Luke 3: 7–18
Philippians 4: 4–7
|
|
Lord, may we hear your voice in the words spoken in your name. Amen.
|
What was it, do you suppose, that brought hordes of people out to the
rugged Judean desert to listen to the fierce prophet, the strangely
attired prophet John the Baptist? Many of those people came
from Jerusalem, which at that time was an elegant capitol city, its
buildings faced with polished marble, often embellished with gold
leaf. Think Park Avenue in New York City rather than some
primitive first-century village. In other words, many of the
people who came out to that rough desert were well–heeled and
sophisticated.
|
|
Add to that that these people, who lived in the shadow of the Temple,
already knew the Law of Moses. They knew it backwards and forwards
because they worshipped regularly at the Temple. Some of them, in
fact, were scholars of the Law, who had studied with the greatest
rabbis of their day. Yet crowds of them, learned and unlearned
alike, came out to that wilderness to be challenged by this unlettered
son of Zechariah and be baptized in the Jordan for the remission of their
sins. And they weren’t coming just from Jerusalem. People
had travelled all the way from Syria in the north, from the Negev in
the south and from the ten towns of Transjordan to hear this unlettered
man, this rough prophet, tell them exactly what was wrong with their
faith. In fact, he was urging them to repent, to rethink their
faith. What was going on here?
|
|
I guess I understand it best in light of my own experience.
I’m what they call a cradle Episcopalian. My parents took me
to St. James Episcopal Church in Upper Montclair, New Jersey, from my
earliest days. I was baptized there. And then, when I was
three, we moved to Wilmington, Delaware where we went to Trinity
Episcopal Church most every Sunday. So without even thinking
about it, I learned by heart the liturgies of Morning Prayer and Holy
Communion and the hymns of the 1940 Hymnal. The words of those
liturgies and hymns formed my understanding of my faith. Our
minister, Don Mayberry, was kind and wise. And in the faces and
actions of many of my Sunday School teachers I could see patience and
love. But somehow, as I hit my teenage and young adult
years – it wasn’t enough. I suspected, I sensed, that
the key to life must lie in my faith. But in those years my faith
didn’t seem to be covering all the challenges I was
encountering. And I didn’t know what to do about that. I
simply couldn’t figure out what was missing.
|
|
I also remember the thousands upon thousands of people all over the
world who flocked into huge stadiums to hear Billy Graham preach
evangelistic crusades from the 1950s until his death in 2018. All
over the world, wherever Billy Graham was preaching, people came to
hear him. Some of them, certainly, came only to scoff. But
many more, though they had their own churches and preachers, were
hungry for something more. And once they began to listen to the
young evangelist’s challenging words – something changed in
their hearts. For that’s what challenges do.
|
|
Do you remember what John F. Kennedy said in his inaugural speech in
1961? He challenged the crowd to do something difficult.
“Ask not what your country can do for you,” he cried out on
that cold January day. “Ask what you can do for your
country.” And we’ve never forgotten those inspiring
words. For when someone challenges you to do something difficult,
they are imagining you have it in you to respond. They are
complimenting you by saying, in effect, “I know that you have the
gifts within you to take up this challenge.”
|
|
And that, finally, is what happened out there in the Judean
desert. John wasn’t impressed by his listeners’
spiritual pedigree, their connections to the patriarch Abraham. Nor
did he particularly care how often they had attended services at the
Temple. He wanted them to change their lives – by beginning
to do what the Law had told them to do for thousands of years – to
care for the poor among them, to care for defenseless ones like widows
and orphans, to respect the dignity of strangers in their midst. So
he asked those in the crowd who had accepted his challenge to go public
with their fresh intentions. He asked them to be baptized in the
Jordan River, the site of Israel’s own fresh start when they
crossed that river into the Promised Land.
|
|
Billy Graham did something similar. In every crusade, after he had
preached for a while, he would challenge people to get up out of their
seats and walk forward – to pray with someone, to invite God into
their lives. That one humbling act, that long public walk forward,
became the first step towards their whole new life in Christ.
|
|
I know how this works. I experienced something like it when we
first moved to Texas. In those years, as I said earlier, I knew
something must be missing in my faith. If my life was a reflection
of my relationship with God, then something was surely off. But
when some ladies in my daughter’s new preschool invited me to
their neighborhood Bible study – I really didn’t want to
go. In fact, I thought up excuses for several weeks in a row so
I wouldn’t have to go. Why, I was a cradle Episcopalian!
What could these Baptist ladies possibly have to teach me?
[You see, I too was a scoffer.]
|
|
But eventually I ran out of excuses and I did go. And when those
ladies ended the Bible study that morning by having us all pray the
Sinner’s Prayer, a prayer that asks the Lord Jesus Christ to come
into someone’s heart and take over her life — I really
didn’t think I needed it. But I prayed the words
anyway. After all, I thought, it couldn’t hurt.
|
|
But that morning in that suburban Texas living room, as I prayed that
prayer an odd image came to mind. It was an image of a
house – just being built up in the sky. In fact, only the
studs were in place. And I didn’t think any more about it.
|
|
The following week when those ladies asked me back, I went more willingly
to their study. I had to admit, I was intrigued. At the end
of that morning too, we prayed the Sinner’s Prayer. And this
time, as I said the words of that prayer that same strange image of a
house being built up in the sky came to my mind again. It was the
very same house. No more progress had been made on it. It was
still just a structure of studs. But this time the distance
between me and the house had been cut in half. It was as if the
Lord was saying to me, “Well, you are halfway there.” And
I was mildly offended. I’d prayed that prayer, asking him
into my life. Was he refusing my invitation?
|
|
Finally, the third week, as we prayed that prayer again, the very same
image came to my mind. Only this time I was right on the
threshold of the doorway. And this time there were words. A
voice said, “You know, once you cross over, there’s no going
back.”
|
|
Then I was truly offended. I – Moi? — was
supposed to cross over that threshold, giving my whole life to the
Lord – and he wasn’t telling me what he would do with
it? How fair was that? It hardly seemed fair at
all. It hardly seemed reasonable. But that seemed to be his
challenge to me. “Trust me enough,” he seemed to be
saying, “to give me your life, to enter into the
life I have for you, without having to know in advance all the
gifts I have in store for you. Trust me. Just do it.”
|
|
It took me a couple more days to finally do it – and it was the
scariest thing I’d ever done. It felt like a leap of faith
into an abyss I couldn’t even see.
|
|
What an odd beginning for a whole new life!! What an
odd path to joy!! But that, in fact, is what it
was – a whole new beginning that felt like
death . . . but ended in
joy. It’s what John the Baptist offered those crowds out
in the wilderness of the Judean desert. It’s what Billy
Graham offered millions of people in those evangelistic
crusades. And it’s what you and I have learned to treasure.
|
|
Thanks be to God.
|
Amen.
|
