Matthew 3:1-12

In those days, John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness of Judea proclaiming, “Repent for the kingdom of heaven has come near. This is the one about whom the prophet Isaiah spoke when he said, ‘The voice of one crying out in the wilderness, “Prepare the way of the Lord, and make his paths straight.’” Now, John wore clothing of camel’s hair with a leather belt around his waist and his food was locusts and wild honey.

Then the people of Jerusalem and all Judea were going out to him, and all along the region of the Jordan, to be baptized by John in the river Jordan, confessing their sins.

But when John saw many Pharisees and Sadducees coming to him for baptism, he said to them, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee the wrath to come? Bear fruit worthy of repentance and do not pretend to say about yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor.’ For I tell you, from these stones, God could raise up children to Abraham. Even now the axe is lying at the root of the trees and every tree that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.

“I baptize with fire, but one who is more powerful than I is coming after me. I’m not worthy to carry his sandals. He will baptize with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hands to clear the threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary, but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”

Well, last week Pastor Cogan gave us the Grinch who stole Christmas – and terrorized some small children by bursting into their homes and stealing Christmas gifts, right before their eyes and right out from under their Christmas trees. So, not to be outdone, I give you John the Baptist, with his camel’s hair and leather, his locusts and wild honey, those axes, threshing floors, winnowing forks, and unquenchable fire. Merry Christmas.

But seriously, if you heard Pastor Cogan last week and took advantage of his homework assignment – to make an Advent List of things you’d like for God to remove from your life in preparation for the coming of Christmas and beyond – then I hope the words of John the Baptist aren’t as scary as some have made them out to be over the years. I mean that it’s deeply faithful and profoundly meaningful to see John the Baptist as less of a Grinch and more of a harbinger of hope. It can be life-changing to see that the trees being chopped and the threshing floor being cleared and the chaff being burned don’t have to represent people, for crying out loud, which is what too many have believed for too long in this world.

We don’t have to fear the Lord who’s on the way, in those ways, any longer. Instead, we are invited to look forward to and prepare for God’s coming in Jesus by getting ready for this unquenchable fire of God’s grace as a good and holy thing, instead, that means to lovingly burn away the chaff of our lives – to rid us of the bad stuff like our pride… the sinful stuff like our selfishness… the faith-stealing stuff of our fear, the light-dimming stuff of vengeance and war and more.

John calls us to be rid of it all by way of a good bath, or a thorough pruning, or maybe by setting it out like so much trash at the curb on garbage day.

And while this is all good news – and not nearly as terrible or as scary as many have made John the Baptist’s words out to be – it may not always come easy; there’s some tough love in what John offers up today, too. And it has to do with this call to repentance.

And, my favorite story about repentance is one from my own childhood.

When I was a kid – about seven or eight years old – I was sledding in the winter with my neighbors and very best friends – on a hill not far from where we lived. Our sledding hill was great. It was in the yard of some members of our church, and complete with a creek of running water at the bottom. The creek was small, but deep enough apparently, that it didn’t always freeze in the winter.

Anyway, during an afternoon of sledding and snowmen and snow ball fights, I got into a real, actual fight with one of my best friends, who was and is more like a second big brother to me. (I told this story at his wedding, at which I presided, just a couple of weeks ago, which is why it came to mind again this week.) Anyway, there was yelling and screaming and pushing and pulling and, even though he was 3 years older than me – and bigger and stronger in every way – I somehow managed to push him into the icy water of that creek at the bottom of the hill.

As surprised as I was by whatever strength, good luck, and gravity had worked in my favor, I was just as instantly ashamed and scared and consumed with guilt over what I had done to my friend. I felt bad for whatever fluke had allowed me to win the fight. I felt terrible that my friend was cold and wet and embarrassed by it all. And I was worried, too, about what would happen to both of us once our parents found out. So, in all of my shame and guilt and fear and regret – and with all the wisdom of my seven or eight years – I shouted out my apologies as I did my own wintry version of the Nestea plunge right next to him in the icy water of that creek.

And, even if my repentance was cold and wet and unhelpful in so many ways, it was heartfelt. It was honest. And it came from a real and deep desire to make things right again between my friend and me. I would have undone my transgression altogether if I could have, but that wasn’t possible. So, all I could do was apologize and begin a long, soggy, very cold, frozen walk home.

And I think the tough love of John the Baptist was – and is – an invitation to this kind of repentance. Not that we have to jump into the cold, unforgiving waters of our sinfulness – or that that would accomplish anything more than my Nestea plunge was able to accomplish.

But that we would recognize the fullness of our sins in the light of God’s willingness to do that for us – and more: to jump into the world, I mean … to enter into the cold, frozen waters of our transgressions, I mean … to climb onto the cross and out of the tomb for our sake, I mean. And that once we recognize the fullness of that kind of sacrifice and love, we’ll resolve to do better and different in response to God’s grace.

So, what does that mean for you in these days leading up to Christmas? What does it mean for Christians, waiting on the birth of Jesus, to “bear fruit worthy of repentance?” After all, we’re just as flawed, broken, scared, insecure, imperfect, and hard-hearted as those Pharisees and Sadducees who showed up at the Jordan to be baptized by John. And while repentance is one of the most faithfully Christian things we can practice, it’s not something that comes easy for most of us.

I think to “bear fruit worthy of repentance” means we give ourselves over to grace; we let our guard down; we open our hearts up; we let the cracks of our brokenness show; and we let those cracks be filled with all God has to offer as a loving fix. Repentance is about letting ourselves be vulnerable to the love of God, so that we might be changed by the good news that comes in Jesus.

When we buy that… When we let that Truth into our heads and into our hearts… When we allow that reality to shape and influence our actions and our behavior… that’s when true, deep, faithful repentance will happen. Repentance will come because we will be changed and we will change the ways we live in this world.

Then, I believe, the chaff of our lives – our greed, our pride, our selfishness, and all the rest – will fall away and we’ll be happy and blessed to watch it burn in the unquenchable fire of God’s amazing grace and be drowned by the waters of God’s unrelenting love, until we’re able to share more of the same love, mercy, and forgiveness in Jesus’ name.

Amen

Luke 21:5-19

As some were speaking about the temple, how it was adorned with beautiful stones and gifts dedicated to God, Jesus said, “As for these things that you see, the day will come when not one stone will be left upon another, all will be thrown down.”

They asked him, “Teacher, when will this be? And what will be the sign that this is about to take place?” He said, “Beware that you are not led astray. Many will come in my name and say, ‘I am he,’ and the ‘The time is near.’ Do not go after them.

“When you hear about wars in insurrections, not be terrified, for these things must take place first, but the end will not follow immediately.” And he said, “Nation will rise against nation, and kingdom against kingdom. There will be great earthquakes, and in various places, famines and plagues. There will be dreadful portents and great signs from heaven.

“But before all this occurs, they will arrest you and persecute you. You will be handed over to synagogues and prisons. You will be brought before kings and governors because of my name. This will give you the opportunity to testify. So make up your minds not to prepare your defense in advance, for I will give you words and a wisdom that none of your opponents will be able to withstand or contradict. You will be betrayed by parents and brothers, relatives and friends, and they will put some of you to death. You will be hated by all because of my name. But not a hair on your head will perish. By your endurance you will gain your souls.”

When we decided, years ago, to make financial commitments to the Building and Outreach Fund in November, I neglected to check the lectionary to see that – at least every three years – we’d get this passage about the temple being destroyed on or very near to our commitment Sunday. But I wouldn’t change it – or do otherwise – because I think it’s at least funny, if not faithful and worthwhile, to consider what we’ve built here, and what we hope to build, in light of Jesus’ reminder about how impermanent all of it is in the grand scheme of God’s big picture. And I want to wonder about that together in a minute.

This is one of those Bible passages that gives “fire and brimstone” preaching its identity and inspiration. “Nation against nation.” “Kingdom against kingdom.” “Arrest, persecution, betrayal.” “Earthquakes, famines, plagues.” “Hatred, death, dreadful portents and great signs from heaven.” It’s about everything you could ever want or need if you’re looking to scare someone into loving Jesus. Especially if you watch the news or pay any attention to what’s going on in the world around us.

Ukraine and Russia, Israel and Hamas remind us about what it looks like when Kingdoms rise up against Kingdoms. Civil wars in Sudan and Myanmar – and political divisions in our own country – show us what it looks like when nations rise up against nations.

Have you heard about the Christians being persecuted in Nigeria? Don’t let the Christian Nationalist political rhetoric in our own country fool you. Experts say it’s no better for the Muslims there. And God hates all of it, I’m sure. But it sounds, nonetheless, a lot like Jesus’ prediction that his followers would be handed over, hated, and even killed.

And of course, the storms, the flooding, and the fires that are the result of – or made worse by climate change – seem like they could be “dreadful portents and great signs from heaven,” to some.

All of it is enough to tempt a Pastor to get out of the business, and I know some who have … maybe it’s enough to make a parishioner question the wisdom of contributing to any of this, let alone the latest building project … maybe it’s enough to make a congregation slow their roll, stop their growing, batten down the hatches, and tighten their collective belt. If I were a gambling man, I’d wonder if we should be checking our odds, placing our bets, and readying ourselves for whatever doom and damnation must certainly be coming our way.

But I’m not a gambling man, so much as I am a baptized child of God.

So, what I hear Jesus saying in this morning’s Gospel isn’t what so many of those doomsday preachers have been preaching to too many generations of hungry, hurting, hopeless souls. Jesus doesn’t suggest we lock the doors, batten down the hatches, hold our breath, and brace ourselves for and from the evils that surround us. Jesus doesn’t suggest we open our Bibles and prepare our defense or state our case against whatever evil or temptation or struggle may threaten our status in the eyes of our creator. He says just the opposite.

What I hear, is Jesus acknowledging that life in this world is hard. It can be scary. It hurts a lot of the time. And I hear him saying that even when it may seem like it’s as bad as it ever could be, the end “will not follow immediately.” I hear him suggesting that we not watch the clock or make predictions or get scared by people who do; or that we wring our hands with worry about all of it, either.

I hear Jesus inviting us, above all, to trust him – and to trust the God who sent him for the sake of the world’s redemption. “I will give you words and a wisdom,” is what he says, and that’s a relief to me. “Stop worrying about what to say or how to think or just what to do when the going gets tough.” The going will get tough for us, in as many different ways as there are people in this room – and then some.

But Jesus invites us to know we don’t have to have answers for it all and that the power of God’s grace will carry us through, in spite of ourselves and in the face of whatever struggle surrounds us. And this is all part of what we celebrate as people of grace and of good news and of the gospel we proclaim – all of which we’re promised as God’s people.

I had a text conversation this week about yet another article concerning the demise of the Church in our country and culture – particularly where the closing of mainline congregations like Lutherans, Methodists, Presbyterians and the like, are concerned. And what’s so sad and troubling about that – and what even the nay-sayers acknowledge – is what leaves a community when a faithful church closes its doors: food ministries, disaster response resources, affordable childcare options, hubs for community connection, and other social services and ministries, too.

And don’t forget the simple, holy, necessary, sacred, consistent proclamation to desperate, hurting, hungry people about a gracious God who loves them – all of which is made real in the waters of baptism and in the bread and wine of holy communion, which we do as deliberately and more openly and with a wider welcome than anyone around here.

And it’s all more than an insurance policy against the challenges of life in this world. The promises we offer week after week – don’t pretend to insulate us from the pain and sadness that threaten our lives. No, the blessing of God’s grace, which comes to us here, is a promise that God’s love and mercy and forgiveness – and most of all, that God’s eternal life – hold more power and authority than any bad news we might encounter on this side of eternity; and that it is a promise for all people.

Which is to say, I hope we gather here – and share this ministry – and practice this faith – and grow this community – because nations rise against nations, still; because there are wars and insurrections, still; because there are great earthquakes and famines and deadly portents and diseases, still.

I hope we give our money, our time, our resources; I hope we give our selves to this ministry we share because so many in the world think we shouldn’t and because I’m convinced Jesus thinks we should share the unique, bold, faithful, generous kind of grace that is uniquely ours to offer in this neck of the woods.

So let’s do more than just breeze by the waters of baptism on our way to the table for communion this morning. Let’s touch, feel, and be filled by what we call “the means of grace,” here. And let’s be reminded of – or invited to – our own experience with water, Word, and with the promise that belongs to us all because of it.

Because I’m convinced – and filled with hope – that when we do that, we won’t be able to do anything BUT respond in ways that grow this community – by building buildings, by welcoming strangers, by doing justice, by loving kindness, by walking humbly, by sharing grace in the abundant, generous ways it has already been shared with each of us, in Jesus’ name.

Amen

Sledding Repentance

Fire, Brimstone, and Building Campaigns