Third Sunday of Advent

In last week’s Gospel, John the Baptist was a man of power, authority and certainty.  The crowds came to the wilderness to hear his message of repentance, and the need to prepare the way of the Lord.   This week things are rather different.  John languishes in prison, and when he hears what Jesus is doing, he is not sure these are the actions of the Messiah he proclaimed.

So what has changed?   Perhaps part of the explanation is the incarceration of an outdoors man of action in a dark prison cell.   He has been arrested by King Herod, for fiercely criticising his philandering behaviour.   Sadly, far too many today will know what it is like to be imprisoned for daring to speak out against the powerful.  Feeling abandoned and alone, John falls prey to doubts and uncertainty.  

This is plausible but speculative.   What is more certain, is the disjunction between the preaching of John, and the actions of Jesus.  John, you will remember, was a stern denouncer of the sins of the peoples, speaking of an axe being laid to the root of the trees, and trees that did not bear fruit being burnt to the ground.   The Messiah John expected to see, was a man of justice inaugurating the final judgement of God on wicked humankind. 

Last week’s John the Baptist reading was from Chapter three of Matthew’s Gospel.   This week’s reading was from Chapter eleven.    In between these passages, for chapter after chapter after chapter – go and read them for yourselves – we have heard of Jesus healing the sick, preaching that the merciful are blessed, calling despised collectors and sinners to follow him, and proclaiming the good news of the coming Kingdom.   Through all this and more, in his focus on those in need rather than punishing wrongdoers, he is not turning out to be the kind of Messiah John expected. 

For the Christian faith, Jesus is of course a good man, but to say that is not nearly enough.   For us, the actions and words of Jesus reveal to us the very nature of God.  The way we understand what Jesus says and does, therefore, really matters – and will shape what we think following him is really all about.

Some of you will know that I grew up in apartheid South Africa.  It was an early lesson in how tempting it us to create a picture of Jesus out of one’s own prejudices and fears.  For the white government of that time was full of religious people, who worshipped in the Dutch Reformed Church.   In their view Jesus would always endorse order over chaos, authority over resistance, peace over protest.   Opposition to apartheid was often labelled as communist, and a rejection of Christ’s lordship.   So, they said, Jesus would oppose integration, condemn civil disobedience, and affirm the authority of the state. 

Looking back, it is clear that this is not the Jesus of the Gospels, but many at the time sincerely believed that it was.   And while apartheid South Africa was a moral and political extreme, the tendency to create an image of Christ out of one’s own concerns, fears and worries was by no mean’s restricted to that time and place.  It remains a spiritual danger for all of us, both individually and collectively.

There is a contemporary example of what I am talking about.  Many of you will know that yesterday in London the far-right campaigner Tommy Robinson, real name Stephen Yaxley-Lennon, held a ‘Unite the Kingdom’ carol service in Whitehall.  I pondered omitting any mention of this in today’s sermon, but in conscience I cannot ignore the co-opting of the Christian faith into an extreme political agenda based on hostility, exclusion and a narrow and distorted nationalism.

Arun Arora, Bishop of Kirkstall and the Church of England’s co-lead on racial justice, has rightly warned of the church needing to (and I quote) ‘resist the capture of Christian language and symbols by populist forces seeking to exploit the faith for their own political ends.’  Bishop Arora goes on:

“I rejoice that Stephen Yaxley-Lennon has recently come to faith in prison. Having experienced the wide mercy of God’s grace, Stephen does not now have the right to deny it to others.  Having embraced and accepted God’s welcome, he can’t now restrict it from others who may be equally lost. Nor does he have the right to subvert the faith so that it serves his purposes rather than the other way round.”

“We must confront and resist the capture of Christian language and symbols by populist forces seeking to exploit the faith for their own political ends. It is incumbent upon the church – in the recent words of Rowan Williams – ‘to challenge the story that every migrant approaching our shores is an unfriendly alien with unintelligible and hostile values’.

“The danger for a Church that fails to act is that we are diminished to a people who offer religious observance as an alternative to an active pursuit of justice and righteousness.  As we approach Christmas and recall the Holy Family’s own flight as refugees, we reaffirm our commitment to stand alongside others in working for an asylum system that is fair, compassionate, and rooted in the dignity of being human  which [in celebrating God amongst us in human form] is at the heart of the Christmas message.”

The dignity of being human: this is pretty good summary of what we hear Jesus doing and saying in today’s Gospel, as the sick are healed, those who struggle with disabilities are enabled to flourish, and the poor receive good news.  And in so doing, Jesus is fulfilling the promises of Old Testament passages such as today’s first reading from the prophet Isaiah.   This reading, as we heard, is a joyful ‘Gaudete Sunday’ passage, a poetic vision of life transformed by the coming of God,  beginning ‘The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad.’   At the heart of the passage (verse four) is the promise that ‘God will come and save you’ and around this is a vision of the transformation of creation, and the transformation of disabled humanity.  

It is a wonderfully positive passage, a much needed counterpoint to grimness and despair; to any sense we may have that no real newness is possible.   It is a wonderfully Advent passage, inviting us to ready ourselves for the coming of God who is able to do what we cannot.   And it ends with a wonderful promise of joy and gladness, as sorrow and sighing flee away: the very promise that is offered by the words and actions of Jesus, of which John the Baptist heard in prison and doubted. 

There was no need for such doubt: Jesus’s actions speak loud and clear of compassion and welcome to all, and this is, and always will be, the true Christian message.

I spoke earlier of the spiritual danger of reinterpreting Christ in relation to our pre-existing fears and convictions, rather than allowing ourselves to be transformed by him.   This will be an ongoing struggle for all of us, not least because we find some of Christ’s teaching is challenging and difficult.   On money, for example, of which he spoke a lot, very few of us come even close to the kind of sacrificial financial generosity commended by Jesus throughout the Gospels.   And then there is our attitude to others.   Loving God and neighbour, Christ teaches, are the supreme commandments.  And as if this was not challenging enough, he supplements this with an ethical injunction found in no other faith, to my knowledge: love even your enemies.

In these teachings, and everything that Christ said and did, is found the key to the transformation of all things as envisaged by the prophet Isaiah.   So this Advent, let us ask the grace to allow the love of Christ into our hearts, for as Scripture teaches, ‘there is no fear in love, but perfect love casts out fear’ (1 John 4.18).   

John the Baptist, as Jesus goes on to affirm in today’s Gospel, was indeed sent to ‘prepare the way of the Lord.’  But the age of fulfilment and transformation being ushered in by Jesus is so decisive, that followers of Jesus who participate in the dawning of what is to come, are greater than the Baptist who pointed the way. 

This Advent, finally, let us ask the grace to avoid reshaping Christ in our own image, but rather to have our lives, individually and collectively, renewed and transformed by him.   Here is where the true good news is to be found, for each, and for all.  AMEN.