Make Way, Clear the Road!

by Barry Pollard

(Based on Mark 1:1-8; Isa 40:1-11; 2 Pet 3:8-15)

On this second Sunday of Advent, with its focus on peace, I am going to be looking at the man, John the Baptist, who, I imagine, had far from a peaceful existence.
I admit from the outset that I have struggled to find “takeaways” from today’s readings, those hints to action that we like to ponder following a time of grappling with Scripture. In fact, today’s reflection may just be a whole pile of questions: let’s see.

John the Baptist, sometimes referred to as John the Baptiser, was a preacher active in the area of the Jordan River in the early first century AD. He is also known as Saint John the Forerunner in Eastern Orthodoxy, John the Immerser in some Baptist Christian traditions, Saint John by certain Catholic churches, and even gets a mention in Islamic literature (according to Wikipedia). And, if you are a follower of The Chosen, he is called Crazy John by the disciples!

John and Jesus were relatives. John’s mother Elizabeth is recorded as being a cousin of Jesus’s mother Mary. I imagine that family ties were such in those days that they likely grew up together. I imagine that they would have been quite familiar with each other. And, I wonder if they each had inklings about their own or each other’s destinies.
In several ways John was similar to Jesus. Both had miraculous births. As we journey through Advent our focus is the arrival of the Christ-child, and we are pretty familiar with that miraculous story. But John the Baptist too had a miraculous birth. Luke 1:11-17 tells of the revelation of the angel Gabriel to Zechariah, John’s father. Zechariah and his wife Elizabeth were advanced in years and were childless:

While Zechariah was in the sanctuary, an angel of the Lord appeared to him. Zechariah was shaken and overwhelmed with fear when he saw him. But the angel said, “Don’t be afraid, Zechariah! God has heard your prayer. Your wife, Elizabeth, will give you a son, and you are to name him John. You will have great joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth, for he will be great in the eyes of the Lord. He will be filled with the Holy Spirit, even before his birth.  And he will turn many Israelites to the Lord their God. He will be a man with the spirit and power of Elijah. He will prepare the people for the coming of the Lord. He will turn the hearts of the fathers to their children, and he will cause those who are rebellious to accept the wisdom of the godly.

So, Gabriel foretold the birth and life of John the Baptist. And John did grow up to do all that Gabriel said he would.

John was also similar to Jesus in that they both taught others. In a sense, John taught the introduction to the Advent story and Jesus completed it.

John however was different. He chose to hang out in the wilderness, wearing crude clothes made from camel hair, and eating local wilderness fare – locusts and honey are recorded as favourites. His central message to those seeking and following him was the repentance of sin by baptism in water. So a natural place for John to be found was the banks of the Jordan River.

John the Baptist was humble, he was diligent, and he wanted to prepare people for the coming of the Messiah. He taught people what it meant to be a good person, and helped people start their personal journeys to becoming better people. Part of the journey included baptism with water for repentance. But most importantly, he preached of Jesus!

His work was not aimed at having people join the Church of John the Baptist. His work was preparing people to follow Jesus. Not only did John do good things and encourage others to do better too, but he recognised that whatever goodness he put into the world through his actions would absolutely pale in comparison to the good Jesus would do.

Our Old Testament reading today is one of Isaiah’s amazing prophecies, announcing that the Messiah would be heralded by the voice of someone shouting:
“Clear the way through the wilderness for the Lord! Make a straight highway through the wasteland for our God! Fill in the valleys, and level the mountains and hills. Straighten the curves, and smooth out the rough places. Then the glory of the Lord will be revealed, and all people will see it together.”

And lo! As Mark reiterates in his Gospel, referring to the imminent arrival of the Messiah, “Look, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, and he will prepare your way. He is a voice shouting in the wilderness, ‘Prepare the way for the Lord’s coming! Clear the road for him!’”

I’ll read that bit again: “Look, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, and he will prepare your way. He is a voice shouting in the wilderness, ‘Prepare the way for the Lord’s coming! Clear the road for him!’”

I read this as God the Father announcing that He was sending the messenger ahead of Jesus to prepare the way. So the voice shouting in the wilderness is John, who is calling out, “Prepare the way for the Lord’s coming! Clear the road for him!”

Who is he calling out to?

I don’t know about you but when I am reading Scripture and Israel is mentioned – often negatively: sinful, unseeing, unhearing, and so on – I substitute “Barry”. You might be surprised how many times the sin being attributed to Israel matches mine! Or maybe you won’t.

If Israel is being exhorted by John to prepare the way for the Messiah then we should take note. But what could constitute preparations for the Messiah?

The fact that John was offering water baptism to show that those being immersed were repenting, being washed clean of their sin and turning to God, is a good starter. Remember we have heard many times that Jesus was concerned with our hearts. A change and softening of hearts leads to eyes being opened and ears unblocked. So being publicly and ceremonially washed clean is a great indication that the ‘dip-ee’ is preparing for transformation, ready for that change of heart.

Isaiah said, “Make a straight highway through the wasteland for our God! Fill in the valleys, and level the mountains and hills. Straighten the curves, and smooth out the rough places.” Can you think of the places in your life that need straightening, filling in and levelling? What about the rough places? I certainly can! See, these instructions are still for us.

John the Baptist attracted a large and loyal following. He was initially mistaken as Messiah by many in the crowds he attracted. Several of the disciples of Jesus were initially followers of John. So you can see that he was having a huge impact on those who listened to and followed him, all the while trying to point ahead to the coming Messiah!

To fully appreciate John’s impact, it is worthwhile delving into the account in Matthew’s Gospel (Chapter 11) when John was imprisoned. Hearing all the things Jesus was doing from afar, John sent his disciples to ask Jesus, “Are you the Messiah we’ve been expecting, or should we keep looking for someone else?” Jesus told John’s disciples to ‘report what they had heard and seen; the blind seeing, the lame walking, those with leprosy cured, the deaf hearing, the dead raised to life, and the Good News preached to the poor.’

As John’s disciples were leaving, Jesus began telling the crowds about John. “What kind of man did you go into the wilderness to see? Was he a weak reed, swayed by every breath of wind? Or were you expecting to see a man dressed in expensive clothes? No, people with expensive clothes live in palaces. Were you looking for a prophet? Yes, and he is more than a prophet. John is the man to whom the Scriptures refer when they say, ‘Look, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, and he will prepare your way before you.’

“Of all who have ever lived, none is greater than John the Baptist!”

That is some impact!

When I read today’s alternative Collect:
God, for whom we wait and watch, you sent John the Baptist to prepare for the coming of your Son: give us courage to speak the truth even to the point of suffering. This we ask through Christ our Saviour. Amen.
I note that its author has focused on John’s truth telling, the cause of his imprisonment and eventual demise, as a key element that we can take away from today’s reading. This prayer, which we would have all “amened” I’m sure, should lead us to straightening, filling in and levelling our lives, and sharing that experience with others.

Speaking truth is often the hardest thing to do!

How then are we going to prepare the way for the Lord’s coming this year?

The Prayer of Confession in Advent is a great place to start our rethinking:
O God, you search us out and know us,
and all that we are is open to you.
We confess that we have sinned:

[This is our admission that we are disposed to transformation.
Are you disposed?]

When we long for your coming to change the world,
and yet are unwilling to change even our own hearts:
When we reduce our preparation for your coming
to reckless expense and trivialities …

[These are examples of our shortcomings.]

Are we going to continue to be stubborn and worldly? Or is there a better way for us?

In the New Testament reading, Apostle Peter was reflecting on things that are to come. He was perhaps cognisant of the words of Mark’s account of John the Baptist’s work. He stated that the Lord is patiently waiting for us all to have the change of heart He seeks. Whether it is a day or a thousand years, He is waiting. Peter tells us that the world we know is going to noisily end and judgment will be passed on it. His exhortation is that while we wait, because we don’t know when this will occur, we should lead peaceful and righteous lives. Another prompt to examine how we are living, I think!

And, if you think about it, God is pretty generous! Think about how much time we have been given to come to our senses and turn to him. Think about how many opportunities we have been given to repent of our old ways. Think about how many piercing examples we have been given to model our lives on.

So the season of Advent isn’t just four Sundays focusing on candles (the candles of hope, peace, joy and love). Collectively it pulls us up and has us rethink how we live, how we interact with each other, and how much better things can, and should, be.

Let’s use our time wisely this season. Let’s prepare our hearts for the full acceptance of what Jesus came to bring.
Let’s accept that baptism of the Holy Spirit that fills our mind with a genuine understanding of truth, takes possession of our abilities, and imparts gifts that qualify us for service in the body of Christ. Amen?

Being Prepared …

by Liz Young

(Based on Mark 13:32-37; I Cor 1:3-9)
Take heed, watch for you do not know when the time will come so be prepared.

One of the things I like about ‘Local Shared Ministry’, and being one of seven different preachers, is that we all bring our different experiences to our sermons. So today you will have to listen to a homily with a paediatric perspective. 🙂

In the Old Testament, the watchmen were on the lookout for an attack from the inevitable foe. Here in New Zealand the dangers we and our children face are very different.
Most children, except the autistic, are inherently aware of danger and can read evil people’s body language. Even the subterfuges of sexual predators. If we make a point of trusting their judgement in little things, then they will have the self confidence to trust their own judgement when they face false blandishments. [Why do you think predators approach those children who feel unloved?]
Of course, there are real dangers we have to protect our children from: for example, before the age of eight they’re not able to accurately assess the speed of oncoming cars, and can easily be distracted, so adults need to supervise them crossing the road.
We need to alert them to real dangers, but not pass our anxieties on to them.

We all need to be prepared for the inevitable trials in life. Many of us dislike the over-protectiveness of the current educational system. If every little thing we do is praised, then praise becomes meaningless. If we fail at a Maths test, but get over it, then we start to build resilience and the ability to cope with other future failures.

Now, as many of us approach our deaths or dementia, we need to summon up the courage to be prepared. I want to thank Pam and Lyndsay for their recent ‘Dying Matters’ workshops. If we act on the advice we’ve been given there we should be prepared for the inevitable future.
I find I’m being prepared to say “Goodbye” as my body stiffens up and my brain starts to let me down. I have to shorten my walks, and allow others to help me when I become confused. Part of our preparation is acceptance, taking joy in the things we can still do, giving thanks, and not becoming irritable with our increasing failures and limitations.

In the epistle for today Paul gives thanks for the grace of God, enabling him to enrich the Corinthians’ lives with the knowledge of Jesus and His teachings. Today, we can give thanks for living in a peaceful country, far away from the wars in the Middle East, an area that has been fought over for thousands of years. But we mustn’t be smug: when I read about how much land was taken from Maori by the church in the nineteenth century, I can understand and accept that we need to redress that wrong; and be clear when we’re talking to others, that we of European descent were invited to share the riches of this land, and take care of it – not to grab it and potentially despoil it. 

We should also give thanks for the ways our life has been enriched by living here in the Coromandel. I give thanks for walking up the Kauaeranga, and for a tramp from Coroglen to the Pinnacles Hut, where we overnighted, and woke early, to climb to the top of the Pinnacles, where we saw the view from the Aldermens to Raglan. Unforgettable. I give thanks for being able to sail in the Louisiade Archipelago, islands south-west of Papua New Guinea, where we saw a five-year-old school classroom with not a single desk marked, because the furniture was valued. And a whole village had worked to provide the finance to send one of the children to secondary school . We were lucky to meet the Islanders before cell phones arrived, and people needed ready cash to top them up.
We did experience a petty theft of a purse, and when we told the local councillor, the purse was returned within two hours.
Such experiences make you think. Finding out that the local teacher had not been paid for a year; realizing that these children who had worked so hard at school had very little chance of paid employment …

These experiences made us value the opportunities we’d had. My mother died of breast cancer when I was 29, and I was horrified when I felt a lump in my left breast in the identical place that I’d felt her lump thirty years earlier.
But time had passed, treatment had improved, and forty years later I worry more about my vague brain than my surgical scars.

So, be prepared to enjoy each little moment of happiness to the full and share that joy with others when you can … as we look towards Christmas.

You Did it to Me

by Sharon Marr
(channelling Debie Thomas)

(Based on Matt 25:31-46)

This week the Church celebrates Christ the King, and we pause to reflect on the meaning of Christ’s reign over the Church, the world, and our lives. What kind of king is Jesus?  What does his rule look and feel like?  What does it mean to live and thrive under his kingship?

Given the power and pomp we typically associate with kings, we might expect the Anglican lectionary to give us readings that sound … well, kingly.  Something gorgeous from the Book of Revelation, perhaps, about Jesus decked out in splendid robes and a jewelled crown.  Or something majestic from Isaiah: “A son will be given to us, and the government will rest upon his shoulders.”  Or at least a shiny moment from the Gospels: say, Jesus transfigured on the mountaintop. 

But, no.  The royalty Jesus describes in Matthew’s Gospel is of another order entirely.  It is homeless Jesus.  Sick Jesus.  Imprisoned Jesus.  Hungry Jesus.  Naked Jesus.  It is, in the words of theologian Fleming Rutledge, the “royalty that stoops”.

I learned that “Reign of Christ” Sunday is a fairly recent addition our church calendar.  Pope Pius XI instituted it in 1925, in the hope that a world ravaged by World War might find in Jesus’s humble kingship a needed alternative to empire, nationalism, consumerism, and secularism.
I love the Pope’s vision but, sadly, we know it has not been realized.  At present there are wars in Gaza, Ukraine, Yemen, Afghanistan, Iraq, Syria, Ethiopia and Columbia (to name just some of the 28 countries listed as having conflicts at present).
I am afraid that instead of embracing the countercultural possibility of a humble, wounded king, we have given ourselves over to a version of kingship that is all about domination, supremacy, triumphalism, and greatness.  We don’t need to look far – we as New Zealanders must surely acknowledge this fact: it has taken a long, long time of negotiations back and forth, flying from this city to that city to form our present government coalition. Just who would have their demands met and just who would be deputy prime minister, even though it was said to be “largely a ceremonial job”?
We have fallen in love with the loud, the muscular, and the aggressive … and forgotten that the only power Jesus wielded on earth was the power to give himself away.  He’s the king who entered humanity red-faced and crying, a king whose greatest displays of power included riding on a donkey, washing dirty feet, hanging on a cross, and frying fish on a beach for his friends.  How did we go from the God who empties himself of all privilege, the God who perpetually pours himself out and surrenders his own life for his loved ones — to God as Iron Man?

So many of us long to ‘see Jesus’.  And rightly so.  We pray for an experience of Jesus’s presence.  We yearn to feel him close.  We sing hymns, recite creeds, hear sermons, and attend Bible studies — all in the hope of seeing and knowing Jesus in a deeper and more meaningful way.

Of course, there is nothing wrong with these practices — unless they keep us at a comfortable arm’s length from where Jesus actually is, unless they lead us to believe that the work of justice and compassion is somehow secondary to the real business of Christianity.  The real business of Christianity is bending the knee to Jesus.  And where is Jesus?  Jesus is in ‘the least and the lost and the broken and the wounded’.  Jesus is in the un-pretty places.  In the bodies we don’t discuss in polite company.  In the faces we don’t smile at.  In the parts of towns we speed by.

It’s not that we have to earn our way to majestic King Jesus by caring for the vulnerable.  It is that majestic King Jesus, by his own choice and will, has stooped and surrendered in such a way that he is the vulnerable.  There’s no other way to get to him.  That’s it!  As Mother Teresa of Calcutta said, “Each one of them, that is, each vulnerable person, is Jesus in disguise.”

So what is it in us that turns away when Jesus offers us his whole self in such provocative, unbearable simplicity?  This is a real question — one I wrestle with all the time.  What am I afraid of?  My inadequacy?  My vulnerability?  My reputation?  Mercy has been described as “the willingness to enter into the chaos of others”.  Is that what we’re afraid of?  Other people’s chaos?

It’s okay to be afraid.  It’s okay to have questions.  It’s okay to see the huddled figure on the bench, in a doorway or living in their car, and not know exactly what to do.  But at some point, our fears must come face to face with reality: “Whatever you did to one of the least of these who are members of my family, you did it to me.”  There is simply no way around it.  Not if we take Jesus’s kingship seriously.

Likewise, there is no way around the perplexing fact that our reading — a reading that describes the final judgment of all humanity — says nothing about ‘belief’. Think about that.  Matthew 25 depicts a scene from the heavenly throne room.  It’s a scene describing the culmination of history, when all nations will gather before Christ, and he will separate his people as a shepherd separates sheep from goats.  Notice the criterion he’ll use for the separation.  What will it be?
Not our confessions of faith.  Not our beliefs, not our doctrinal commitments, not our ‘personal relationships’ with Jesus.  The criterion will be compassion, and compassion alone.

Surprised?  I am.  But, yes, this is our king, and, yes, we are meant to be provoked and bewildered by his priorities.  As Fleming Rutledge puts it, “The Son who ‘sits upon his glorious throne with all the nations gathered before him’ is the same one who, at the very top of his cosmic power, reveals that the universe turns … upon a cup of water given to the littlest ones in his name.”
If we’re not at least a little bit unnerved, then we’re not paying enough attention.
My mother paid attention, and as her health declined over the years she said to my sister Bronny and me, “My one fear is that when I join that queue in heaven I find myself behind Mother Teresa!”

Soon we will enter into Advent, a season of waiting, longing, and listening.  Soon we will walk into the expectant darkness, waiting for the light to dawn, for the first cries of a vulnerable baby to redefine kingship, authority and power forever.  But on this Sunday, here and now, we are asked to see Jesus in places we’d rather not look.  We are asked to remember that every encounter we have with “the least of these” is an actual encounter with Jesus.  It’s not a metaphor.  It’s not wordplay.  It’s not optional.  The person huddled beneath the blanket,  sheltering in a doorway, sleeping in a car, is our king. Let’s see Him.

Will you have a “cup of water” for the king.

Three Churches

by Joan Fanshawe

(Based on Matt 25:14-30; I Thess 5:1-11)

Every year at this time, based on our liturgical year on the church calendar, the theme of our worship and teaching focuses on the Kingdom of Heaven and the anticipation of the return of the Lord. Today we have heard another parable from Matthew’s Gospel in which Jesus tells this story to his disciples to prepare them for the days ahead when their faith will be tested. Last week there was a warning to be prepared. This week, maybe faithfulness.

In a time of waiting what does faithfulness look like? Reading Matthew’s gospel this year has led us along a path showing that true faithfulness is found in imitating Jesus’s ministry and teaching. Jesus proclaims the coming of God’s kingdom by feeding the hungry, curing the sick, blessing the meek and serving the least important in society. For Matthew, all those who would be Jesus followers are to share the Good News of the Kingdom to all the world, by going about this work that Jesus has called them to do.
Those who are faithful may hear their Master say, “Well done, good and faithful servant.”

So, back with the story we have just heard – my job is to try and link what Matthew is saying to his congregation of Christian Jews in a time of increasing persecution – and make that message relevant to us hearing it in a very different world today.

This ‘parable of the talents’, as it is widely known, where the man going away calls in his slaves and entrusts a small fortune to the three in differing amounts, is possibly the most misconstrued parable of all parables. Or at least the most differently interpreted: just ask me how many commentaries I have read these past weeks! And how many preachers chose to preach on one of the other Scriptures down for today.

Something I’ve learned along the way is that our word ‘talent’ comes  directly from the Greek word used in this parable – in Jesus’s day it meant a certain very hefty weight of gold or silver, but by the Middle Ages the meaning shifting to mean a natural ability, quite likely derived from this parable. A re-interpretation of the parable may have emerged then.
This version implies God is the master who endows and rewards the clever use of talents, then casts out the fearful and so called worthless one to a fate worse than death. The version is quite familiar to me and often associated with church stewardship campaigns; but now I’m having trouble putting that persona on God. Can this be the God who Jesus called “Abba”, who blesses the meek, the peacemakers, the merciful?

How does this match your own heartfelt image of God in today’s world?
Something to ponder this week.

I have another take on this parable – a story told by a Lutheran pastor in Wisconsin that really appealed to me:

God Takes a Vacation
Once there were three churches. They were modest churches that were formed by modest people living in modest communities. Each of these modest churches had modest councils who were made up of modestly faithful men and women who oversaw the modest ministries like the modest Sunday School, the modest music program, and the modest property surrounding the modest church.
One Sunday, the modest pastors of these modest churches stood up to preach modest sermons. No one knew it, but the Holy Spirit, who is anything but modest, had been imprisoned in the beautiful but modest hand-tooled, leather-covered, gilt-edged Bibles. When the modest pastors opened the modest Bibles that Sunday, the Holy Spirit was set free. The Spirit entered into these three modest pastors, and then these three modest pastors said something quite immodest:

“God loves you!” they shouted to the modest people sitting in the pews. And every modest person jumped. “God loves you so much that while you have been living your modest lives, sleeping in your modest homes, God extravagantly filled your hearts and minds with love. God did this because, after five thousand years, God is tired of hearing all the complaining and grumbling and discontent about the work that he is doing. So, God has decided to take a vacation and has left you in charge of his kingdom!
“Don’t panic! God has arranged for the Holy Spirit to continue to inspire and support you in these coming days, so that you can learn to use the amazing gift of love he has given you for the life and ministry of his world.

“So, I come to you today telling you that you now have all of the faith and love that you need to thrive. What do you think of that?”

Then, the modest pastors immodestly sat down. Each one looked a little confused or dazed, not quite sure of what had just happened.

In the first church, people started talking to their neighbours quietly and then more loudly as they prepared to leave worship that day. Someone stood up and said, “I think we need to talk about our faith in God’s kingdom of love and consider how we are best able to share it.”

And they did. They discovered that their greatest gift of love was a gift of generosity. They decided to give God’s kingdom away. And so, they gathered everything they had and prepared to give it away — they even mortgaged the modest church building and the modest property.

But then, challenged to find the best way to give God’s kingdom away, they went out into the community, and they met people at the bus stops and in the cafés. They asked them what they needed because … they were giving God’s kingdom away. They built playground equipment in the parks and gave their time away cleaning up the messy parts of town. They gave food away at pot-lucks, and they opened their building as a shelter for people who were abused and forgotten. Each week they gathered together and encouraged each other about how they could give more of God’s kingdom away to the modest community in which they lived.

~ ~ ~ ~

In the second church, people started talking to their neighbours quietly and then more loudly as they prepared to leave worship that day. Someone stood up and said, “I think we need to think about what we have just heard and each come back with an idea for how we should respond to the message.”

The following week they gathered in small groups and discussed some of their ideas. They discovered that each idea involved singing. They were a little surprised to discover that they loved singing so much. So, they decided that they needed to do something about making sure that anyone who loved music and who loved to sing should feel welcome in their church. They told their church council to find a way to help them get more people who liked to sing.
And so, they advertised in the papers, and they talked with their friends. They organised musical performances of stories from the Bible. They invited people to come and share their musical gifts, and encouraged people to just come and enjoy the music and the stories – and they sang hymns and songs and celebrated life.

~ ~ ~ ~

In the third church, people started talking to their neighbours quietly and then more loudly as they prepared to leave worship that day. Someone stood up and sarcastically said, “Well, that was something.”

Embarrassed, and fearful, other people in the congregation modestly looked down at the floor, then at one another, and went home. During the following week people met each other in stores and shops. They called each other on the phone. They talked about how shocking the Sunday message had been.
One person was overheard to say, “I’m really not sure that the message was from God at all. I think that the pastor should be ashamed for trying to rev us up like that. We need to call the church council to do something about it. The sermons need to be the way they’ve always been. God gave me this modest life, and I like my modest life in my modest home in our modest community. Who does the pastor think she is? What she is proposing could upset our community.”

~ ~ ~ ~

On vacation, God talked with people at the bus stops and ate in cafés – where the people from the first church were gathered. God was there at the playground; he laughed most of all at the thought of trying to give the kingdom away.

God sang with the people gathered to share music in harmony with one another in the second church. Indeed, God had a great time, singing the old songs and the new, and they drank wine together and shared their life stories.

But in the third church God quietly walked among them in sadness because they could not find a way to use the amazing gift of love found in his Kingdom, come to earth. In their fear and their self-consciousness, they felt lost, like they were cast into the outer darkness. They ground their teeth and fearfully looked at the sinful world around them and withdrew further and further until they finally just disappeared.

Friends – as Paul wrote to the people in Thessalonica, let us continue to “encourage one another and build each other up … as indeed you are doing”.
Joan