"Repent and prepare. . ."

As a child, Advent was unnerving. Everything around us spoke of Christmas but we had to prepare and be good. My brother and I knew we were being watched; Santa, Mom and Dad and Grandma were all in cahoots. Whether our chores were properly done and completed were recorded every evening before bed. What we did on our own to grow into better people was also regularly noted, as was how we treated each other as brother and sister. Weekly notes were sent to the big man at the North Pole. My brother would get so excited between the preparation and the anticipation that he would, at times, stand in the middle of the room and just jump up and down.

It was hard to clean up your life and work on being good when the promises of Christmas was staring right at you. Over the years, much has changed; however, Advent still reminds me of John the Baptist whose main message is clean up you act, grow and become a better person. Even as children, John’s fundamentalist preaching style offended our sensibilities; he still does and few would want him around today. Yet, he was very popular with the people and attracted hundreds of listeners. Why, I wonder.

But John the Baptist wouldn’t have lasted a day in my childhood parish, the Church of Mary’s Nativity. Maybe he could have made it in some of the Bible thumping churches in the southern states, but not in Queens in the fifties. He wouldn’t have been welcome at St. Joseph’s in Greenwich Village or anywhere I may have served.

Now, don’t get me wrong, I think we were all average American Churches, if you overlooked the liturgical differences. We were mostly honest, law-abiding people who attended church regularly, but most were careful not to get too much religion. We were content to hear what we wanted to hear and we hoped never to have God say anything to us that we didn’t expect to hear. We knew God loved us and wanted us to be saved; the technicalities of that arrangement, we were content to leave to God. Make it so.

We accepted the axiom: God is nice; therefore, be nice to each other.

Still, think of your church and imagine John pulling up on moving day looking like Captain Caveman complete with straggly hair and a greasy beard. He pulls into the rectory and starts unpacking. It doesn’t take long. He hangs his one camel’s hair outfit in the rectory closet. He walks into the kitchen and stores the box of locusts and jar of wild honey in the pantry. There, done. He steps back out and walks to the church, as congregants begin to arrive.

Listen to some of the conversation:

Is that our new preacher? Couldn’t be; comes the response, must be the moving man. Nope, that’s him, responds a warden. A member of the parish already spoke with him. He didn’t like him, said he was a doozie.

So who did we offend to get somebody like that? The question ligers in the air

The Deacon jumps in: Now, let’s not judge a book by its cover. As long as he loves the people visits Aunt Theodora in the nursing home and attends to the shut-ins, then we can maybe deal with the ‘eccentricities’.

Ha! Came the response.

But the first time John stepped into the pulpit and unleashed one of his fire-breathing, spit-flying sermons, it would have been the end of him.

So why was John so popular; why did so many travel to hear him. Why did entire crowds stay after John’s barrage if insults? If John called you a brood of vipers and added that you couldn’t escape the wrath to come, would you go back for more? Why did they?

Repent and prepare ~

In actuality, John probably avoided the synagogues and the Temple; at least, as far as we knew him, he did.

John planted himself in the middle of nowhere. He set up shop in the wilderness ~ on the other side of the Jordan River, in the tetrarchy of Philip, just to keep the rage of Herod Antipas at bay. So to get there was a real treck. No SUV ‘s here. Borrow a neighbor’s donkey; load it up with water and food for a long ride. Be prepared to defend yourself as you passed through ‘bad lands’ infested with bandits. Pack up the clothes because you knew you would be scorched by day and frozen at night.

When you got there, you were called a snake and you were asked why you had slithered so far. And don’t think you can ‘skate’ because you are descends of Abraham. Descendents of Abraham are a dime a dozen. What matters is your life.

What matters is your life and how you live it.

Quite a while ago, a colleague of mine was invited to be a part of the funeral of a distant relative; he accepted and traveled to Georgia. As the service began, the family processed in and the Pastor started to preach. Soon he was worked up and raised his voice:

"It’s too late for our brother. He may have wanted to do more with his life, but it’s too late now. He won’t get another chance to do better. But it ain’t too late for you."

I was stunned. How could anyone be that insensitive to the needs of that grieving family?

That was terrible, I told my friend I would never do that. That must be the most manipulative, inappropriate, tacky funeral sermon I ever heard.

"You’re right," my friend responded; "but the worst part is ~ it’s true."

As it turns out, that is the Good News. We can grow and change.

True, it’s a tough message; real self-evaluation is. It was scathing. Yet the crowds came. People from Jerusalem and Judea braved the elements and journeyed out into the desert to hear John preach. It was a message you weren’t going to hear at the First Church of Jerusalem. But there, people heard John’s message of preparation and turning and they were transformed.

Today John calls us and the passage of two millennia has not softened him. However, his message has not changed either, for the offer of salvation through examination, repentance, turning and change are clearly heard across the ages.

May this season of Advent be a time of turning from all that would hold us in bondage and free us to grow into the promises of Christmas.

AMEN,
The Rev. Denise P. Mantell, Rector