Sermon for the Third Sunday of Advent, Dec. 17, 2023

 Sermon for SMHP, Year B, Advent III, Dec. 17, 2023

John 1:6-8, 19-28

               ⁶There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. ⁷He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. ⁸He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.

               ¹⁹This is the testimony given by John when the Jews sent priests and Levites from Jerusalem to ask him, “Who are you?” ²⁰He confessed and did not deny it, but confessed, “I am not the Messiah.” ²¹And they asked him, “What then? Are you Elijah?” He said, “I am not.” “Are you the prophet?” He answered, “No.” ²²Then they said to him, “Who are you? Let us have an answer for those who sent us. What do you say about yourself?” ²³He said, “I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way of the Lord,’” as the prophet Isaiah said. ²⁴Now they had been sent from the Pharisees. ²⁵They asked him, “Why then are you baptizing if you are neither the Messiah, nor Elijah, nor the prophet?” ²⁶John answered them, “I baptize with water. Among you stands one whom you do not know, ²⁷the one who is coming after me; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandal.” ²⁸This took place in Bethany across the Jordan where John was baptizing.

 

          A couple of weeks ago, a car salesman named Ronnie Vargas was at Santa Fe Trail Elementary School in Independence to deliver doughnuts provided by the dealership where he works for a Doughnuts with Grownups event.  While he was there, his niece—a student at the school—dragged him to the Book Fair, which was also happening that week.  There he heard parents telling their kids that they really couldn’t afford to buy them books, or if they did, it would have to come out of money they were saving for Christmas.

          Mr. Vargas had an idea.  He called his boss at the dealership and said, “What if we buy out the book fair?  The boss was game, and $7600 later, the kids of Santa Fe Trail were delightedly grabbing whatever books they wanted.

          In the Salinas Valley of Central California, Judge John Phillips got tired of sending juvenile offenders to jails and detention programs and then watching them return to his courtroom.  In 2000, he gathered together a board and enlisted the help of the local community, and together they turned an old detention center into Rancho Cielo, a school, vocational training center, and culinary academy for young people who have found their way into the juvenile justice system.  Over two decades, Rancho Cielo has given hundreds of young people a new start [2 slides].

 

          A lot of things are going wrong in this world.  I’ve given you plenty of examples and have no intention of offering a litany of them on Gaudete Sunday.

          But there’s good, too.  There are people helping kids, and there is no better way to grow hope for the future than to make the present better for our kids.

          It could be easy to lose hope right now.  I might lose hope, if I didn’t have you all to remind me where my hope is found.  You need that, right?  It’s not enough to sit alone and hope—you have to have some other people who are willing to say, “Yes, it really is going to be okay. Even though things seem dark, there is plenty of good in the world.  For me, and for my family, this [indicate sanctuary] is the most reliable place to find, and believe that message.  You are truly bearers of the name we share with the first two weeks of Advent:  Hope.  And Peace.

          But just in case you don’t want to take my word for it, here is a report from the field.

          On Mondays in Dominic’s class, kids write about what they did over the weekend.  His teacher sent me his Monday Writing this week, because he was so proud of it.  The picture is the church—red carpet, altar, me (I think), Advent wreath, and Eileen’s chair—awaiting her return.

          Here’s a closeup of the words:  “Last weekend was lots of fun.  I got to light two candles.  My mom is the pastor.  I love church.”

          Those last two statements are related, but we must always caution ourselves not to infer causation from correlation.  Dominic doesn’t love church because I am the pastor.  He lives with me—he doesn’t have to come here to see me.  Or Mama Simon.

          But this is where he sees you. This is where we let all those ruffians run around and be kids, and we draw them close to us—just like Jesus told us to. This is where our kids find a community of people who are kind, and patient, and thoughtful—and who love Jesus, which teaches our kids that loving Jesus makes you kind and patient and thoughtful, WHICH IT DOES.

          It’s easy to come here each week, pray, sing, line up for communion, gather in the back of the sanctuary, and think of it all as our opportunity to be fed.  A way to refuel for the week.  And so it is…

But what we may not see, until we read it in wobbly second grade cursive handwriting, is how as we are fed the presence of Jesus Christ, we become the presence of Christ for one another, and for our children, and for those we then encounter throughout the week. 

          We come into this place hungry pilgrims, begging for a scrap of bread from the Lord’s table, and we leave witnesses to the glory and majesty of God, which shines out of us like the sun.  What happens in this place is nothing short of a miracle. 

          And it has to be, because when we leave this place, we enter a world that is struggling to find its way—a world desperately short on miracles.  And the moment we step out of here, and even while we are together in this space, we are confronted by difficult choices.  We stand in the footsteps of a guy called John, and a woman called Mary—a couple of them, actually.  And a handful of apostles. 

          We find ourselves interrogated by the current day priests and Levites—the doubters and those filled with righteous anger. 

          They all want to know the same thing.  They ask the questions we’ve already heard this morning:

“Who are you?”

“Why are you baptizing?”

“Haven’t you heard?  Church is over.  We’re doing cynicism now.  All you need is a keyboard.

Nobody wants to hear about Jesus any more.”

          Did you feel spiritual, and even physical pain when I said that last part?  Or was it anger?  That’s okay too.  I feel pretty fierce about the body of Christ myself.  I’m unwilling to cede it to that fast-growing religion called Skepticism.

          No kid ever went to school on Monday to write a loving ode to Skepticism.

          Here in this place, we’re allowed our doubt, and even our skepticism…but our hope is in Jesus, the bringer of peace, who fills us with joy, and teaches us love.

          Close your eyes and take a deep breath. Breathe in the knowledge that you are in a sanctuary—literally and figuratively.  Here in this place, you are loved, exactly as you are, because our love rests in Jesus.  Our love is a testimony to Jesus.  Why are we baptizing?  Because we want our children to experience that kind of love.  We want it to fill them up and spill out over their world too.  And we want people who haven’t had the chance to come to the font to get splashed by hope and peace and joy and love too.

          So much is off kilter right now, but we will not lose hope.  We will fight for peace.  And because we are blessed to be here in this place together each week, we will have joy.  It is who we are, and it is our testimony to the world.77777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777777