds in wet concrete.

          Planting the seeds of repentance along the fertile banks of the Jordan River, John trusts that those seeds of preparation will blossom into expectation.

          It seems to me that the Church has often understood repentance in predominantly self-serving terms. We utter formulas of repentance in order to save ourselves, but doesn’t that sound like works righteousness? John calls us to repent not of individual sins, but of the condition of sinfulness.

          Repentance heals the whole body so that it may expect to recognize, celebrate, and participate in the new thing that God is always doing in the world. Repentance turns us from old ways of being in relationship with our neighbors and the earth. Through repentance, our eyes may see the same scenery around us. Our ears may hear the same sounds. Our voices may spring from our throats with the same tone and inflections as before. But we will see, listen, and speak as ones being transformed for the sake of all creation. At its heart, repentance is an act of community.

          When John sees the Pharisees and Sadducees approach the Jordan to receive baptism, he is not impressed. His penetrating eyes see the underlying selfishness. These men of religious power come in their conspicuous finery only to be seen. They do not understand repentance, and all they expect is a confrontation they must win. John calls them out. He challenges them to turn toward compassion, justice, and love. Such things are the fruits of repentance. And one simply cannot live the demands of compassion, justice, and love without expecting them to deliver blessing.

          As part of a seminary class, I watched a movie called “Mass Appeal.” In the movie, Jack Lemon stars as Father Farley, a Catholic priest who has become comfortably ensconced in his career of professional religion. He is approachable and funny, and he says exactly what his congregation wants to hear. Wrapped in the fine robes of popularity, life is predictable and safe. Then comes Mark Dolson.

          Mark Dolson interrupts one of Father Farley’s entertaining dialogue sermons with challenging questions and opinions on the ordination of women to the priesthood. The young man throws cold water all over the old priest’s parades and charades.

          The next day, having gone to the seminary for a meeting, Father Farley runs into Mark Dolson. He learns, to his dismay, that this fellow is a seminary student. He also learns that most professors give Dolson independent studies just to keep him out of their classrooms. Like John the Baptist, Mark Dolson is a faithful renegade in the staid, self-satisfied temple of the Church. And that makes him most unwelcome.

          As the story progresses, Father Farley and Mark Dolson are forced into a mentoring relationship. The younger reluctantly discovers his need for the wisdom of the elder. And the elder soon and no less reluctantly discovers his and the Pharisaic church’s need for the presence of renegades, or, as Farley finally musters the courage to call them, “those crazy, beautiful people who keep the church alive.”

          In the final scene of the movie, a changed and changing Father Farley stands before his congregation preparing to say the Mass. He begins, but gets flustered. Finally, he throws up his hands and says, “I can’t do this anymore.”

          I can’t do this anymore. Would you care to take a stab at translating that into biblical language? I think it would sound something like this: I repent.

          Father Farley moves in front of the altar, confesses his renewed love for Jesus and for the people Jesus loves. And to the terrified dismay of some, and the terrified joy of others, the old priest recommits himself to living a life of Christmas expectation and Easter resurrection.

          God has a penchant for sending faithful renegades into our midst to call us to repentance. John the Baptist was neither the first nor the last. He is simply the one whose ministry prepares us for the coming of God’s long-expected, renegade Christ.

          John continues to call us to repentance. And whatever he may have in mind about “the wrath to come,” it has nothing over the grace that comes with Jesus. When the church reduces our proclamation to Repent or go to hell, we plant seeds in wet concrete. And we do nothing more than to prepare people to be dead.

          But Friends, listen. Neither John nor Jesus is in the business of preparing folks to be dead. They come to prepare all creation to be alive!