 |
| The Baptist by Titian (Ital. 1540) |
Martin Luther King told
us about his Dream in front of a gigantic statue of Abraham Lincoln—an obvious
symbol for the liberation of African Americans. Ronald Reagan called for the
liberation of Eastern Europe while standing at the Brandenburg Gate. Barack
Obama announced his candidacy for president from the steps of the Illinois
State House, the place where his life in government began. President Biden
spoke about democracy from Philadelphia’s Independence Hall. Locations have
symbolic resonance, and sometimes the place where an announcement is made is
just as important as the announcement itself.
Every year on Advent 2
our Revised Common Lectionary gospel pulls out into the wilderness to hear that
funky, skin-wearing, bug-eating prophet, John the Baptist. I think John gave
some thought to his location. He wasn’t about to stand in the temple of
Jerusalem amidst all the noise and hullabaloo of that metropolitan local, and
he certainly wasn’t going to preach from some dinky synagogue in some dinky
town. Not old John. He’s calling people out to the River Jordan in a wild,
uncultivated, and uninhabited place. Why? Because the wilderness (in Greek eremo,
which means an abandoned or desolate place) reminds folks of where they came
from. John’s calling them out of their place of business or anxiety or apathy
and asking them to remember their heritage and the source of their faith and
identity.
And John’s not subtle
about this. The gospel says he’s the voice of one crying out in the
wilderness. He’s not lecturing or discussing this stuff. He’s yelling it out at
the top of his lungs. He’s using his passion to afflict the comfortable and
startle the stupefied because these folks need a wake-up call. He’s telling
them to look at themselves so they can be ready for what God is about to do.
So out they come to the
Jordan. Out into a landscape that’s dry and full of bugs and critters where
they can remember their ancestors. They can think about that sorry bunch of
ex-slaves whom Moses led around a similar environment for forty years. They can
recall the stories of hunger and thirst, hardship and battles with the folks
who didn’t take kindly to a roving horde of displaced people. They can remember
stories about poison snakes and God’s mercy. And they can remember that it was
in that location that God gave them the Law and made them who they were—a
strong nation, children of Abraham, who would be blessed to be a
blessing to the world. Yes, under years of persecution and occupation they
might’ve forgotten that promise. But God didn’t.
Maybe you’ve been in a
wilderness of your own. Do you remember the time when everything in your life
seemed crazy or uncertain? When you didn’t have enough cash or you felt you’d
been deserted?
Just before Christmas 1987
two important things happened in my life. I was teaching part-time at a small
community college, and I’d finally saved enough cash to move out of my parents’
home (My dad said he’d give each of his kids only four years to complete a
bachelor’s degree and then he’d street us. When I returned from graduate school
he had changed his mind. He did the same for my two sisters). I paid my
security deposit on a nice apartment (nicer than the ones I’d lived in as a
grad student, at least) and bought a whole house full of furniture on my credit
card. A week later I was informed the college was cutting two thirds of my
teaching load—which meant two thirds of my salary was going along with the cut.
I had a nice new home and new furnishings and no way to pay for them. Bummer.
There would be no Christmas tree in my flat that Christmas.
What to do? Sell everything and move back in with Mom and Dad? Or, just maybe, my choice was to grow up, get another job, and support myself like an adult. I did the latter. I took a desk job with an investor relations firm. It was boring work, and it involved an almost hour-long commute in stop-start LA traffic each way. My 1984 Ford Escort frequently overheated on the 91 freeway. The job didn’t pay much, but it kept the rent paid and the credit card bills semi-current—even though I was constantly charging for car repairs. There was no money for entertainment. I didn’t like it, but it really was the best choice. I struggled through much of 1988, but, by year’s end, I found a new calling as a secondary special ed teacher in the Los Angeles School District. That experience, seeing kids dealing with real poverty issues, led me to consider ordained ministry.
I think back on that
unsettled “wilderness” time not to pat myself on the back or recall how crappy
it is to take a job just because you need the money, but to remember just how
good and faithful God has been to me. Sometimes God has to call us out of our
hurried or anxious lives—especially at this time of year when we can so easily
be preoccupied with holiday planning—and take us back to the wilderness of our
lives to remind and refocus us on God’s steadfast love.
A detail I always liked
about this gospel lesson was Luke’s very conscientious naming of all the
potentates in verses 1 and 2. I’m certain Luke did this just to set the story
in its historic context, but I think it speaks about our time, too. Pontius
Pilate and Herod and Caiaphas may figure into the story later, but here Luke
uses them only to put John the Baptist on the calendar. Those curious or
anxious or confused folks who made their way out to the wilderness by the
Jordan to hear the prophet weren’t going to hear a stump speech about how their
country should be run. They couldn’t do anything about that anyway. John was
calling them to address something they could change—themselves. He
called them to this lonely place, away from their distractions, to confess
their sins and be forgiven. That way they could make the paths of their lives
straight for Jesus to enter in.
It's not a bad idea to
look backward at this time of the year. I don’t mean to glorify Christmas Past
like Scrooge or to get melancholy for things which aren’t as they used to be. But
maybe we can get back in touch with why this time is so special and, at
the risk of sounding trite, remember what it is we’re really celebrating—God’s
presence among us. Remember your wilderness and the goodness of the Lord.
Happy Advent, my friend!
May this season draw you closer to God and to those you love.
No comments:
Post a Comment