December 13 Advent 3
This morning I’ve decided to risk a new level of self disclosure in the pulpit. Don’t worry. I won’t be weeping openly or confessing something deep and dark from my past. But I am going to tell you my favorite joke. Which seems like a fairly vulnerable thing to do if only for the fact that I’ll probably be the only person in the room who thinks it’s funny.
At least it’s short.
It’s the one about the Buddhist monk who walks up to the hot dog vendor and says, “Make me one with everything.”
I love that joke. Fortunately its purpose in this sermon isn’t just entertainment, since so few of you seemed to find it entertaining. The ambiguity of the monk’s request is actually helpful as we tease out the relevance of John the Baptist’s message for our lives.
It’s hard to imagine John liking that joke any more than you did.
Actually, it’s hard to imagine our severe Hebrew prophet as having patience for jokes of any kind, much less those so un-kosher as to involve hot dogs.
But John the Baptist was ranting in the desert about the way people understood religion. One very common view of religion, both then and now, is as a hot dog with everything on it. Ok, I’ve never heard anyone describe religion as a hot dog. But one view of religion in general and the Christian good news in particular is as a gift that each of the saved gets to possess. And, for that, a hot dog with all the fixings is as good an image as any for some of us.
In this view the Christian good news is about getting a mansion just over the hilltop in the next life, or about getting reasonable amounts of health and wealth in this one. Either way, the gospel is about getting something. “Make me one with everything,” we pray. And God says, “Here you go, good and faithful servant! It’s all yours.”
The people whom John the Baptist so delicately called a “Brood of Vipers” seem to have had the hot dog with everything on it view of religion.
Abraham was their ancestor. So they saw themselves as the chosen ones. God’s good favor was something they possessed because they inherited it. And even allowing that their religion brought rules and regulations to follow, perhaps they saw following those rules and regulations as a way of securing the gift for themselves. As a way of staying on the inside. As a way of hanging on to their chosen-ness.
But John the Baptist ranted about another way of seeing the life of faith. And perhaps the life John was shouting us towards is one that begins with a different take on the prayer, “Make me one with everything.” To which God says, “Yes. Now your desires are beginning to turn in the right direction.”
One view of salvation is as a personal possession. Another view of salvation is as a source of connection.
Now, in case you’re concerned that I’ve let a Buddhist monk in a joke determine what the Christian faith is meant to be about, let me direct you to page 855 in the Book of Common Prayer. There we find the Catechism, and at the top of the page we read the question, “What is the mission of the Church?” Followed by the answer, “The mission of the Church is to restore all people to unity with God and each other in Christ.”
If our prayer book and our tradition got this right (and I’m inclined to think it did), then the prayer, “Make me one with everything,” makes a lot of Christian sense.
Now let’s return to John the Baptist and keep reading. Because the strangest moment in this story comes when the crowd replies to John. John has just called them a brood of vipers. Then he made fun of them for being proud of their religious and ethnic heritage, mocking them for saying “We have Abraham as our ancestor.” But the crowd didn’t respond by running him out of town. They say, “What then should we do?”
I’ve never been called a member of a viper brood per se, but I’m guessing my response wouldn’t have been, “Oh, you’re so right John. I am a viper. What can I do about that?”
But that’s essentially what they ask. And John the Baptist, no surprise, is ready to tell them exactly what to do: “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.” To tax collectors he says: “Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.” To soldiers: “Do not extort money from anyone… and be satisfied with your wages.”
It’s worth noting that John’s instructions differ among groups. His responses are concrete and particular to the lives of people he’s addressing. But they all have to do with living so that relationships are restored or established among people who are alienated from one another. “Share what you have,” he says. “Be fair in your dealings. Don’t use the power you have to take advantage of people.” And maybe the hardest one of all: “Be satisfied.”
These are the “fruits worthy of repentance” that John tells us we must bear. We are to turn from one way of living and take up another. And a helpful Advent exercise for us might be to place ourselves in the story. Not many of us are tax collectors or soldiers. But most of us have two coats. And we all have patterns of life—patterns of work (whether for pay or not), patterns of leisure—we all have patterns of life that the gospel should impact.
John’s central point seems to be that salvation, the Christian good news is meant to be embodied. Salvation or Grace or the coming of the Christ into our lives isn’t something that we get to possess. It’s a force that changes our relationships with everyone and everything.
Relationships between people with coats and people without are restored. Relationships between people who collect taxes and people who pay taxes are restored. Relationships between people with economic power or political power or military power and those without are restored because the gospel says that whatever we’ve been given is to be used to restore people to unity with God and one another. If we use our wealth and influence and power just to get more wealth and influence and power, we’re vipers.
But our story today goes even further. Living lives of justice and generosity isn’t the end. John says that these choices are part of the repentance that turns us toward something even greater. And once again, the remarkable crowds who were listening to the prophet show us the way.
So first John calls the crowd a brood of vipers. Then he tells them what was wrong with their lives—coat collectors, tax collectors, soldiers, everyone. He tells the people to let go of some of their power in this world. And then we read that the people were filled with expectation. That’s right. They weren’t filled with regret or guilt or indignation at John’s judgments. The people were filled with expectation.
Because the possibility of human beings living the lives John described pointed them toward an even greater reality. As unity with all people is restored, so is our unity with God. As demanding as John’s teaching was on their lives, the people understood that he was talking like the Messiah would talk. He was saying things that suggested that God was coming into their lives in a powerful new way.
The people were filled with expectation because they knew that justice and charity in their lives signaled something more. This was what the world looks like when Messiah comes. Or, to use the language they would soon acquire, this was what the world looks like when the kingdom of God is at hand.
The people were filled not with shame and anger, but with expectation, because they believed that justice spreading through their lives and their world was a sign that God was coming near.
I want to be part of that crowd. Because the crowd that John the Baptist railed against didn’t hear his judgment of their lives as bad news. The crowd didn’t see the demand to give up some of what they had been given as a grim obligation. They believed that if justice is spreading through our lives, as estrangement and division give way to unity Messiah must be coming near, and God’s good kingdom is at hand. Who wouldn’t give up some of our coats and profits and power for that?
So maybe we can form a wise crowd of our own this Advent. A crowd that believes that the life God intends for us is to be made one with everything. Made one with each other. Made one with the cold and the hungry. Made one with every last person from whom we’ve let our power or our wealth or our position alienate us.
Maybe we can form a wise, expectant crowd of our own that believes when justice spreads through our lives, God is near. Amen.