Grace to you and peace from God whose advent we celebrate this season, from Jesus who makes the blind to see, the lame to walk, and who brings good news to the poor, and from the Holy Spirit who invites us into this patient, “desert-blossom living.” AMEN.
Don’t you just love John the Baptist? The fiery wilderness prophet, who last week we heard ate locusts and wild honey, who shouted “Repent, prepare the way of the Lord—he’s so amazing I’m not even worthy to carry his sandals,” is now locked up in prison and wondering about Jesus, “Are you the one to come or shall we wait for another?” What a change in tone from the bold, assured Baptizer that we heard a week ago.
I love John the Baptist’s varying tones because I can relate: one minute I might be confident and more joyous than ever (about life, about faith, about decisions I’ve made)…and the next, usually in the wake of a disaster, my assurance is dashed, and I find myself, like John, sitting in prison unable to see the good out there…held my own prison of doubt, depression or disappointment. “Are you the one who is to come, or shall we wait for another?”
December can be both a season that we love: the decorations, the music, the get-togethers, the gifts…and on the other hand, this can be a season of real disappointment. [pause] The highs and the lows are at an extreme this time of year (and we kind of “catch that” with our Advent texts, I think). “He shall be called wonderful, counselor, the prince of peace.” “Wait a minute, maybe he’s not the One?” It’s sky high, or it’s rock bottom.
I just think about the afternoon of Christmas Day, when all the excitement is gone and the wrapping paper is shredded all over the living room floor. In some cases, the novelty and euphoria of the new stuff has already worn off, and it’s back to reality. “Are you the one who is to come or are we to wait for another?”
It’s easy to say this about a baby king, too, who, like so many other things in our life, doesn’t turn out the way we wanted. “I thought we were going to get everything we wanted if we confessed and believed hard enough in you, Jesus!” What a disappointment, what a rip-off. [pause] It’s kind of like the Gospel text the Sunday after Christmas Day. Do you know what it is? Herod slaughtering the children. “Disappointment” is horrific understatement for that story. One day after “all is calm, all is bright,” the sounds of innocent young lives being taken in the street, come dripping from the pages of our lectionary. Isn’t that awful?
Or is it honest? It’s like the fights that can ensue in our own families during the “most wonderful time of the year,” the wars—between nations, between peoples—picking up right where they left off. Christmas Eve is really more like a quick rest and patch-up in corner of the boxing ring. That is awful but it’s also honest.
John the Baptist identifies something that we will find too, if we haven’t already: this holy child, about to be unwrapped, does not make things easier—he makes things more real, Jesus makes us more real. And this is the true gift of his presence, his real presence. In the gift of the Christ child, our eyes and ears are opened to hear the cries of children who are hurting and even dying, to hear the longings of widows, to hear the anger of soldiers, the fears of the unemployed, the apathy of the our neighbors. Jesus makes us more real, which means more in-touch, less oblivious. And Jesus’ faithful servants model for us the real doubt and real disappointment that comes with that. Modern day example: Mother Theresa. After this beloved Christ-follower’s death, letters were found, piles of letters that exposed for the world to comment on, her real doubt and disappointment…
One quote from 1979: “Jesus has a very special love for you. As for me, the silence and the emptiness is so great that I look and do not see, listen and do not hear.”
Sounds like John that Baptist in prison a little. That was 1979 – how much good did she do after that, despite that? Maybe you remember when this story broke a few years ago. There was a very shocking tone to this story in the media, but I remember a mentor of mine receiving the news of Theresa’s “crisis of faith” as Time called it, as a welcome relief. “What do ya know,” my friend said, “Mother Theresa’s a human being.” (Come Be My Light, some kickin’ Advent reading, I imagine)
Here’s the real joy of this season: Christ’s divinity, through the incarnation, realizes our humanity.
In other words, because of Christ’s advent—Christ’s coming to earth to dwell among us, and in us (through holy water and holy meal), because of Christ’s in-carnation—we become the most real “humans being,” our humanity is real-ized. Perfectly imperfect humans we become. A welcome relief: thank, God (in this time of Christmas cards and letters that make everyone look and sound so perfect…) Because of Christ’s advent, we are free to be wounded healers, honest witness bear-ers to the resurrection all around us, despite our emptiness-es – the lame walk, the blind see, the deaf hear. What are your resurrection stories, Christ-followers? [pause] The stories of people beginning to see life in a new way after being blinded by fear for so many years – the stories of the lame, those bent over or held under a yolk of oppression for generations, finally standing up for themselves and walking tall and strong – the stories of those who have always been deaf to the saving news of Jesus Christ, but then something clicks and they finally hear it, the deaf finally hear, “God is love, and that love, that grace, never leaves us.” Some spend nearly entire lifetimes in our churches, but remain deaf to that good news…and some finally hear it.
“Go and tell John, what you hear and see, the blind receive their sight, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.”
The Christ followers live in and see in this world differently. We see the reality, and we still see the resurrection. We see the deserts, we know the deserts, and we still see the blossoms.
The true joy of this season cannot be captured in the feelings of one high energy morning, or one beautiful melodic night: it is a process, like flowers blooming in the desert. It doesn’t happen overnight. Farmers know about process. We Christ-farmers wait patiently, for the precious yield, even as we celebrate the yield we already have. Returning to scripture, being shaped by that Word over the years, while celebrating the gift of God’s real presence all the while, and finally trusting that the full yield, the fulfillment will come at last. The full rains will come, the blossoms will break forth. The dry places will be drenched. The dark places will be flooded with light…and the God of love and grace and peace will pour out over us and this entire universe!
We continue to wait. But our waiting will not be in vain, for we know how the story ends, and we wait with joy, as we wait with Christ, who still dwells with us now and forevermore. AMEN.
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