Seed of Change

Text: Matthew 3:10-12
Other texts: Isaiah 11:1-10, Romans 15:4-13

The Bible is our story.

It is the story of the people who wrote it, preserved it, transmitted it from one generation to another. Those people still exist. We are some of them. For that reason, the Bible perseveres. It is a version of history that we cherish.

But there could be, or could have been, other versions of the same events, told by other peoples. Our story is the story of Jesus, whom we follow, declared Messiah, fulfillment of scripture. But imagine a story owned not by the followers of Jesus but the followers of John the Baptist. A story, say, once told among them but since lost.

You can hear in the stories of John and Jesus a rivalry or competition. In our version of the story, John is the precursor to Jesus. An eager pointer to a greater man with a better message. John is a willing voice in the wilderness that prepares the world for a man next to whom John feels unworthy. Yet the message of John fits uneasily with the teachings of Jesus. Maybe in John’s version of the story, Jesus absconds with John’s movement. Jesus’ message is adopted over John’s and John’s followers become Jesus’ followers instead. You wonder whether John was as welcoming to Jesus as Matthew makes out.

John preached repentance. This poor word has by now lost all its vigor, reduced to something about remorseful apologies and half-hearted resolutions to do better. But it means instead a change in life. We might say transformation. A change of heart and mind. A turning things around, or in a different direction.

But not a random or accidental turning; rather one based on consideration of the past and intention for the future. And therefore not easily done. John’s baptizing in the river was not to magically cause repentance, as our translation “baptize … for repentance” implies, but rather “baptize … into repentance.” Baptism marked entry into a new kind of living, a new way of existing.

Lots of people came to hear John. People of the city and all the surrounding country. John’s message of a change in the order of things was welcome because things were so messed up. There was not much that was good for most people in Palestine in those days. People would have been encouraged by what John said, especially the part about the winnowing fork and the burning chaff. A welcome message especially if you think it applies to other people and requires a change in their behavior (or power or status) and not in yours. Repentance is good for the other guy for sure.

The Pharisees and Sadducees show up unexpectedly. It is not clear whether they were in favor of baptism or opposed; Matthew says they were coming to, or onto, baptism, which is pretty neutral. It seems likely that they, being part of the power elite, were not super eager to see things, or themselves, change. A big change of mind and heart would not have suited them.

Change is hard. Hard to accommodate, hard to bring about, hard to have happen in your life. Easier, perhaps, to anticipate. We think, as probably the folks in the crowd did, about good new things ahead.

But change always brings grief. A change in direction means you are leaving something behind. There is a sadness, even when the future looks better. There is some comfort in the familiar, whether pleasant or bitter. Uncertainty is scary. When the disciples are called by Jesus, he asks them to give up their jobs, their families, their traditions, to leave their homes. They go eagerly, but it must have been difficult, even though the call was clear and compelling.

Change requires that we give up control. Systems, relationships, and privileges that sustain and protect us are rightly at risk. We cannot make changes in our lives without making changes in the patterns that we follow. That is, after all, what we are trying to do. That is the point. But those patterns of connections and behaviors—whom we rely on, routines we follow, rules of thumb (or rules of law, even)—are foundations for day to day living. We secretly hope for new direction without disruption.

What will things be like in the new days ahead? We cannot know. Whether we choose to change or change descends upon us, we have to trust God when God says that we will be OK, that God will take care of us. We are not very good at that. Trusting God.

Change emerges from judgment. Being judged and found wanting is the seed of change. If we are satisfied with the way things are—well, then hooray! Let’s keep up the good work. That is why we distrust the commitment of the Pharisees and Sadducees to John to the Baptist. They enjoy too much power and privilege.

Judgment is not a reflection of one’s character. It is an astute and deep observation of the nature of our actions. What are we doing? Whom is it affecting? What harm or good is it accomplishing? Judgment is essential and unavoidable prerequisite to change, for it makes clear the distinctions between the way things are and the way we think they are, and especially between the way things are and the way we want them to be. Judgment is clear seeing.

But judgment without forgiveness is just nastiness. Repentance is a continuation of a path, not a dead end. We are not followers of John the Baptist but of Jesus. Judgment can stop us in our tracks, but the forgiveness that Jesus teaches allows us to go forward even in the face of our own sins and the sins of others. The horrible mistaken, stupid, mindless, or malevolent things people do. Repentance—change in direction—requires both admonition and acceptance. A recognition that we are both responsible and cherished. It is not an accident that we start each Sunday worship with confession and absolution. Judgment of our actions and our negligence followed by reassurance that God is not therefore going to make our lives miserable, in the future or now.

We just heard Kelsi and Brad talk about peace. Paul in his letter to the Romans that Jacob just read prays that we live in harmony with one another. Isaiah describes a world in which natural enemies live cordially together. People have longed for peace forever. Yet we have no peace.

We have to judge that we have no peace because we do not want it. Or rather, that we want some other things more than we want peace. A peaceful world would be a drastic change in the way people are with one another. It would require that we give our trust to God to keep us safe and prosperous. It would require that we give up foundational patterns of discourse, economics, and politics. It would require that we be willing to lose things that are most valuable to us. The path from the way things are to the way things could be and that we pray for them to be is risky and scary. So we don’t take that path. We never have. So far.

We look ahead in Advent, but only after looking backward. Advent is a season, therefore, of judgment. Of seeing where we are and where we might better go. John the Baptist quotes (misquotes, actually) another passage from Isaiah, who said: Prepare the way of the Lord in the wilderness.

Advent is not so much waiting for the coming of Jesus, but rather constructing a smooth path in our wilderness on which Jesus can walk here with us. Asking him for clear thinking about what we are doing—righteous judgment as Isaiah says. And courage to follow him in a new direction for us. And forgiveness along the way.