Luke 3:15-17, 21-22
As the people were filled with expectation, and all were questioning in their hearts about John, whether he might be the Messiah, John answered all of them by saying, “I baptize you with water. One who is more powerful than I is coming. I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandal. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”
After all the people were baptized and after Jesus himself was baptized and praying, the heaven opened and the spirit descended upon him in bodily form, like a dove. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the beloved. With you I am well pleased.”
It’s hard to wonder about “unquenchable fire” this morning without being mindful of what’s been burning in California all week – the houses and habitats, the landscape and livelihood, the lives of so many people and so much of God’s beautiful creation.
And I’ve spent a fair amount of time the last few days watching those rescue workers and firefighting aircraft douse those relentless flames with gallon after gallon after gallon after gallon of water and fire retardant, as people pray for some relief and some reprieve from the destruction of those wildfires – all of which is pretty hard to fathom, here in the frozen, cold, snow and ice of our Midwestern winter.
And I saw one story, in particular, about it all, that got my attention. A guy named Miro Freed, who used to work for the Forest Service as a Firefighter in California, but doesn’t any more, was able to save his home somewhere up in the highlands, or mountains, of Sierra Madre, from burning to dust like so many of the homes and businesses of his friends, family, and neighbors along the California coast. And he told a reporter how he did it.
Over the last five years, Freed has been doing what he called “fuel reduction” and creating what he called “defensible space,” around his home. From what I gathered, this means he got rid of certain kinds of plants and trees from around his house so that, should a fire come, they wouldn’t serve as kindling and fuel that would help to burn the structures on his property. Hence what he called, “fuel reduction.”
He also described literally raising up trees and bushes – the ones that remained a distance from his house – to a higher elevation from the land and plants beneath his on the mountain, so that, as a wildfire climbed up the hillside there would be less of a chance that it could reach – or that the flames would jump – to the plants and foliage and structures on his land. I imagine this “defensible space” amounts to a significantly vacant span of emptiness, for lack of a better description.
Of course, they also showed him soaking down all of the above – the trees, bushes, and foliage around his house – with a garden hose to keep the flames at bay, too.
And all of that guy’s pro-active, pre-emptive, thoughtful preparation helped remind me to think differently about John the Baptist – and all of his words and warnings down by the river on the day of Jesus’ baptism.
See, John always sounds so angry, doesn’t he? And he often gets portrayed that way, with all of his talk about winnowing forks and threshing floors; about burning chaff and unquenchable fires, I mean. (John, why are you mad … when you could be glad?)
Well, maybe John isn’t so mad, after all. Or angry, or as fire-and-brimstone as Christians have so often made him out to be. And, even more, maybe that’s not the way we’re supposed to imagine or receive the Jesus John was promising and pointing toward, either.
Teachers of religion – Christianity and otherwise – are so good at painting pictures of God as a finger-pointing, fire-wielding, people-punishing, power monger who gathers up the good and disregards the bad with no more than the brush of a hand. And custodians of Christianity have taken it upon themselves to do the same, by deciding and declaring – on behalf of Jesus – whoever or whatever doesn’t fit into what they believe to be Christian, or Christ-like, or whatever.
You know what I mean … whether it’s women being worthy of preaching the good news; LGBTQ folks being able to love who and how they were created to love; gate-keeping who can join a church, who’s ready for baptism, who’s allowed at the communion table, who’s forgivable, loveable, acceptable, worthy.
This is not how it’s supposed to be and I don’t believe this is what God wants us to hear when we read John’s warning about the coming of Jesus today. I don’t know what God’s “threshing floor” is supposed to look like, exactly – but I don’t believe that “chaff” has to be a metaphor for people. I believe “chaff” to God is the stuff in our lives that we might wish to be rid of, ourselves, if we could be honest and faithful about what hurts, harms, and keeps us from living our best lives as God’s children.
See, I wonder if John the Baptist was more like that guy in California – the former Firefighter – who’s just offering some practical, holy advice about how to live a life of faith that’s less likely to be consumed or disrupted or destroyed by the hard stuff that comes our way in this world?
What if John is talking about “fuel reduction,” too – getting rid of those things in our midst, close to our hearts and close to our homes, that threaten to consume us or others? What if he’s talking about creating “defensible spaces” between us and all of that which we know isn’t good, or righteous, or healthy, or holy for anybody?
And what if John is painting a picture of a God, in Jesus, who helps us, with great care and compassion, to remove the chaff from our lives that distracts us from God’s love, that keeps us from living well – anything that tempts us not to give or serve or love ourselves and our neighbor, just the same?
What if John is pointing to Jesus, the Messiah, as the one who invites and who helps people like you and me to leave behind the things that hold us captive, that keep us bound, that separate us from the fullness of life God intends for us all as God’s beloved children, with whom God is well-pleased?
And the variety of things that hold us captive are many – and as varied as the circumstances in the lives of those of us here. We are held captive by our fear of the unknown. We are held hostage by our grief. We are bound by the burden of the grudges we carry.
We’re captive, too, by systems of oppression that harm us all in the long run – but that do more damage to some than others. We are beholden to our greed, our jealousy, our hypocrisy, our intolerance, our privilege, our comfort, our self-interest, and our reluctance to repent and change, any number of those things enough of the time.
Some of us are trapped by a long, painful history of bad theology that has convinced us that we – or others – are unworthy of the divine love and mercy all of us long for.
Whatever the case, it’s all chaff, chaff, and more chaff. It harms us. It hurts our neighbor. It destroys community. It blunts our faith. And God knows it. And it deserves to be set ablaze by God’s Holy Spirit or doused and drowned by the waters of Holy Baptism.
I think that’s what John was offering, because I believe that’s what Jesus showed up to do – and does, still … not out of anger or for the sake of fear, but out of love and for the sake of hope – for us and for the whole wide world.
And that is the gift of baptism. It’s the hope of baptism for those who’ve already received it and it’s the promise of the sacrament, for those who are curious. It’s an invitation to let the love of God burn away whatever keeps you afraid or feeling less than or unloved or unworthy of God’s favor. It’s the promise of a grace so big that it drowns out and washes away whatever sin and brokenness the world pretends can separate you from the God who calls and considers you “Beloved,” already and always.
It is water and Word that means to bless your life on this side of heaven, just as much as whatever awaits you on the other side of life as we know it. And it’s the good news of a grace that will change us and transform the world when we receive and share it, fully, as God intends.
Amen.
