You are the light, the anointed one, sent in the Spirit to drive away the shadows and darkness of this world.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Third Sunday of Advent, year B
Texts: John 1:6-8, 19-28; Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11; with references to Matthew 5:14-16

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

John the Evangelist spends a lot of time telling us what John the Baptizer is not.

John is not the Light no darkness can overcome, the evangelist says, he came to testify to the Light. When asked who he was, the evangelist says John made it clear. Are you the Messiah? No. Are you Elijah? No. Are you the prophet promised in Deuteronomy to come as a new Moses? No.

No, John said. I’m the one crying in the wilderness, prepare the way of God. I’m not worthy to tie Messiah’s shoes. The Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world is coming, and I’m nothing like that One.

We can relate. Today Isaiah proclaims the job description of the One who is coming, the One the Spirit of God fills: this One will bring good news to the oppressed, bind up the brokenhearted, proclaim liberty and release to the captives, and comfort all who mourn. This is the Light of the World the evangelist declares that can overcome all darkness and shadows, the Light who reveals the heart of God.

That doesn’t sound like us. If asked, we’d probably join John and say “you’re thinking of someone else, Jesus, the Christ, God-with-us. We can tell you about him, testify to him. But we’re not anything like that.”

And yet, we are. You are.

You are the light of the world, Jesus says. (Matthew 5:14) Do you think he doesn’t know you?

You’re anointed, too. In Hebrew, that’s “Messiah,” in Greek, “Christ.” Maybe you’re not “The Messiah,” capital The, capital M, but you are messiah, anointed, Christ, in your baptism. You were given light at your baptism and told to carry it into the world to shine Christ’s light into all corners.

Which means along with Isaiah, and with Jesus, who first claimed these words in his sermon in his hometown, you, also, can say, “The Spirit of God is upon me, because God-Who-Is has anointed me to bring good news to the oppressed, anointed me to bind up the brokenhearted, anointed me to proclaim liberty and release to the captives, anointed me to comfort all who mourn.”

That’s your job, too. Because you . . . are the light of the world.

And what might happen if you shone your light on the pain of this world?

What good news could you bring to those who are oppressed? You could find your own place in the task to make this a society of justice for all, of equality and fairness for all, especially those who are crushed by our society because of who they are, whether their gender or color or class or education or ethnicity or whatever.

How could you bind up those who are brokenhearted? Your kindness could knit mourning and broken hearts together in healing. And you can be grace to those brokenhearted who have caused or received so much pain they feel trapped in it, and perpetuate it, and help end that cycle of revenge with your grace.

What freedom can you proclaim to those who are captive to systems beyond their control, and what liberty to those imprisoned and thrown away? You could support leaders who seek to dismantle unjust systems, and bring freedom to those trapped in them, and leaders who seek to heal society rather than build bigger walls and stronger prisons.

You are the light of the world, Jesus says. In your baptism into Christ you’re not just carrying God’s light into the world, you are God’s light. You can do all these things with the Spirit’s grace.

Because you don’t want to hide your light under a basket, Jesus also says.

It’s easy to assume you’re not the one God needs. That you can’t do much with your life and abilities. That the problems of the world are too much. But the Spirit of God has anointed you, Isaiah says, your baptism says, made you Christ. The light of God is in you, and already has been shining out on your world through you and making a difference, if you just look back and see.

So don’t worry so much about what you can’t do. Christ is far more interested in what you can, with the Spirit’s grace.

There’s a marvel about light that we sing at every Easter Vigil.

In the great Exsultet which begins the liturgy, we sing of the wonder of the light of the Paschal Candle which – unlike most things we know – isn’t diminished when it’s divided, it’s expanded. The light of a single candle will break the darkness of a huge room. But if someone places their candle next to that wick and ignites it, the light is greater, not less. The more candles that are lighted, the brighter the room is. So you can carry your light and light others with it, and let that stream again and again into the world. Until the dawn breaks over this world for all God’s children, and creatures, and creations.

You’ve known this since you were a child, by the way. You learned to sing, “This little light of mine, I’m gonna let it shine. All around the neighborhood. All over the world.”

It turns out it’s not a children’s song. It’s the song of the Triune God’s dreams for you. Go ahead and sing it, and see where God’s Light will shine through you next.

In the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen

The Triune God is patiently waiting for you, because you are a critical part of God’s restoration of all things.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Second Sunday of Advent, year B
Texts: 2 Peter 3:8-15a; Isaiah 40:1-11; Mark 1:1-8

Beloved in Christ, grace to you, and peace in the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen

What are you waiting for from God?

Are you hoping for what Isaiah promises, that God will restore a broken world? These exiles lost everything, including their homes, suffered invasion and destruction, and now receive God’s comfort. A road will be made to bring them home. So they’re told to hope for God to come and shepherd God’s people, gather them up, feed them, and lead them home.

Are you waiting for that kind of restoration from God? It might feel like an empty promise. To hear that God is coming to make things new, and live in a world that’s spiraling into madness, with threats of fascist dictators here, and devastating war and violence in the Middle East and Africa and Ukraine.

How long can we reasonably wait for this restoration? Isn’t urging patience just pushing off legitimate concerns and anxiety about our world into a “never will happen” future?

But maybe you’re waiting for God to do what 2nd Peter expects: wipe the slate clean.

There’s clearly some hope in the early Church for God to make a new heavens and a new earth, in their own lifetimes. Jesus spoke of it last week, Peter does again today. Some hoped God would start over to make all things new.

So there are apocalyptic promises of stars falling, moon and sun darkening, or, as we heard today, the heavens set ablaze and destroyed and the elements melted with fire. Surely if the world is as buried in problems and suffering as it seems, this is worth hoping for. Just start over, God.

But this is a beautiful creation, too. There’s still so much love happening in our homes, our city, our nation, our world, so much grace and hope. There’s still beauty and wonder in the trees and stars and flowers and lakes and whales. Why should God destroy all this just because we’ve made a mess of things?

And if this is our hope, urging patience means ignoring all the problems, avoiding trying to make a difference. If we’re getting a whole new thing, why does it matter?

And into the middle of these two visions steps our old friend John the Baptizer.

Right on cue, Second Sunday of Advent, here he is on the banks of the Jordan. And his call is to you. To me. To all. Repent – that’s John’s invitation. John is the great U-turn sign of Advent. He stands in our road, waving his arms, saying “you need to turn around, you’re on a path that leads to death.”

He’s tied to Isaiah’s promise of a straight, flat road prepared for God’s coming. But his view of the road is that it’s your path needs straightening, my path. John says that God’s Anointed is nearly here. But if we’re going in the wrong direction, we might miss it.

So John has no patience whatsoever. His urgency is unmistakeable: come to the water and wash your old life away, and turn around. Forgiveness of the past path is a part of it. But as John makes clear in Matthew and Luke, the new path you’re invited to walk involves changed behavior, changed lives. Fruit of repentance, like giving away your second coat, helping your neighbor, carrying their burden.

But John talking of repentance next to Isaiah and 2nd Peter opens up a wonder and awe we rarely consider.

Listen carefully. The One truly waiting in Advent, the Patient One, is the Triune God.

God is patiently waiting, our second reading says, for exactly what John called for: for all to come to repentance, to turn around their lives, find God’s path of wholeness and healing for them and the world. God isn’t slow to keep the promise of restoration. It’s God’s patience that somehow all might turn around that explains why we’re still here.

This clears up a lot. If God is going to destroy all and start over, then, as Jesus said last week, we have no idea of the time. We certainly have no say whether God chooses this or not. So we can safely ignore this whole apocalyptic possibility. If it happens, it happens. All we can do, Jesus said, is be about our work.

Which leads us back to Isaiah, and God’s restoration of a broken, suffering world. Because – and we know this well from Jesus – if God is going to care for all the sheep, gather them up, feed them, bring them home, it will be through you and me and all who follow the way of Christ. And God patiently waits for you and me to repent, turn around, find God’s path that leads to all God’s sheep safe and secure.

And if this is so, consider, Peter says, how you will live. Consider, John says, if you need to turn.

Neither gives a lot of helpful detail. You’ll have to sort out that in your own life. Peter asks what kind of lives of holiness and godliness you might live, finding a way to be at peace. How might your life be more tuned to God’s way, God’s love, God’s healing? Peter asks.

John’s call to turn around is its own answer. What in your life harms you, hurts someone else, harms the world? What habits, ways, plans, finances, opinions, keep you from freely being a part of God’s restoration? If Jesus needs you to feed God’s sheep, what turn-arounds will you need today, tomorrow, next week, to do that?

John also promises you’ll have help. His water baptism was symbolic washing, reminding people of their repentance. But the Anointed One of God baptizes with the Holy Spirit, he says. God’s Spirit lives in you, gives you insight into what turns to make on the path, sometimes even calls out in John’s voice that you’re going the wrong way. Listen for that voice, that Wisdom. But also trust this: you have the strength of God’s Spirit to help you in this turning, too. You’re not doing this alone.

The Triune God’s playing a long game here.

A thousand years is like a day to God, and a day like a thousand years. We’re not remotely capable of such patience, to lovingly wait and watch as each child of God chooses whether to turn around, to turn into God’s way or not. So it can seem as if nothing is ever getting better.

But if you’re waiting for God to act, you have your answer. God’s waiting on you. So, dear ones, consider what kind of person you want to be in leading a life of holiness and godliness. God loves you so deeply, so permanently, so inviolably, that God will patiently wait for you to decide what you will do about this world, about your life. But God also knows how amazing it will be when you and I and every child of God turn and join in the way of restoration and healing God is making.

In the name of the Father, and of the + Son, and of the Holy Spirit.  Amen