3 Advent Yr B December 13 2020
Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11, 1 Thessalonians 5:16-24, John 1:6-8,19-28, Psalm 126 or Canticle 15
Every time I hear these verses from John, I hear The Who singing “Who are you”. That ages me I suppose. Who are you, I really want to know, tell me, who are you, the verses in that song continue on in a search for identity, who are you? A long time before that recording, the priests and Levites ask Who are you, and John the baptizer confesses, or witnesses, or testifies, all the same word, exactly to who he is not, he is not the Messiah. Who he is, his identity, is the voice of one crying in the wilderness, make straight the way of the Lord.
This third week of Advent, we, like John the Baptist, are called to know who we are, God’s beloveds, and to witness to the light, so that all may believe. Today I want you to consider three things that John the Baptist is doing to witness to the light.
First, it is rare and refreshing, John has zero-interest in making this about himself. We are so used to this character John the Baptist, that I think we don’t feel the extent to which he puts himself aside for Jesus. John has his own posse, his own band of followers. And here comes this upstart Jesus, preaching a new way. From the constant self-expression and self-aggrandizement encouraged, promoted, and even demanded by social media to the posturing of too many political candidates as the only person who can do the job, we are living during a distinctly ego-centric, if not full-on narcissistic, time in our culture. We experience it everywhere. From not listening to the experts in science because you think you know better, to demanding the right to do whatever you darn well please in public, this is not about you at all. John shows us that. John sets himself aside and points to Jesus and witnesses to the light that is coming into the world.
Second, in this way, John stands as a model and example of what life lived in response to God’s call looks like. And what does that look like? You are God’s beloved, you are enough, you are what God made you to be. So many could be disappointed and frustrated with John not taking power and opposing Jesus. John is very clear in himself that he is the voice in the wilderness, the one that points to Jesus, but is not the long expected Messiah.
As we consider John as a model and example of what life lived in response to God’s call looks like, we must also consider Mary, whose Magnificat we read together. The song of Mary that we sing each Sunday of Advent, is the oldest Advent hymn. It is also the most passionate, the wildest, and one might almost say the most revolutionary Advent hymn that has ever been sung. This is not the gentle, tender, dreamy Mary as we often see her portrayed in paintings. The Mary who is speaking here is passionate, carried away, proud, enthusiastic. There is none of the sweet, wistful, or even playful tone of many of our Christmas carols, but instead a hard, strong, relentless hymn about the toppling of the thrones and the humiliation of the lords of this world, about the power of God and the powerlessness of humankind. This is the sound of the prophetic women of the Old Testament—Deborah, Judith, Miriam—coming to life in the mouth of Mary. Mary, who was seized by the power of the Holy Spirit, and who speaks, by the power of this same Spirit, about God’s coming into the world, about the Advent of Jesus Christ. Like John, Mary puts aside her own self interest for this glorious impossible.
She, of course, knows better than anyone else what it means to wait for Christ’s coming. Her waiting is different from that of any other human being. She expects Jesus as his mother. Jesus is closer to her than to anyone else. She knows the secret of his coming, knows about the Spirit, who has a part in it, about the Almighty God, who has performed this miracle. In her own body she is experiencing the wonderful ways of God with humankind: that God does not arrange matters to suit our opinions and views, does not follow the path that humans would like to prescribe. God’s path is free and original beyond all our ability to understand or to prove.
There, where our understanding is outraged, where our nature rebels, where our piety anxiously keeps its distance—that is exactly where God loves to be. There, though it confounds the understanding of sensible people, though it irritates our nature and our piety, God wills to be, and none of us can forbid it. Only the humble believe and rejoice that God is so gloriously free, performing miracles where humanity despairs and glorifying that which is lowly and of no account. For just this is the miracle of all miracles, that God loves the lowly. God “has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant.” God in the midst of lowliness—that is the revolutionary, passionate word of Advent. *
*– Dietrich Bonhoeffer (1906-1945), ‘Collected Sermons of Dietrich Bonhoeffer’
And thirdly, John the gospel writer invites us to an acceptance of our identity as God’s beloveds. Rather than striving for the affirmation of others we are free to make the sacrifices required that deepen our sense of calling, purpose, and meaning.
And in that light, because I am and we are God’s beloveds, and part of our call is to set ourselves aside and point to Jesus, I am choosing to receive this Advent during Covidtide as a gift, maybe you will too. Advent, and preparation for Christmas, has often been a time of stress, a time of expectation that cannot be met. But this time, we have the opportunity to name it all, and do it quite differently. Rather than hiding sadness and grief and loss from the world and from our friends, the gift is that we are all in it together. Rather than working ourselves into a frenetic ball of nerves about not getting it all done, we let go of our perceptions of control and affirm our call as god-bearers, and like Mary we receive the gift of new birth. And as those of you who have given birth know, it’s scary and joyful all at the same time. And with Mary and John at our side, we claim our voice to call out God is here, Love wins.
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