Luke 3:7-18 “Hands and Heart"
A slight disclaimer: What follows is the basic text (minus the occasional digressions) of a sermon that I preached at Comox United Church, Comox, B.C. on December 12, 2021. It is not an essay. It is written to be spoken and in a manner that reflects my preaching style, which I suspect might be described as “informal.” Nor does it have the full assortment of citations, acknowledgements, and footnotes normally (and quite reasonably) expected in a more formal work. Please forgive the grammatical peculiarities!
Blessings
Phil Spencer
Our end-of-November Christmas preparations this year got off to what seemed like rocky start, in that my wife, Tevis, got a cold. She’s a school teacher who serves as the librarian, and so she has lots and lots of opportunity to pick one up and she prudently chose to stay home to:
1. Get better and …
2. Make sure it isn’t Covid variant Omega 3, or whatever the latest wave is.
But I can happily report that we have good news on both fronts. Her Covid test was negative, and she now feels more her old self, though it did take a week of being home before she her symptoms receded enough to return to school. Not being one to sit still, each day she’d ask me to bring up a box or two of Christmas stuff from the crawlspace and she slowly began to decorate the interior of the house for the season.
By the time she went back to work the house was looking fairly Christmas-y, and combine that with all the lights I put up outside, well, our corner of the street is a veritable winter wonderland. We were also able to go over to Vancouver last weekend with some very close friends to hang out with our kids which has become an Advent tradition for us, having done this together for just about a decade. All our children live there and so the drill is that we stay downtown and do some shopping, go out for a couple of meals together, and do something fun afterwards. We left all the planning to the kids this year, which is both pleasant and filled with risk, in that what’s judged as “fun” for a 30-year old isn’t necessarily as “fun” for an aging geezer like myself. I’m happy to report that the two meals we had together were brilliant. If anyone wants a recommendation, I’d especially like to endorse the restaurant called Tableau, which is connected to the Loden Hotel on Melville Street. The after-dinner activities were a bit different than previous years. The first evening all 14 of us went to a somewhat suspect bar in—how shall I put this diplomatically?—in a fairly “dynamic” part of town, where we got to play ping-pong which is the bar’s specialty (who knew?). The next evening it was karaoke! I believe that there is now a video clip of me singing the Rolling Stones’ “Jumpin’ Jack Flash” somewhere on the internet. I do like to sing and, frankly, I think I was giving Mick Jagger a run for his money. So, Advent and Christmas traditions observed, preparation pretty much done, it’s bring on Christmas!
Now, I’m sure you have traditions and ways of doing things to prep for the festival too—most of us in our culture (or at least in the church, anyway) have them. One quite curious Advent tradition—or should I say, disturbing Advent tradition in the Church—is our annual meeting with John the Baptist. And if you have a growing sense of déjà vu, in that you remember Deb did preaching on this subject and Bible reading last week, this is one of the peculiarities of this year’s cycle of readings, in that you get two consecutive Sundays from the same chapter in Luke’s Gospel and there’s not a lot of delineation in the subject matter. So, if you find yourself wondering if you’ve just entered some version of the movie “Groundhog Day” or an episode of “Dueling Preachers” … no you haven’t. No, a long time ago there was some agreement reached in church circles that if you want to get to Jesus you first had to go through John, and in Advent, you do it twice, which is a bit off-putting because he’s hard to characterize as the “holly-jolly-Christmas-type,” right? Take John’s Advent greeting from Luke as a test of this description. Let me stand in for the prophet. Here goes:
Just who in heck do you think you are? I’ll tell you! You're nothing but snakes, snakes-in-the-grass, vipers. Look at you. You’re all here at church this morning pretending everything’s all fine, but seriously? Who are you trying to kid? We all know who you are, who you really are. Yeah, you’re here hoping against hope that no one finds you out, coming here to church in Comox, paradise-by-the-sea, and for what? Hoping that you’ll be safe? You may call this a “sanctuary” but masks and vaccinations are never going to ever makes this place “safe.” And as I’m getting to know you, well, appearances suggest you’re okay, but we both know that’s a lie. You’re betting on the wrong horse if you think you’re impressing God with all this. You think God’s all giddy that you belong to generic middle-of-the-road church like this one? God could just as easily turn these pews into United Church members! Oh, and I know that your families have been absolute pillars of the church—trace your family back to Martin Luther, I’m sure. God doesn’t give two hoots about the faith of your mother and father. It doesn’t get passed on like the family silver. No, God’s much more concerned about your faith and frankly, from where I’m standing, it’s looking a little thin. “But, I’m on a faith journey, I’m ‘spiritual’ … I believe in … something … just don’t ask me to talk about it … it’s personal.” Yeah, that and 2 bucks will get you a cup of coffee. All this? This is all coming down. As we speak, any church that’s not bearing good fruit? It’s all going down. It’s going to burn!
Yep, that’s pretty much John’s cheery sermon out there in the wilderness and get a load of this: this sermon—which only gets more uncomfortable for his hearers—this what Luke refers to, in verse 18, as “proclaiming the good news to the people.” If that’s good news, can you even imagine what “bad news” would be like? So, yes … “IT'S BEGINNING TO FEEL A LOT LIKE CHRISTMAS.” Frankly, the Baptist doesn’t ever feel much like Christmas to me. He’s not a whole lot of peace and joy and “have another eggnog” is he? But here he is—every year—thundering away, calling out, pointing and naming names, revealing what’s unfortunately, true, and making me, making us uncomfortable. Which, of course, makes him just a bit dangerous (it would literally be the death of him), but then again, dangerous voices draw people. Yes, the people who went out into the wilderness to hear John had all sorts of motives. There were undoubtedly the looky-loos, the one’s looking for some entertainment, but never doubt that a good many in his audience really were spiritual seekers, sincere folk who took their religious beliefs and their faith very, very seriously. These were the regular church-attenders, those who went—not just to the Sunday morning services—but Sunday evenings as well, plus the Sunday after Christmas (no small feat), the ones who went to the prayer meetings, who gave above the expected tithe, who studied the Scriptures even when they were on vacation. Some of those folks were really trying, trying hard, but despite that, they still heard John clearly calling them out, calling on them to “Repent!"
The word translated as “repent” that we have in our Bibles is the Greek word metanoia, which is something akin to “changing your mind” and that was certainly an element of what John was calling on them to do—think differently. But my guess is that he wasn’t likely speaking Greek to this crowd—he’d be using the language of the people, Aramiac or Hebrew, and that Hebrew word that they probably heard—shuv—is a little more action-oriented, that word for “repent” meant to turn right around, to go in the opposite direction to the one they were already heading. This wasn’t just about changing your mind; this was about changing your being, changing your heart. It was about a whole new way of being and going a whole new path. It was about your heart and about your hands.
Unhappily, there’s sometimes a bit of a divide in the Christian Church. It’s like we join a camp: one that says, “It’s all about believing—you’ve got to get your beliefs right.” And there’s another that says, “No, you’ve got to get your actions right—it’s what you do that matters.” And in the real world of the Christian faith it’s actually not impossible to hold two thoughts at once, because both are true. It’s not one or the other, “either/or.” It’s “both/and.” It’s heart and hands.
John’s hearers were stunned by what he was saying, because what he was bringing wasn’t at all what they were anticipating. You’ve got to remember that they were expecting a Messiah who was like King David, but-David-on-steroids. This expected Messiah would trounce the Romans (they were sure he’d clean house) and prosperity and peace would be the order of the day in Israel. And most importantly—and this was really big—but through the Messiah it would reveal to the whole world what they knew: that the One True God was the One True God and God’s people would finally be free and, yes, they would finally be vindicated, their faith proven true and their honour restored. But to that, John says:
Not so fast … it’s different than that. God’s really coming and soon, but don’t you be getting too pumped by all this, ‘We’re God’s chosen’ stuff. Sure, you’re God’s people, and because of that you, God’s people, you need to start repenting. In fact, you need to start bearing the fruit of repentance! Yes, you there: I’m talking to you!
Bear the fruit of repentance? They think to themselves, “It sounds like we’re supposed to be doing something,” and fearing the worst they asked, “So just what are we supposed to do, John?” To which he replied, “If you’ve got 2 coats, share with someone who doesn’t have even one. If someone doesn’t have food and you do, share what you have.”
I find this oddly encouraging, because it seems somehow achievable. This isn’t like when the rich young man comes up to Jesus and says, “What am I to do?” and Jesus says, “Give away everything you’ve got.” Yikes. No, this isn’t camels-through-eyes-of-needles territory, this is more of, “Just do the right thing.” Some tax collectors were there and they asked, “And what are we supposed to do, John?” Now, you always need to remember that tax collectors weren’t as loved then as, say, Revenue Canada is now. No, they were despised. John says to them, “Collect the right amount—don’t you be gouging.” Note that he doesn’t say stop being a tax collector—just do the job in a way that’s above-board and fair. Some soldiers are next in line—Herod’s soldiers, perhaps even Roman soldiers—we don’t really know which, but whomever they are, they’re surely even less-loved than tax collectors—and they say, “And what about us?”
Again, he doesn’t say what we might expect—which is, “Stop soldiering.” No, he says, “Don’t be using your power to extort people—just live on your wages.” It’s all so ordinary, reasonable, viable and … you might even begin to get the sense that repentance is possible. Yes, it takes a bit of discipline, which, of course, is where we get our word, “disciples” from. It’s deliberate and continuous, not just an occasional moment of faithfulness, an “I’m generous at Christmas” kind of thing. It’s how we might just live and you could imagine an assortment of vipers leaving this encounter thinking to themselves, “Gee, there might even be hope for me.” Paradoxically, this stern encounter is positively awash in grace, grace being one of the great scandals—if not the great scandal—that Jesus reveals.
So, there was hope for people, lots and lots of hope, but it wasn’t John. “Nope,” said John, “it’s not me—I’m not the Messiah, but he’s getting near, really near. I’m baptizing you with water, but the one who’s coming … hold on to your hats, he’s going to baptize with fire, going to baptize with the very Spirit of God.” In other words, if you think my message is interesting, just wait until you meet the main event.
Honestly? One of the really dangerous temptations in sharing the news that Jesus is in the neighbourhood, that he wants to sit down with you and chat, one of our temptations in the Church is to give people the impression that its easy, and it’s going to make you a better person, and life will somehow be clearer. In one sense, that’s all true, but in another, it’s not so simple. It is easy and ordinary and achievable. In another way it’s complex and difficult; it’s another “both/and.” John speaks of Jesus baptizing with fire and the Spirit and later on, Jesus will be very clear that he’s leaving us the Spirit. But it’s a refining fire and it changes us, constantly changes us. That’s not so simple, is it? Change can be disturbing.
I’ve only been here for a short while—we’re just getting to know each other—but I have no doubt that the Holy Spirit has brought about changes in many, if not all of you. As best as I can tell, I’m a rather different person than the one who the Church in her wisdom decades ago sent over here to Vancouver Island and that’s not just less hair. Like you, I’ve changed and I confess that at times it’s been hard, really hard. As the ever-quotable C.S. Lewis once wrote, “We’re not necessarily doubting that God will do the best for us; we’re wondering how painful the best will turn out to be.”1 Yeah. On another occasion Lewis admitted:
I didn’t go to religion to make me happy. I always knew a bottle of Port would do that. If you want a religion to make you feel really comfortable, I certainly don’t recommend Christianity.2
No, the Holy Spirit just keeps stirring us up, and that’s not generally easy. As I said earlier, we may call this a “sanctuary” but it isn’t really “safe,” is it? God loves us just as we are, but also loves us so much as to not leave us as we are. I remember when I was back in England on a pulpit exchange in the late 1990’s, visiting an old manor house in Lancashire, and the tour guide drew our attention to a place in where they used to thresh grain. They demonstrated for us how they used to do it—used a winnowing fork—throwing harvested grain into the air and you could see how the wind would blow the chaff away, grain falling on one side of a little barrier on the ground called the “thresh-hold.” It was a busy, active, strenuous process. It was work, this purifying process and John reminds us that this Jesus whom he was announcing would be about fundamentally changing us. He was right then and experience tells me that he’s no less right today.
But it’s also about changing us where we are. As John tells his hearers—tax collectors, soldiers, trades-people, wives and husbands and children, and probably even Temple priests, there’s no requirement that you become like John—wild and woolly and more than a little odd. Nor are they—or are we—required to change our address or profession. Some might, and some still do, have a particular calling that requires them to head off into a more exotic mission field or to change their work in some way, but the greatest number of us are simply asked to bloom where we’re already planted. We’re sent out to where we already are and it doesn’t take much to make a difference. It’s like salt added to a meal, like a little light in a dark room, like a pinch of yeast added to the flour. God will use that small thing quite wonderfully and powerfully. You and I were brought to this church to be changed and equipped and sent out into Comox and the Valley, which, perhaps, isn’t quite the paradise-by-the-sea we sometimes (quite understandably!) think it is. For more than we think, and in different ways, it’s a painful, desperate place and the Gospel of Jesus Christ needs to be seen and heard. The amazing thing is that kingdoms of this world—the powers and the principalities that so twist and distort our humanity—they trembled before just a few of those whom John called to meet Jesus, and whom the Holy Spirit began to refine and purify. It really doesn’t take many (it never has) it just takes a few, a few “yeastie beasties” as a former minister here once mused.3 A group of people the size of those gathered here this morning—if I might be so bold, a most imperfect group of people, but a people with changed hearts and hands (it’s always that “both/and”)—a group of people like us … we could do something for God.
Here’s the good news that John brought—you need to change! And through the power of the Holy Spirit you can and you will … which sounds to me like some seriously “good news.” Thanks be to God. Amen.
1. C.S. Lewis, Letters to an American Lady
2. C. S. Lewis, God in the Dock
3. The Rev. Bob Stiven