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Sermon for the Second Sunday of Advent – December 6, 2009
If you are perhaps succumbing to seasonal stress syndrome (a disease I just made up but it sounds like something you’d hear talked about this time of year by a psychologist on a daytime talk show); if you are perhaps finding yourself becoming overwhelmed with holiday obligations: company and family parties, gifts for every relative, deciding who does or does not deserve a greeting card; If, despite the fact that it’s only December 6, and Christmas is still over two weeks away, then I have some good news for you; one less item on the yuletide agenda to keep you up at night.
You can cross the Queen of England off your gift list. That’s right. On November 12, CBS News reported that in an effort to show solidarity with the recession-stricken people of her land, Queen Elizabeth II has let it be known that she and her husband Prince Philip do not require gifts this year.
Quite decent of them, really, considering that this economic downturn has not left the royal family unaffected. The Queen herself has had some financial struggles of her own this past year, forcing her to cut costs and to ask for additional money from the British government for the upkeep of the royal castles. According to Forbes Magazine, her majesty has a fortune of $450 million, which sounds like enough to squeak by on but, it must be noted, that number is down $200 million from recent years.
Now, the Royals don’t usually overdo it at Christmas time anyway, but, says CBS News, the Queen is taking extra precautions this year, requesting that any gifts be donated to local charities and hospitals instead; she has also been reusing more of her wardrobe and has told the rest of the family to cut back.
So, don’t worry about them.
One gift which the head of the House of Windsor likely does not require is a new car, having acquired a new one for state occasions in 2002; a Bentley, of course, but not just any Bentley. According to the Robb Report, which keeps track of those whose luxurious life-styles are the stuff of tabloid news, if you wanted the same ride as the Queen, it would set you back a cool $15 million.
Probably, though, you can do without some of the options: armor plating, a mine-resistant floor, bazooka proof glass and a cabin that can be sealed against a gas attack. Although you might like the statuette of England’s patron, St. George; the Anglican answer to St. Christopher.
In an effort not to be too splashy, the Queen requested that the manufacturer cut back on the chrome trim and Prince Philip was not pleased with the burred walnut trim in the rear, saying that it was not practical because “wearers of medals and swords and jewels might scar and gouge it.”
Some features of this automobile are designed to promote dignity and project a royal image. For the former, the doors are wide and high, enabling the queen to face her subjects when exiting instead of backing out, much more preferable.
As for the royal image, the two rear seats are individually adjusted for height. As the Robb Report put it, “It is unlikely that Shaquille O’Neal will ever ride with the queen, but if he did, he and she would appear to be the same height. It’s a royal thing that has to do with the presumption of authority.”
The presumption of authority, an interesting phrase; according to my dictionary, the word “presume” has its root in a Latin word which means “to anticipate.” And anticipation, of course, is what Advent is all about; it’s what the proclamation of John the Baptizer is all about. “Prepare the way of the Lord,” he says, quoting Isaiah, “make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low.”
Made low for what? Mary has an answer in her Magnificat, in which she praises God for having “brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly.” Yes, Advent is a season of anticipation and waiting; anticipation of a kind of divine leveling, in which everyone, from the most powerful to the most impoverished sit at the same height as they ride the smooth, straight road into the kingdom’s salvation. This is what we are to prepare for says John.
It’s worth noting and remembering that every year the second and third Sunday’s of Advent center not on Jesus but on John. Indeed, while only two of the Gospels, Matthew and Luke, mention the nativity of our Lord, all four of them speak of John who prepares the way of the Lord. Could it be, asks one commentator that for some Gospel writers John’s preaching is more important than Jesus’ birth?
I don’t know if one is more important than the other; but I do know that you can’t have one without the other. And certainly, without proper preparation, the birth could pass by unnoticed.
We know what John preaches about, too; which is why we have a tendency to skip over it and get right to the manger. Luke says that John “went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.”
Now, the basic meaning of the verb “baptize” is “to wash,” implying a purifying aspect to the washing. This is the image that Luke uses in the Book of Acts, when Paul tells the tribunal to “get up, be baptized, and have your sins washed away, calling on his name.”
But this is not exactly the type of baptism that John is talking about here. Instead of a ritual of purification or washing away of sin and uncleanness, John is talking about repentance; a repentance that results in the forgiveness of sins; a repentance that turns its back on the past and travels a new pathway into the future.
More than just a verbal confessing of sins, what John is talking about is “metanoia,” in Greek a change in one’s mind or in one’s thinking; a 180 degree turn around in direction; a transformation which involves the whole person.
This says Luke is what sets us apart as Christians; this, says, John, is what will fully prepare us for God’s coming. In the back of John’s mind as he proclaims his message, as we see in his citing of the Isaiah prophecy, is an audience filled with those whose journeys have been headed in the wrong direction – off on a meandering road going nowhere, filled with obstacles and potholes. A new way must be found before the Lord can enter in.
The need for change of mind – change of direction – change of priorities - dominates Luke’s Gospel, from John crying on Jordan’s bank during Advent to the resurrected Lord himself walking on Easter evening’s road to Emmaus, calmly telling the astounded disciples that “repentance and forgiveness of sins is to be proclaimed in his name to all nations.” Of all the time times the words repentance and repenting are used in the New Testament, half of them are in Luke.
So, if we are to pay attention to John’s preaching and prepare the way of the Lord, some changes have to be made, and not just in the matter of giving and receiving gifts, although, after a while, you can only have so many Bentley’s. Some changes have to be made, and not just by us as individuals; for even though we must begin with ourselves, as John tells us, in the end salvation is not merely a private matter.
Luke is very clear on this matter, too; just as he is clear on the need for repentance. When the paths are straight, when the valleys are filled, when the mountains are made low – when nothing impedes the Lord’s path into our lives – then all flesh shall see the salvation of God.
All flesh; all people; on Jordan’s banks the Baptist cries for anyone within the sound of his voice to repent of all that would separate them from God – valleys of arrogance, mountains of selfishness, rivers of hatred and fear.
For when the Lord returns, John tells us, the very valleys, mountains and seas will join with all of humanity in the joyous celebration. As the psalm says, “Make a joyful noise to the Lord, all the earth. Let the sea roar, and all that fills it; the world and all who live in it…Let the hills sing together for joy at the presence of the Lord, for he is coming to judge the earth.”
And that is Advent in a nutshell; turning around our lives – and our world - that we might be ready to sing songs of sounding joy at God’s arrival; what the theologian Paul Tillich called the birth of the new possibility.
Perhaps the best way we can prepare the way of the Lord is by showing what such preparation really looks like; as Mahatma Gandhi famously put it, be the change we wish to see.
That way is being tried, and has been for the last ten years. In 1999, Daniel Barenboim, former music director of the Chicago Symphony Orchestra, who is Jewish, joined with the late Muslim scholar Edward Said, to form the West-Eastern Divan Orchestra, a group that brings together young Israelis and Arabs from both sides of the Jordan to play music on neutral ground and, in the process, to learn a bit about one another. They know they are making progress, one member said, when one player doesn’t like another, not because of where he is from, but because he is annoying.
Never intended to be political – although every act in that volatile region has political overtones – the orchestra is a forum of expression for youths whose people have long been at war and, alas, probably long will be. Mr. Barenboim is not naïve enough to believe that playing Beethoven together will bring about peace on the river’s banks, “But it’s a model,” he said; adding, “Playing music is what people would do if there were peace.”
So if you’re still struggling with holiday stress; still feeling overwhelmed by all the seasonal obligations; still struggling for a gift for that hard to shop for person; try preparing for the Lord by heeding John’s call in the wilderness; by living up to the name of Christian we have assigned ourselves; we can redirect our own ambitions; we can cleanse our souls from selfishness; and as we journey through the highways of our days we can sing with all the world, kings and queens, the high and the low and everyone in between, “On Jordan’s banks the Baptist cry announces that the Lord is nigh.”
Not a bulletproof Bentley, not even a hybrid Hyundai; this is a model that will take us places.