John the Baptist’s example shows us that faithful commitment to Christ means trusting and serving God even when you’re uncertain how things will turn out.

Vicar Bristol Reading
The Third Sunday of Advent, year A
Texts: Isaiah 35:1-10, Matthew 11:2-11

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

You need to take John the Baptist seriously.

Yes, I’m talking about the guy who lived in the wild, wore animal skins and foraged for food. I’m talking about the guy who went around shouting about winnowing forks, impending wrath, and baptism by fire. You need to take him seriously.

Too often John is portrayed as some kind of social aberration, a madman who behaved the way he did because he was unhinged. But John was a prophet, a sage, a truth-speaker. He was one of many people in his day who understood that an ascetic life in the wilderness could foster deep spiritual wisdom.

He was widely known and well respected. He wasn’t crazy. He was disciplined; he was zealous. He was committed to his mission, and his mission was to point to Jesus Christ.

John gave everything for that mission. He staked his career, his reputation, even his life, on the truth of Jesus Christ. At the point in Matthew’s Gospel that we read this morning, John has been imprisoned by King Herod, who will eventually execute him. John’s ministry was ending as Jesus’ ministry was beginning.

That means that John, the great forerunner of Christ, did not get to experience Jesus’ ministry for himself. He did not hear Jesus’ teachings, witness Jesus’ healings. He was not there when Jesus died on a cross, or when Jesus conquered death.

Although he didn’t see these things himself, John continually insisted that Jesus was the promised Messiah. He believed that Jesus was Emmanuel, God come to earth.

Yet despite this profound trust in who Jesus was, John was still afraid. He was afraid that he’d led people in the wrong direction, pointed to the wrong person. While he was in prison, John had heard stories about what Jesus was up to, and they didn’t always make sense to him. They didn’t always fit his expectations. John had given everything for Jesus, but he was still uncertain.

So he sent a desperate message asking Jesus, “Are you the one, or are we to wait for another?” Facing the end of his life, John wondered whether or not he’d gotten it right. He just wanted to be sure.

Jesus responded that he was bringing healing and liberation for all people, especially those who struggle the most.

The way Jesus described his ministry echoes ancient words from the prophet Isaiah. We heard those words this morning. Isaiah’s vision paints a picture of the new life that is possible through the Messiah.

It is a transformation so complete that it’s like the harsh Judean desert turning into a lush oasis. Plants can grow, animals can thrive. The very landscape itself becomes an expression of joy! People who are weak in body find strength. Those who suffer in spirit find healing. There are no barriers to keep people from flourishing. And this notoriously dangerous wilderness is now made safe for everyone. Anyone can find their way through. No one gets lost. No one gets hurt. This is how Isaiah imagines the miraculous restoration God brings: it is total social and ecological renewal.

It may be difficult for you here this morning, in the land of 10,000 lakes (currently 10,000 frozen lakes), to grasp just how incredible this vision of a blooming desert would have sounded in its original context.

But you know exactly what it’s like to hear a vision of peace and harmony for the world and think, “No way. That’s impossible.”

A community in which no one is afraid and everyone is safe. That seems impossible.
A time when suffering minds and bodies are healed seems impossible.
A place where all people are welcomed seems impossible.
A landscape in which all species of plants and animals can thrive seems impossible.

When we look around our world, we don’t see an oasis. We still see the metaphorical desert.

We see gun violence and hate crimes that are devastatingly common, millions of people who lack access to adequate healthcare, institutions entrenched in racism and prejudice, habitat loss and climate change that are decimating biodiversity.

Will God in Christ really transform all this?

If you have asked this question, then know that you are not alone. Long ago, someone asked this same question from a prison cell: “Are you the one who will save us, or not, Jesus? Because, right now, to me, it seems impossible.”

If this is your prayer, then know that you pray alongside John, that courageous prophet who gave everything he had for the sake of the Gospel, even though he couldn’t see the ending of everything he’d worked for. In the midst of his uncertainty, in the midst of his fear, he believed that God could still – somehow – bring restoration through Christ. He held on to the vision of a desert in bloom, even though he hadn’t yet experienced it.

You can hold on to that vision, too. That vision was given to you for a time such as this.
A time when you trust God but you’re still not sure how things will work out.
A time when you are committed to the work of the Gospel, but you’re overwhelmed by all the hurt in the world.
A time when you look back on a life of faithfulness but still experience doubt.

This is why you need to take John the Baptist seriously: Because his example shows that faithful commitment to Christ does not mean you’re not afraid: it means you trust God in the midst of your fear. You rely on God’s promises even before you have seen them be fully realized. You don’t have to have all the answers before you join God’s mission. You offer your life in service to the Gospel, as John did, and you keep pointing to Christ.

Because your skills, your voice, and your witness are needed. You are a part of the restoration that God is working in the world. The God you trust has also entrusted you to be the hands and feet of Christ.

And when you’re afraid and change seems impossible, you can come back to this good news: you’re putting your trust in a God who makes the impossible possible,
a God who makes a way where there is no way, like water in the desert;
a God who brings good news to the poor;
a God who comforts the suffering;
a God who lifts up the lowly, who provides for the hungry, who brings the dead to life.

You’re trusting a God who keeps promises, even when they’re beyond your lifetime. God can see the end of the journey, even when you can’t. And God goes with you every step of the way, even through the desert.

Amen.

You are filled with the Spirit, anointed by God, filled with wisdom, understanding, and all those gifts of the Spirit, so that you might live as Christ and bring about God’s reign of peace.

Pr. Joseph G. Crippen
The Second Sunday of Advent, year A
Texts: Isaiah 11:1-10; Matthew 3:1-12; Romans 15:4-13

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

Judah was in a terrible situation.

Now nearly three hundred years after David’s great kingdom split in two, the northern kingdom, Israel, was pressuring Judah to join an alliance to resist the great empire Assyria, an empire which eventually destroyed the northern kingdom. The heir to David’s throne, Ahaz, was wicked, didn’t worship the true God, even burned up one of his sons as a sacrifice, and wasn’t capable of leading well in this crisis. David’s family, the tree of Jesse, had seemingly come to an end, at least in terms of worthy kings. The tree looked about to be cut off, left as a stump.

But Isaiah declared a dead stump isn’t always dead. A shoot, a new growth, would grow out of that stump, a faithful and righteous ruler in David’s line was coming. One filled with God’s Spirit, like David. The spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and the fear of God, the spirit of delight, would be in this Davidic ruler.

And peace would come from this ruler’s reign. Natural enemies would live in peace and quietness together. The poor would receive justice. The meek would receive fair and equal treatment.

Now, Ahaz’ son, Hezekiah, was faithful and righteous, and a good ruler, and perhaps Judah saw him as the fulfillment of this prophetic promise. David’s tree wasn’t fully rotten and dead, after all.

But about 700 years later, the disciples of Jesus of Nazareth, risen from the dead after his brutal execution, did a bold thing with these words.

They said: Jesus is the shoot from the stump. The Davidic kingship had completely died out by Jesus’ day, a true dead stump. Jesus, of David’s family, was humiliated and crucified. Truly dead. Yet now he was and is alive, raised. Life from death, just like the green shoot.

And the Spirit of God was clearly upon him. If anyone had the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and the fear of God, the spirit of joy, it was Jesus.

Isaiah’s peaceable kingdom lived in him, too. He lived non-violently, preached peace, and even let his own people kill him rather than lift a weapon. He proclaimed God’s love and mercy, and showed it in his own suffering and death for the sake of the world. In Jesus they saw a glimpse of this new reign of God. Just as David and all his line were anointed God’s servants, literally God’s Christs, God’s Messiahs, so too was Jesus, they believed. It all made sense. So the Church boldly claimed these verses for the Christ, the Son of God, and so we still do.

But pay attention, because we’re about to do something even more wondrously audacious.

This morning we will take an eight-month old baby girl and claim this Messianic promise applies to her. That she’s our sign of God’s new life in a dying world.

We’ll first baptize her with water in the Triune Name, as Jesus commanded. That’s not as shocking.

But then we will lay hands on her head and pray, “Sustain her with the gift of your Holy Spirit: the spirit of wisdom and understanding, the spirit of counsel and might, the spirit of knowledge and the fear of the Lord, the spirit of joy in your presence.” Yes. We will claim those words are hers.

We’ll then anoint her head with olive oil, just like King David himself. She will become an anointed one of God, just like King David. Just like Jesus. Literally a Messiah. A Christ.

We claim this whole prophecy for Isla today. As God’s anointed, she’ll be filled with God’s Spirit, be a messenger of peace, justice, mercy. Her life will be a sign, a glimpse, of God’s reign of peace and love.

This is a world changing claim we’re making on this little girl, saying, “She is now Christ for us and for this world, God’s anointed.” Little wonder we ask her parents to raise her in the faith, teach her about God, bring her to this worshipping community, give her God’s Scriptures. We need them to, because we also declare that our hope for Isla is that she’ll learn to “trust God, proclaim Christ through word and deed, care for others and the world God made, and work for justice and peace.” She’ll also need her sponsors’ prayers and support, and the love and prayers of all of you for what we claim on her.

But here’s a blessing for Isla: she’s not the only Christ. Not by a long shot.

I can’t begin to count how many heads I’ve laid my hands upon and prayed this prayer at baptism, how many heads I’ve laid my hands upon and prayed this prayer at confirmation. And every time we do the liturgy of affirmation of baptism, we pray this prophetic promise onto ourselves.

Isla joins you in the great community of the anointed ones of God, the Christs God sends into the world. Because, as John the Baptist said today, the baptism Jesus came to bring is a baptism of the Holy Spirit and of fire. Jesus’ Baptism is Pentecost.

At Pentecost, you see that Jesus is just the first step. Now the Spirit of God is upon you, too, and the fire of God’s breath and life in your heart, just as at the beginning. Not John’s destroying fire, but a purifying, cleansing fire that makes you new, and a soul-igniting fire that sends you out as Christ into the world yourself.

Now Isla joins the Pentecost people. We won’t send her out just yet. She needs to live under the promises and care of her parents and sponsors and of us, her community in faith.

But you, and I, we’re sent out now. What does that mean for you?

To claim Isaiah’s Messianic promise as your own means to trust that God’s Spirit is actually in you, as promised. As given in your baptism. It is to trust that you are, in fact, God’s Anointed.

Can you look into your heart and your life for signs that the Spirit of God has come to you? Moments where God’s wisdom gave you clarity, where understanding of who you were and what God was calling you to do came? Moments where you were able to give wise counsel to others as God’s anointed? Where you felt the might of God’s powerful love, the strength of grace and forgiveness within you?

Consider what you know now about God, God’s love, God’s call to you, Spirit-knowledge, that you didn’t know last year. Or ten years ago. Can you see moments when the Holy Spirit has lifted up your heart to God, filled you with joy and delight?

Sometimes you can’t see these gifts at the time, but you can look back on the path and notice what God has done. You can hold Isaiah’s words in your heart and keep watch. Now that you know you’ve had this claimed as a promise for you, you can see it better.

And then you can also live it better.

The Spirit comes, Isaiah says, and John the Baptist agrees, to turn God’s people into people of peace, and justice, and mercy. To change predators into compassionate companions. To create a world where those who are poor finally find justice, and those who are not powerful find equity and fairness.

That’s what the wisdom and understanding, the counsel and might, the knowledge and fear of God, the joy in God’s presence, is for: that you actually live as Christ Jesus lived, and bear this peaceable reign of God in your very body, your voice, your hands, your heart, your life.

Oh, but you say, that can’t be me. I’m really not that important.

I don’t think I have any of those attributes. I certainly can’t do all the things Jesus did. Changing all that’s wrong with this world seems just as impossible as, I don’t know, a baby playing with a venomous snake and being safe, or . . . a wolf napping with a lamb.

But did you not hear? Even if something is as dead as an old stump, God can bring a shoot of new life and nourish the world. Even if the Son of God is dead and gone on a cross, God can raise him up to a glorious life that pours healing into the world.

Stumps can still live. Death can’t stop God’s life. God’s Spirit can do all this in you, and more. And Paul promises you this today: the power of the Holy Spirit will fill you with joy, and peace, and an abundance of hope. Along with all of Isaiah’s promises.

Be audacious, as audacious as we are with little Isla today, and claim this as your truth. Because it already has been declared about you, the Holy Spirit has already been given you, and as we prayed to begin this liturgy, God is about to stir up your heart to live as God’s Christ.

So, as Jesus said last week, wake up. Things are going to start getting interesting for you. And the world is going to be saved along with it.

In the name of Jesus.  Amen