“Jesus answered them, ‘Go and tell John
what you hear and see.’” (Matthew 11:4)
Many years ago I attended a Lutheran/Roman Catholic dialogue when the subject was “Ministry to the Dying.” As I talked with the priests I realized that our respective denominations don’t really have any differences in the way we approach this. Maybe my Catholic brothers lean a little more heavily on the sacramental aspects of this ministry, but, basically, we’re all just trying to provide some kind of comfort to the dying and their loved ones. We’ve all been trained in the Kubler-Ross five stages: shock, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance, but the reality is most folks who are dying are in some kind of a coma and don’t even know they’re about to check out. Most of our ministry is to the bereaved.
No disrespect to Dr. Kubler-Ross, but in recent years an alternative to her five-stages therapy has been suggested: the life narrative. That is, if somebody knows there’s not a whole lot of life’s road left ahead of them, you ask them to look backwards down the trail and recognize how important and impacting their life has been. You know. It’s kind of what Clarence the angel does for George Bailey in It’s a Wonderful Life. You ask them to consider how their work benefited society, how they raised their kids, how much fun they gave their grandchildren, and what a good time they had doing all of it. The idea is they can then say, “Hey! I did a pretty good job in my life and, on balance, I don’t have anything to regret.” That is, after all, what we all want to be able to say, isn’t it?
In our gospel reading for the Third Sunday of Advent in Year A of the Revised Common Lectionary (Matthew 11:2-11) we find John the Baptist nearing the end of his earthly journey—an end that’s coming uncomfortably early. John’s gone and pissed off King Herod’s missus, and that’s landed him in jail. And, if you’re in the lock-up in the ancient Mediterranean world, the chances of your getting out with all your body parts intact is speculative at best!
You have to wonder what’s going through John’s mind. I’m sure he knows his hour glass is running out of sand. Can’t you just picture him sitting in that dark dungeon asking himself if it’s all been worth it? “Did I do right?’ he asks. “Is this Jesus dude really the guy we’ve been waiting for?” He’s noticed how Jesus’ message seems different from his own. He’s been telling people to shape up and get their act together, but Jesus is telling them they’re loved by God and included in God’s kingdom. Some of his disciples come to comfort him, and he asks them for some assurance that he’s got the right guy.
So what does Jesus do? Have you noticed that Jesus very rarely gives a straight answer? He’s always asking us to figure stuff out on our own. Instead of just saying, “Yeah, tell John I’m the hoped-for Messiah,” he tells them to present their prophet the evidence. “Tell John what you hear and see.” That’s probably a much more comforting response. John won’t have only Jesus’ word, he’ll have the deeds of power that are overwhelmingly convincing. And, if he’s got a date with the guy with the ax (which he does), he can go content and at peace.
I’ll admit this doesn’t sound like something you’d want to start dancing the twist over—a martyr in a dungeon questioning his own ministry while awaiting decapitation. But the focus for this Sunday isn’t on John’s dilemma. It’s on the powerful works of God done through Jesus. That’s why we light the pink (or “rose”) candle on Advent 3. This Sunday is historically known as Gaudete or Rejoice Sunday[i]. If Advent 1 tells us to stay awake and Advent 2 tells us to repent, Advent 3 tells us to rejoice and look at all the blessings God has done for us and all the ways God has used us. We may feel like we’re sitting in a dungeon like John the Baptist, but we’re still God’s people, still heirs to God’s promise, still loved, and still blessed with the Holy Spirit to see God’s goodness at work.
So what do you hear and see?
When I look at Faith Lutheran of Philadelphia, I can see God at work. I can see the literal tons of produce and non-perishable food items which have been—and continue to be—donated by God’s people to God’s needy people. I can hear one of my former confirmands tell me how she’s organized a food and personal care drive at her school. I can hear senior citizens playing bingo on Wednesday afternoons in our lower fellowship hall and know that we’ve created a place for companionship and fun for our retired neighbors. I can see the shopping cart full of Christmas gifts you saints have donated for needy, traumatized children. I can hear the AA meetings conclude with the words of the Lord’s Prayer and know that God has used this building as a place of healing. I can hear and see all these things and so many others because God’s people are here, and they have heard God’s word.
We may feel that we are least in the Kingdom of Heaven, but we have cause to rejoice over what God has done, what God is doing, and what God will continue to do in our lives.
[i]
The word is pronounced gow-DET-eh (I’ve mispronounced it for years. If you’re
reading this, Fr. Jack, I apologize). It comes from the first line of the
Gregorian chant which is used in some Roman Catholic churches as an introit: Gaudete in Domino semper—Rejoice in God
always.
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