Not Fear, but Fearsome Hope.

Luke 3:7-18

This week we finally hear that voice in the wilderness, and his first line is to call all who have come to him, and by extension us, a brood of vipers. It’s definitely not the way we expect to see evangelism happen, but something about his insult-filled preaching and his apocalyptic warnings definitely drew a crowd. We are joining that crowd today, standing and sitting on the sandy banks of the Jordan River. This rant of John’s might be familiar to us, but for a moment I invite you to imagine you’re hearing it for the first time. You’ve come from miles away, probably on foot, to hear a wild man preach, and the first thing he does is hurl insults at you for being there. First he calls you a brood of vipers, then he tells you you’re no more significant than the rocks and stones that line the river bed, and finally he compares you to kindling to be cut up and thrown in a fire. These are wild metaphors from a wild man, and somehow within them his first audience understood that there was good news to be heard. And so we travel again into the wilderness to hear more of what John has to say, to ask more questions, and ultimately to come closer to that same good news that brings us together these thousands of years later.

Here with John we have another parallel between our Advent journey and the Lenten season. Lent is an extended journey with Jesus through the wilderness of temptation, meditation, fasting, and preparation. Advent too begins in the wilderness, with the prophet John echoing his forebears in proclaiming the Advent of salvation, the coming of a new day in the presence of God. Unlike Jesus who would travel from town to town and spent time in both countryside and crowded city, John proclaims the Good News in the wild places and beckons all who will listen to join him there. The Word of God which John hears and shares with the crowds is a message of change, and the liminal places of wilderness and river are the best backdrop for this message. Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight. When John preaches this among the scattered trails of the wild and the winding course of the river, he illustrates what exactly he is calling his listeners to do. Prepare the way of the Lord in your lives, make his paths straight to your hearts. The repentance John calls for is an act of preparation, not for an impending judgment but for the new birth of salvation that Jesus will bring. Advent, our season of waiting and expectation, is also a season of preparation. We must prepare ourselves for the full reality of Christ’s incarnation, because it is more than a sentimental picture or a nostalgic song. The birth and ministry of Jesus are acts of our salvation. John’s wild places are where we prepare ourselves to see the Word of God for ourselves.

The repentance so often emphasized in the season of Lent is one of deep personal reflection, of our own implication in the crucifixion and our individual spiritual practices and temptations. What John is calling for in preparation for the Advent of Christ is more than individual, and it is even more than spiritual. When pressed for guidance by the crowds who come to him, John urges them to bear fruit worthy of their repentance. If you have two coats, he tells them, share with those who have none. If you have food, share it with those who do not. If it is your job to collect money from others, charge no more than you must. If you hold power over others, do not use it or abuse it.  These are individual actions, yes, but they are also by definition communal acts. John does not call for the individual purification of a small number but a penitent conversion of life by all people. Before Jesus ever tells a rich man to sell all he has or to give away his excess, John is imploring every citizen and soldier and priest and tax collector to prepare by taking care of one another. The groundwork is laid for the Great Commandment by John’s invitation to turn our hearts toward an unburdened life. The baptisms of John in the waters of the Jordan are the first steps toward the fiery anointing of Pentecost. His voice, crying in the wilderness, is calling to us too. We are being called to repentance, a preparation for the Gospel birth.

This is not a “Repent for the end is nigh” fearmongering moment. Advent is not about fearing the end, but expecting it with joy. And so the repentance we are called to is not one of fear or shame, but one of joyful turning. John the Baptizer’s voice is not a voice of fear, but of fearsome hope. Hope that God keeps the promises God has made. Belief that God will forgive, belief that humanity can change, vehement trust that the way of the Lord is within and among us. For it is not with avenging angels or pillars of fire that the way of the Lord is prepared. It is with the cool waters of forgiveness. It is with the gentle act of shrugging off a coat and wrapping it around the shoulders of someone who has nothing to keep them warm or safe. It is the act of doing your part and being mindful of the power and privilege that you hold, turning away from opportunities for personal gain at another’s expense. It is taking stock of what you have and discerning what can be shared. If this brings with it sharp pricks of guilt and grief, it is only the loving image of God in us acknowledging the beloved image of God in another. We confess our sins because we know deep down that we are capable of more, and our repentance frees us up to do and give and be more. By admitting our need for forgiveness, acknowledging our desire to return to God, we make way for restoration. By admitting we are not perfect, we move a little closer to God’s perfect vision for us.

This is the pastoral hope behind John’s harsh words and apocalyptic preaching. His hope for us is that we open our eyes, that we are startled awake from self-satisfaction by his invitation to change. It is not enough for him that we come and listen, if we do not also act. Neither can it be enough for us. We return to John’s words in Advent because we need the reminder that the one who is coming does not come only to comfort, but to heal. Not only to share the good news, but to embody it. Not only to live beside us, but to die beside us. What then shall we do? Repent, and return. Make straight the way of the Lord. Hear the Good News. The one who is coming is on fire with love for us, and with that love will burn away all that separates us.