Sermon on Luke 3.7-18
December 12, 2021
Pastor Jennifer Garcia
It’s the third week of Advent, so we’re meditating on joy this week.
That seems like it should be pretty easy to do this time of year: decorations are up, cheerful music is being played everywhere, there are festive parties to go to and cheesy Christmas movies to watch on tv. It’s a heartwarming time of year.
And then, there’s John the Baptist, who comes in like a drunk relative on Thanksgiving who’s overly fond of truth-telling…in a loud voice. “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?”
John doesn’t seem particularly joyful.
But he is an important part of the season of Advent.
John points to Jesus. And that’s what this season is about.
John announces that the Messiah is coming. When people start wondering if John himself is the Messiah, he puts those rumors to rest right away: “No! I’m not the one you’re waiting for. Someone much more important is coming soon.”
The Message version of the Bible has John describing Jesus as: “The main character in this drama, to whom I’m a mere stagehand.”
John is all about setting the stage for Jesus.
And the people who are listening to John want to know what to do in light of the knowledge of what’s coming.
They hear that something big is coming, and their response is an anxious need to do something. You can almost hear the fear in their voices: “What then should we do?”
John has some ideas:
Whoever has two coats, give one to someone who’s shivering
Whoever has more than enough to eat, give the excess to someone whose stomach is growling
John tells them to share what they have extra of with the people around them who don’t have their needs met.
And then, some people from specific professions ask what they should do.
Tax collectors were agents of the Roman Empire who collected taxes and also tended to collect a bit more off the top for themselves.
So, John tells the tax collectors to stop skimming off the top.
And John tells the soldiers in the crowd to stop bullying people and using intimidation to gain more wealth.
John has specific advice for people who have positions of power, like the tax collectors and soldiers: don’t use your power to take advantage of others.
But even amid these specific instructions, John’s primary purpose is to point to Jesus.
And John points us to Jesus, too.
It’s hard to read this passage with a closet full of clothes and plenty of food in the pantry and not get a guilty lump in one’s stomach.
And yes, John says to share your possessions and stop taking advantage of others. Those are good things to do.
But if we do them out of fear, we are missing something—something big.
John points to Jesus. Advent points to Christmas.
Christmas is about what God did and does.
If we try to follow John’s instructions and bear good fruit out of guilt and fear, we’re trying to earn God’s love, trying to make ourselves worthy of God by our own efforts.
That’s not how God works.
In a shameless plug for the book study I’ll be leading in January, I’d like to share a story from Tattoos on the Heart about how God does work. If you like this story, consider joining us in January—more info to come.
Father Gregory Boyle is the founder of Homeboy Industries in LA, the largest gang-intervention program in the world. He shares a story about talking to fifteen-year-old Rigo, who was about to have his first communion in a county detention center. Father Boyle asked Rigo about his father.
“Oh,” he says, “he’s a heroin addict and never really been in my life. Used to always beat [me]. Fact, he’s in prison right now. Barely ever lived with us.”
Then something kind of snaps in him—an image brings him to attention.
“I think I was in the fourth grade,” he begins. “I came home. Sent home in the middle of the day. Got into some pedo at school. Can’t remember what. When I got home, my jefito was there. He was hardly ever there. My dad says, ‘Why they send you home?’ And cuz my dad always beat me, I said, ‘If I tell you, promise you won’t hit me?’ He just said, ‘I’m your father. ‘Course I’m not gonna hit you.’ So I told him.”
Rigo is caught short in the telling. He begins to cry, and in moments he’s wailing and rocking back and forth. I put my arm around him. He is inconsolable. When he is able to speak and barely so, he says only, “He beat me with a pipe…with…a pipe.”
When Rigo composes himself, I ask, “And your mom?” He points some distance from where we are to a tiny woman standing by the gym’s entrance.
“That’s her over there.” He pauses for a beat, “There’s no one like her.” Again, some slide appears in his mind, and a thought occurs.”
“I’ve been locked up for more than a year and a half. She comes to see me every Sunday. You know how many buses she takes every Sunday—to see [me]?”
Then, quite unexpectedly he sobs with the same ferocity as before. Again, it takes him some time to reclaim breath and ability to speak. Then he does, gasping through his tears. “Seven buses. She takes…seven…buses. Imagine.”
How then, to imagine, the expansive heart of this God…who takes seven buses, just to arrive at us.”
Too often, we fall into the fear that if we show God who we really are, God will beat us with a pipe. We don’t realize that God isn’t out for vengeance. Instead, God loves us so much that God takes seven buses—even seventy times seven buses—just to arrive at us.
That is what John is pointing to: God loves us so much that God took on all of what it means to be human—seven buses worth—just to be with us.
That kind of love evokes a response. Awe, certainly. Humility, perhaps.
And joy.
Joy in serving others.
Joy in sharing what we have.
Joy in using whatever positions of power we have, not to take advantage of others, but to seek their flourishing.
Cranky John the Baptist might not be so out of place on the Sunday of joy after all.
Because he points us to Jesus, who like Rigo’s mother, wants nothing more than to be with us and is willing to do anything to make that happen.
So, when you ask yourself, “What then should we do?” in response to that love, allow yourself to sit in it and be filled with wonder. And then, let the joy that is in you overflow in service to your neighbor, who is equally beloved by God.
Let your response to love always be joy.