Sermon: What then should we do? (Dec. 13, 2015)

Advent 3C

December 13, 2015

Luke 3:7-18; Philippians 4:4-7

Grace to you and peace from the one who is and who was and who is to come. Amen.

            Friends, I’ll be honest with you: I am tired. I don’t mean the tired that comes from being a new parent, or from being a pastor during Advent, or from it being only two weeks away from Christmas. I mean my heart is tired. I am tired from too many shootings, from feeling that no one is safe anywhere – not at the movies, or at school, or at the mall, or at a holiday work party, or even at church – and the unwillingness of our lawmakers to listen to the pleas of the majority of Americans about improving gun control laws. I am tired from the lack of compassion for people in need, people who are fleeing unspeakable violence and seeking refuge, but finding a closed door. And I am so, so tired from so much hateful speech driven by stereotypes and fear, rather than heartfelt love of neighbor, and of the labeling of whole groups of people and rejection of all because of the acts of a few. And this is not to mention the daily stuff; surgeries, testing, loss, and all the usual things of human existence, seem to be in abundance all around me. I am tired.

            As a result, I am not feeling very Christmas-y. I’m not really feeling into the fact that this third Sunday in Advent is typically “Rejoice” Sunday. Historically, it was meant to be a little respite from all the waiting and repentance of Advent, a little glimpse of the joy to come in a couple weeks. But this year, I’m just not feeling much like rejoicing. I hear the words of Zephaniah and all I can hear are unfulfilled promises. I hear Isaiah’s claim that God will save us and so we need not be afraid, and I wonder, “Well what about those people who went about their daily lives only to be victims in yet another shooting?” I hear Paul’s plea – from prison, no less – to rejoice always, and again to rejoice, and think, “Uhh, I don’t have the energy to rejoice today, Paul. Maybe later.”

            Ordinarily I love those three texts, and would have been happy to preach on them, and avoid this strange text from Luke wherein John the Baptist begins his preaching with, “You brood of vipers!” and ends with, “He proclaimed the good news to the people,” as if unquenchable fire were some sort of good news. Normally, I would wonder, “Why in the world is this the Gospel reading on ‘Rejoice’ Sunday?!” But this year, I find myself drawn to John, and his unwillingness to mince words. John is saying it like it is, and he has given me the courage not only to let myself feel what I need to feel, but also to stand up here and tell you about it.

            But even more than John’s words, I am drawn to this question from the crowd, following John’s unrelating speech about the need to repent, to change our ways, to turn toward God: “What then should we do?” I’m drawn to it because this has been my question the past few weeks, as I watch violence, hate and fear fill my newsfeed. Another shooting, another slander, another stereotype: “What then should we do?”

I’ve seen several references lately to a very poignant quote from Martin Niemöller, who was a prominent Protestant pastor and outspoken adversary of Adolph Hitler and the Nazi Regime. He spent seven years in concentration camps for his outspokenness. He writes, “First they came for the Socialists, and I did not speak out – because I was not a Socialist. Then they came for the Trade Unionists, and I did not speak out – because I was not a Trade Unionist. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out – because I was not a Jew. Then they came for me – and there was no one left to speak for me.” The quote so simply captures how complicity eventually leads to loneliness. Along a similar vein, a wonderful quote from Lutheran pastor Dietrich Bonhoeffer from the same era, “Silence in the face of evil is itself evil: God will not hold us guiltless. Not to speak is to speak. Not

to act is to act.” Powerful and convicting words about the harmful potential of saying and doing nothing.

But what, then, should we do? What should we do when our hearts are heavy from reading about more tragedy in the news? What should we do when someone in need comes to our literal or proverbial door in search of help or safety? What should we do when people speak bigoted, hateful words about children of God, about our neighbors, whether those neighbors are Christian or not?

Ah, but here is the rub. In John’s sermon, he is not talking to the victims or the bystanders. He is talking to the perpetrators. But, I think he is still talking to us. So let’s change the question a bit: What should we do when we discover we are the one with a racist attitude? What should we do when we find ourselves afraid or unwilling to speak out about something important? What should we do when, instead of listening and learning about someone or something that is different from us, we decide that we know enough and suppose our assumptions are correct, without giving the “other” a chance to share their story? What should we do when, in the face of another tragedy, we just shut the blinds and the turn the other way and pretend everything is fine, and let someone else deal with that problem?

I don’t know about you, but I am guilty of all these things. I am the chaff John is talking about. I am convicted once again by Bonhoeffer’s words: “Not to speak is to speak. Not to act is to act.” What then should we do?

John’s advice to the crowd is practical. He acknowledges each group’s particular vocation and place in life, and instructs on how they can love and serve within that vocation. In short, “Do what you are good at, do what God called you to do, but do it better, more honestly, and as a service to others.” Be generous and kind. Be honest. Be loving. Work hard. Use whatever gifts and tools are available to you to make the world better, and that is how you can prepare for the coming of the Lord.

So what then, should we do? What would John the Baptist be saying to you in this time and this place, in this particular moment in history with its particular problems, struggles and brokenness? What then should we do, today, right now?

            This is the question I have grappled with for weeks, in particular around gun violence and, more recently, hatred and fear toward Muslims. With the Spirit’s help, I realized that I don’t know how to help because I simply don’t know enough about gun laws, or about Islam. Of course I recognized this in the context of the Advent season, in which we anticipate and hope for the coming of God in our midst as a human baby. Christmas is a season in which we marvel that God would so badly want a closer relationship with us, that God would become one of us, crossing the boundary between human and divine to really know and experience our lot. Advent is a season in which we prepare ourselves for that closeness of relationship, for God’s entry into our reality.

John tells us how: repent. But God gives us the power to do it. By the power I find in the hope of Christ, I sent an email this week to the Imam at the Islamic Center of Rochester. In the email I said I want to build relationships, and to educate myself. I asked if there was someone from his community who would be willing to sit down with me and let me listen while they simply tell me about what it is like to be a Muslim in America right now, about what is beautiful and life-giving about their faith. I haven’t heard back yet, but I’m as excited as I am anxious to see how this turns out. But in my prayer this week, this was how John the Baptist answered my question, “And I, what should I do?” As a faith leader in this time and place, and one who enjoys meeting new people, and one who is concerned about what is happening in this country and this world, this is what the Spirit compelled me to do. And what about you? What should you do?

            I started this sermon by saying that I’m not feeling up to rejoicing, and that normally I shy away from this strange text from Luke in which he calls the threat of unquenchable fire “the good news.” But you know, I think this is good news, and cause for rejoicing. Because the gospel is about how God changes the world, about how God brings salvation to every nook of cranny of the universe, and about how God participates in our reality and has a relationship with us, so that we might also participate in and be a part of that salvation that God brings. And in this time of history, and during Advent, God compels us toward self-reflection, repentance, and finally toward active love for the world that is fueled by the promise of that salvation. I think that’s pretty good news after all. And so, let us rejoice. Again I say, rejoice!

Let us pray… Saving God, when our hearts are heavy with the fear and hatred of the world, grant us the humility for self-reflection, and the strength and the courage to speak up against that hatred, so that we might participate in the salvation you bring. And may the peace of God which surpasses all understanding keep our hearts and minds in Christ Jesus. In the name of the Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit. Amen.