Waiting for Jesus, not John

The gospel reading for this second Sunday of Advent is where we meet John the Baptist out in the wilderness, baptizing for repentance in the Jordan River.  The scene around him is peaceful, iconic - crowds of followers coming to be baptized, and right after the text for today (Matthew 3:1-12), Jesus will come and be baptized by John in the Jordan as well. 

But here in the beginning of the third chapter of Mark, John has some strong words for the Pharisees and Saducees, and really all the followers.  Why are they there?  Is it out of fear?  Superstition?  Why are we in church?  Why are we Christians?  Because we have met and wait for Jesus, not John, the one who has power to forgive and claimed us as his own.  Click "read more" below to read the sermon.

I always picture John the Baptist like a crazy, hippie, Muppet. I mean, he seems like this, cool, eccentric caricature of a figure, out there in the desert, camel hair clothes, the locusts, wild honey. I picture him tan, with dreadlocks, and a lanky figure . . . We hear about this prophet, John, every year during Advent, and the prophesy that he fulfills, to “prepare the way of the Lord,” seems to fit well. I'm ok with John to that point. He fits as a part of my nice little Advent story, preparing for the coming of Jesus.


But then he opens his mouth. John had followers, but I don't know that he had any friends – certainly not the Muppets. He's not very – nice – he's harsh – and there are no holds barred. We all walk around with defenses up, our resumes in hand, as if our hands are full of tools and qualifications to make our case to God. We're the good guys, after all. But John doesn't seem convinced of our qualifications. In the reading John isn't speaking to some low-lifes, he's speaking to those thought to be most righteous, the temple scribes, priests, and elites, the Pharisees and Sadducees. They are coming to him for BAPTISM, and you would think mercy would be in order. But John has no kind words for them, and they sound directed at us too. John says, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?” John attacks a very honest aspect of religion – practicing it only out of fear of judgment and punishment. It may be true. The phrase, “there are no atheists in foxholes” echoes the same tendency of human nature. Religion out of fear. But this will not be Jesus' way, and so John cuts it off. The first tool John knocks out of their hands is the one we hold closest, our own fear and the thought that we can choose God ourselves – run to God when we need help, as if he wasn't there the whole time.

But John doesn't stop there – he makes us squirm in our seats even more. John says, “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.” There it is, the second tool knocked from their hands – John robs us of the allusion that Jesus cares what family we come from, what status we have in society, or how much money we have.

I wonder about the expressions on their faces as John delivers these last two images – he's preaching to the Pharisees and Sadducees, but also to the whole crowds behind them. John said, “Even now the axe 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. 12His 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.” It's getting a little hot in here. . .

I have desperately tried to use that last tool I see in my hand, my own reason, to try to find some way around these harsh words. Maybe the trees won't be cut down, maybe they'll just be pruned – but it's pretty clear, isn't it. The whole tree is infected with sin. And trying to use my own reason to decide who are good trees and bad is the worst sin of all, judging and taking God's place. I tried to look at the Greek, look at other interpretations, find a theory that would grant me a trap door. But there isn't one. If I gave you one, I would be playing you with some kind of sleight of hand. This is meant to be uncomfortable, heavy. Even in looking for a way out, I am convicted of my own sin and reminded how hard it it is to face it. We come to God as if we have something to offer, as if we have something in our hands to give or can climb out of this on our own merits. But this is just a part of our own sin. As in our confession at the beginning of the service, “If we say we have no sin, we deceive ourselves, and the truth is not in us.” Our hands are empty.

But John isn't the one we're waiting for. He is here to prepare the way, and just like packing for a trip or preparing for any major life change, it's not always easy. John prepares the way for Jesus by stripping us of the allusion that we can do it ourselves, and proclaiming to us how much we need a savior. We come thinking our hands are full, that we are the powerful, but John shows us that our hands our empty.

It is Jesus, the one who comes after him, who we wait for. And as John proclaimed, he will be more powerful – not because he judges us or because he yells “Repent!” louder, but because he died, conquered death and sin for all of God's people. Jesus is powerful because in him lies forgiveness. Forgiveness that we don't hear from John because it isn't John's to give. That's why in the gospel of Matthew John's baptism is just for repentance, not forgiveness. But later in the gospel forgiveness comes to life as Jesus proclaims at the last supper, “for this is my blood of the covenant, which is poured out for many for the forgiveness of sins.” Here at the table, forgiveness comes to life. In Christ you are forgiven. Trees are no longer judged by their fruit, and people no longer by their work or what they have in their hands to offer. You are forgiven. Christ's body and blood, given for you.

Jesus was the only tree planted, fully God, fully human, and not infected by sin. Obedient to the end, Jesus was cut down, and thrown into the fire. But as sometimes when you chop down a tree but do not remove the stump, new sprigs of saplings appear all around the roots. You are that new life. We may be trees, infected by sin, but nourished by baptismal water, we bear fruit in the name of Jesus. John helps us prepare the way for Advent by reminding us that our hands are empty – but in the name of Jesus, not powerless. God works with our empty hands. We hold hands to pray for each other and the world and move mountains. We need empty hands, after all, to clasp them in joy and clap to sing praises to God. When we use our hands in service of God, in preparing and serving our community meals, in wiping tears from a friend's face, by opening for a hug, or taking a gift off of our tree to support a family, God's love flows through our empty hands and grows – new life. Too bad Advent occurs during winter in our hemisphere, or else perhaps planting a new tree would be a powerful symbol of the season. To prepare the way of the Lord, John reminds us of our empty hands, and opens us up to the great desire we have for Jesus and the love we will find on Easter and in the forgiveness only Jesus can offer. Hope is found in empty hands, which God uses and fills with love.