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 of whom the prophet Isaiah spoke when he said, “The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, 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 the region along the Jordan, and they were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins.

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

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

John the Baptist, crying out there in the wilderness, shows up a lot in these Advent days every year. He’s the one God uses to get our attention – not just because he dresses funny, eats strange things and lives on the margins – but because he was calling people to repent of their sins and to prepare the way for Jesus; to get ready, to get baptized, to get right with themselves and to get right with God so they could receive and experience and participate most fully in what God was about to do through Jesus.

And I don’t want to dismiss the importance of what most preachers will preach about this morning when John the Baptist shows up, again, on the Second Sunday of Advent – all of that hard, holy stuff about preparing the way, making the paths straight for Jesus, and repenting and turning to God, searching for God, and all the rest, matters. It’s why we’re so deliberate about making our confession in worship these days and receiving our forgiveness, too.

But, because we’re into this Marks of Discipleship series – and because we’re called to consider what it means to “GIVE of our time and abilities for the sake of God’s kingdom,” I want to talk about the notion that John the Baptist – letting his freak flag fly out there in the wilderness – really was, apparently, an odd duck in a long line of strange birds and unlikely souls God has used over time to bear the Kingdom and it’s Good News for the sake of the world.

And like John, each and every one of us is called to make a way for this King and for this Kingdom that’s coming. The high and the holy and the lost and the lowly, just the same – each of us is called to the proverbial river and invited to walk around in the waters of our baptism with a gift and a knack and a talent and a purpose and a passion – I hope – for however we can use God’s blessing in and God’s calling on our life to make a way for grace and love and mercy and peace to live and move and breathe among us, for the sake of the world. Each of us has a little John the Baptist in us, somewhere.

But if there’s anything I’ve learned from people over the years about what keeps us from following Jesus or doing God’s will or serving the world by way of our gifts and abilities, two things seem to be true and almost universal. First of all, none of us feel completely qualified or compelled to do “too much.” If I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard some version of the phrase, “I’ll be glad to help – with this project or with that task – but I don’t want to lead,” I would have a lot of dollars. (You know who you are. And I’ve said it myself, so I’m not just throwing stones, here.) And the other thing that’s true for most – if not all – of us is that there’s never enough time, or we’re never sure it’s the right time, to say “yes” to what God may be calling us to do with ourselves, for the sake of the kingdom.

So, sadly, too much of the time, we so “no.” Or we don’t say anything. We decline the offer, we don’t accept the invitation, we put off the opportunity, we leave our freak flags packed away in the closet, and we pretend we aren’t qualified or that someone else is more qualified or has more time or more talent or more, whatever.

And when John the Baptist lets the Pharisees and the Sadducees have it, down by the river in this morning’s Gospel… when he calls them a “brood of vipers and says, “God is able, from these stones, to raise up children to Abraham,” I think he’s saying something to the effect of, “God is going to do, what God is going to do, people. God is going to bring this Kingdom to pass. God is on the way, in Jesus, and you are welcome to get on board and let it change you; and be part of the action; get in on the fun; do something for the good of the cause – or not.”

God is going to God, if you will. And God is going to find people to prepare the way… to bear good fruit… to do God’s bidding… “God is able – even from a pile of stones – to fulfill God’s plan of redemption for all creation.”

And God has done it before… raised up children, I mean, to accomplish God’s will in and for the sake of the world.

And since we’re talking about Advent and getting ready for Christmas… and hopefully pondering and praying, now, about how we, ourselves, might help to prepare a way…. Just look at who and what God raised up in preparation for Jesus to show up that first time around. In those long, last days before Jesus’ birth, God was busy raising up stones and lifting up people and gifting all sorts of souls to work for the good of the cause.

God raised up a stone in Mary, who had every reason to say “no,” young, unmarried, peasant-girl that she was. But what looked like strikes against her were actually qualifications in the eyes of our God: poor, humble, meek, and weak (in the eyes of the world, anyway), Mary was just exactly the right stone to grow, carry, nurse and nurture the One who would learn from her about how to live, to thrive as, and to care for the poor, humble, meek, and weak in the world around him.

And God raised up another stone, too, in Elizabeth, Mary’s cousin and John the Baptist’s mother. Elizabeth was a companion and mentor for Mary in the early days of her pregnancy – an encourager, a confidante, a sister from another mister, someone too old to be having children, but pregnant by the grace of God, and someone with whom Mary could share this journey toward motherhood; a listening ear and faithful friend; a believer who believed what Mary told her and who confirmed what God was up to in their lives.

And God raised up another stone in Joseph, of course, who had to be suspicious about all of this, but who became more than just a step-dad, but a dad who stepped up, as the saying goes; who owned his role as Mary’s betrothed and as Jesus’ father when he could just as easily – and with righteous indignation and all the support of his people – walked away from it all and started over without the hassle.

And God raised up other stones, too: that innkeeper who had space and the gift of hospitality to share it; the shepherds who heard the Good News, had the faith, and went out of their way to confirm it; the wisemen, too, who had wisdom and used it and who had financial resources and shared them.

You get the point, right? Maybe you have the gift of companionship and encouragement, like Elizabeth did. Maybe you have the capacity for hospitality like the innkeeper or the ability to listen like the shepherds or financial resources, like the wisemen. Maybe you’re a stone of another kind altogether.

Each of us has a gift to give… each of us has more time and more ability than we need once we let the grace of God have its way with us… each of us is a stone God will raise up for the good of the cause – much to our surprise a lot of the time – for the blessing of the world and for the sake of the kingdom that was, that is and that is on the way.

Amen. Come, Lord Jesus.

Mark 15:33-39

When it was noon, darkness came over the whole land until three o’clock in the afternoon. At three o’clock, Jesus cried out with a loud voice, ‘Eloi! Eloi! Lema sabbacthani!,’ which means, ‘My God! My God! Why have you forsaken me?’ When some of the bystanders heard it, they said, ‘Listen he is calling for Elijah.’ Someone went and got a large sponge, filled it with sour wine, put it on a stick, and gave it to him to drink saying, ‘Wait. Let us see whether Elijah will come and take him down.’

Then Jesus gave a loud cry and breathed his last. And the curtain in the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. Now when the centurion, who stood facing him, saw that in this way he breathed his last, he said, ‘Truly, this man was God’s son.’

As you know, I have the unique and holy opportunity to walk with people – many of you people – through some pretty sacred places, one of which is in our time of dying. And it happened not long ago that I was called to a nursing home to the bedside of a dying man who hadn’t been dying just days – or even hours – before I was invited to visit. I hadn’t met him before, or his son, who was also there when I showed up that evening.

But it seemed clear that Tom was, in fact, close to death. He didn’t seem to be aware of what was going on around him. His breaths were labored… and rattling… and growing fewer and farther between, even in just the hour or so that I was with him.

And I’m a pretty firm believer in the notion that many people need or want or respond to permission to die, if we can give it to them. I will never say I’m certain of it, but I know of more than a few occasions when dying men and women have held on to life in this world through all sorts of sickness and struggle and hardship, only to finally let go and rest easy and breathe their last, shortly after someone they love – or even some knucklehead of a pastor – gives them permission to stop fighting.

I’m not sure if that’s what happened recently with Tom. And it’s only part of what I want to share with you.

See, if I ever give such permission or pray such a prayer for a dying person, I’m sure to ask their permission – or to ask the permission of someone who loves them most – before I do. So, I asked Tom’s son if they’d had a conversation, yet – if he or his dad was ready, I mean. His son said, “Ready to …?”

“…die.” I had to fill in the blank, because he wasn’t expecting that question and he wasn’t quite ready to say it out loud, even if he knew what I was getting at. And he was ready, he thought, to give him that permission, even if he seemed to hesitate, understandably, just the same.

Tom’s son acknowledged that he was a believer. I don’t remember exactly what he said about that. But he went on to talk a little about Tom, saying he used to go to church, that he practiced his faith in the past, but that he wasn’t sure about where his dad was with all of that lately.

The insinuation was – as it so often is with too many people, if you ask me – that Tom’s son wasn’t certain his dad had “gotten right with God” enough in recent days or months or years, in order to feel good about where he might end up whenever the dying might come. Would he make it to heaven?, he meant. Would he be “saved”?, as they say. Which I find to be a heartbreaking thing for anyone to have to wonder or worry about.

But it also led to the most useful and faithful and obviously helpful moment I’ve felt in my role as “Pastor” in recent days.

Because that night in the nursing home, with my hand on Tom’s son’s shoulder as he held his dying father’s hand, we gave Tom permission to die and his son permission to let him go and both of them permission to hope and expect and to trust that God was already surrounding us in that room and that God was already waiting for Tom on the other side of eternity, too, with open arms and an abiding mercy and all the fullness of love and grace hope the universe can hold, even in the face of death. And I believe that’s just exactly where Tom landed when he breathed his last, just a few hours later that evening.

And that’s the big picture of what it means to “TELL others about the God we worship…” and learn about, and serve, as believers in this place.

Because I’m here to tell you… I’m afraid there are more people than not who are still under the impression that God can’t or won’t do what God has already done in Jesus. I mean there are still too many people who are afraid they haven’t worshiped enough, or learned enough, or served, enough, or repented or been faithful or forgiven enough. There are still too many people who are afraid that they – or we – or someone they care about – hasn’t checked all the boxes of righteousness and faithfulness and discipleship to have secured their place in God’s heaven.

And when we think that way – when we live that way – we forget about the kind of king we’re dealing with in Jesus.

Jesus is not the kind of king who lays down the law so that we will obey and be saved. Jesus is not the kind of king who demands fealty from his subjects in return for good fortune. Jesus is not the kind of king who exacts our allegiance for the assurance of our salvation.

Jesus is the kind of king who lays down his life… who suffers and dies… not just so that we can rest in peace when the time comes. Jesus does all of this so that we will live differently – here and now – because of that hope.

That’s why this good news isn’t just for crosses and Calvary or for nursing homes and death beds. The Good News of God we’re called to TELL is for the living – on this side of the grave, too – because it can change everything. Because in light of God’s good news, we can give ourselves and each other permission to die, not just to life as we know it when the time comes.

But we can give ourselves and each other permission to die – every day – to the things that keep us from experiencing the fullness of life in Christ, which God intends. We can give ourselves and each other permission to die to our greed so that we can be more generous. We can give ourselves and each other permission to die to our grudges so that we can offer – and receive – forgiveness, instead. We can give ourselves and each other permission to die to our pride so that we can live with humility, and trust in God’s power more than our own.

Now, we don’t know what the Centurion from this morning’s Gospel did next. But I can’t imagine his life was the same after he looked into the crucified, lifeless face of Jesus and recognized him for who he was. I like to imagine that he dropped his sword or his shield or whatever he was carrying and that he went home broken by the weight of it all and transformed even more-so, on the third day, when he started to hear rumors of the resurrection.

And I imagine he told someone he loved about it all. He must have said something to someone about a God who would take such a beating, who would make such a sacrifice, who would give such a gift. And I hope he knew God did it, even for him. And I hope that his life – and his little part of the world – was better because he shared it.

And I hope each of us knows the same. And that we’ll tell someone about it, too. And that we’ll live differently because of it, in some way.

This good news is too good to keep to ourselves, because its promises for life on the other side of the grave can change lives and transform the world on this side of the grave, whenever we tell others and live differently because of what we know about God’s everlasting love in Jesus Christ, our king.

Amen

Marks of Discipleship: GIVE of Time and Abilities

Marks of Discipleship: TELL Others