ADVENT 3 Year C
Zephaniah 3:14-20; Canticle 9; Philippians 4:4-7; Luke 3:7-18
Christ Episcopal Church
Tacoma, Washington
Sunday December 16, 2018
The Rev. Janet Campbell
It was the best of times;
it was the worst of times . . .
It was the 8th century
before the Common Era.
The prophet Isaiah
denounced
the faithlessness of Israel,
the corruption and apostasy . . .
the arrogance, haughtiness,
love of wealth and luxury . . .
amid the ever-present threat
of aggression from enemy countries.
And yet his proclamation
was full of confidence.
The God who judges
is also the God who redeems.
“Surely it is God who saves me,
I will trust in God and not be afraid.”
“Therefore you shall draw water with rejoicing
from the springs of salvation . . .”
Isaiah’s song of hope and expectation,
of faith and trust in God,
a song of rejoicing
in a time gone wrong.
It was the 7th century
before the Common Era . . .
The prophet Zephaniah
wrote of
Judah and Jerusalem
gone astray . . .
announcing God’s judgment
on mercenary kings,
idolatrous priests,
false prophets,
who neglected and exploited
the people God meant them to serve,
accumulating power and wealth for themselves,
worshipping the idols
of foreign nations,
leaving the ordinary people
of city and countryside
confused and lost,
like sheep without a shepherd.
Zephaniah’s short book of writings
began with dire warnings
of God’s dismay and anger.
And yet it ended
proclaiming
God’s faithfulness and mercy:
“Sing aloud, O daughter Zion;
shout, O Israel!
Rejoice and exult with all your heart,
O daughter Jerusalem!”
For the Lord your God is in your midst.
God has taken away the judgments against you,
and turned away your enemies.
God will remove disaster from you,
and deal with all your oppressors,
and restore your fortunes before your eyes.
Zephaniah’s song of hope and expectation,
of faith and trust in God,
a song of rejoicing
in a time gone wrong.
It was the best of times;
it was the worst of times . . .
It was the 1st century
of the Common Era,
and the heyday
of the Roman Empire . . .
the apostle Paul
was in prison in Rome,
awaiting sentencing
and almost certain death.
Yet he could write
to his beloved church in Philippi,
“Rejoice in the Lord always,
again I will say, Rejoice!”
Paul’s crime:
his treasonous preaching
the good news of Jesus,
the Son of God . . .
a blasphemous challenge
to an emperor
considered to be a god.
But to those
hungering and thirsting
for a good word from God,
Paul proclaimed the gospel of
freedom, of justice, of mercy, of love . . .
of peace.
Rome’s rule
knew nothing of
freedom, justice, mercy, love . . .
and its peace,
the Pax Romana,
was imposed by conquerors
and maintained
by brutal suppression.
The good news of Jesus
was of another peace, a true peace,
a peace which surpasses the world’s understanding,
the marvelous peace of God.
With that peace
guarding his mind in Christ Jesus,
Paul could rejoice
even in prison,
with more suffering
yet to come . . .
So he could say to his dear Philippians,
“Do not worry about anything,
but in everything by prayer and supplication
with thanksgiving
let your requests be made known to God.”
Do not worry,
give thanks and pray.
Paul’s song of hope and expectation,
of faith and trust in God,
a song of rejoicing
in a time gone wrong.
It was the best of times
it was the worst of times,
that time in the Roman occupation
when the strange and urgent prophet
John the Baptist
roamed the wilderness
around the Jordan
calling the people of Israel to repent
and be baptized in the Jordan
for the forgiveness of their sins.
They came,
crowds of them.
“You brood of vipers!”
he shouted,
“Who warned you to flee
from the wrath to come?”
He suspected
they had come,
not out of a true desire
to turn,
and return to God,
but out of fear . . .
or an abundance of caution . . .
fear and caution
that would never lead
to the transformation
God required.
This was no time for
a half-hearted response.
Judgment was at hand.
One was coming
with winnowing fork
to clear his threshing floor
to gather the wheat into his granary –
and burn the chaff with unquenchable fire.
It was the best of times,
it was the worst of times,
it was the same old story
of
the failure of God’s people,
to be God’s people.
But also
the same old story of
God’s never-failing patience,
God’s never-ending faithfulness,
and God’s painful and merciful
judgment.
The painful and merciful judgment
that burns away the chaff,
the foolishness and waste of mis-spent lives,
and transforms them . . .
How it hurts,
to be renewed in such love . . .
it is like the pain of a birth . . .
of the one giving birth,
the one being born.
What then should we do
asked John’s hearers . . .
and that’s our question, too.
There are choices.
We can cooperate with love,
participate in what God
is bringing into being;
We can ignore love,
and go our heedless way;
We can actively oppose love,
and suffer the death of love-lessness.
John strongly suggests we cooperate.
What then should we do?
Take a good look at ourselves,
acknowledge our failings,
and bear good fruit for God . . .
be satisfied with what God has given,
share what we have,
not take advantage of others . . .
Become wheat, God’s wheat,
bread for a hungry world.
John the Baptist
doesn’t call us to rejoice,
but to repent . . .
but his harsh words
are, as Luke says,
a proclamation of the good news,
a cause for rejoicing.
John’s dire anticipation
of the coming One
winnowing fork in hand
is paradoxically
a song of hope and expectation,
of faith and trust,
that God would act, was acting,
in a time gone wrong.
We who follow Jesus
in this time
know in our own time,
both the best of times,
and the worst,
and yet, on this Third Sunday of Advent,
in the 21st century of the Common Era,
we also sing a song of rejoicing.
Our history,
the history of all the people of God,
teaches us
that through
all the worst and best of times
God is faithful,
God is with us,
working God’s purpose out,
and God will,
in God’s own time,
complete that work.
Something much larger
than ourselves
and the time gone terribly wrong
in which we live
is happening . . .
something inevitable
that will culminate
in the second advent of the Christ,
and the establishment
of God’s beautiful kingdom.
So in this advent of 2018,
as we prepare to celebrate
the birth of Jesus,
that long-ago advent . . .
we wait
in the darkness
for Christ’s eternal light,
in the chaos
for Christ’s eternal peace,
in the injustice
for Christ’s eternal justice.
Under all the anxiety and complexity
of our human being and doing,
all along the ages,
lies a dear hope and a great simplicity . . .
captured in this Advent poem
of David Grieve
contemporary British priest and poet . . .
It’s called:
Advent Good Wishes
Advent Good Wishes
Give you joy, wolf,
when Messiah makes you meek
and turns your roar into a cry that
justice has been done for the poor.
Give you joy, lamb,
when Messiah saves you from jeopardy
and all fear is overwhelmed
by his converting grace.
Give you joy, wolf and lamb together,
as Messiah brings worldwide peace and,
side by side, you shelter
under Jesse’s spreading shoot.
David Grieve*
Give you joy, God’s little ones,
for Messiah is coming among us
even now.
*Advent Good Wishes, David Grieve, in Waiting on the Word, Malcolm Guite, author and ed.,
© 2015 Malcolm Guite, Canterbury Press, Norwich England, p. 64, poem for December 16.