Witness to Light (Advent 3B)

                                     

Witness to Light 


Homily delivered the Third Sunday of Advent (Advent 3B RCL)
The Rev. Fr. Tony Hutchinson, SCP, Ph.D. 


17 December 2017; 8:00 a.m. Said and 10:00 a.m. Sung Mass 


Parish Church of Trinity, Ashland (Oregon) 


Readings: 
Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11; Psalm 126; 1 Thessalonians 5:16-24; John 1:6-8, 19-28

God, give us hearts to feel and love,
take away our hearts of stone
 and give us hearts of flesh. Amen.

Christians at this season are all accustomed to seeing nativity scenes showing the baby Jesus in a manger surrounded the shepherds and the Magi, with the heavenly choir and the star of wonder in the night sky above.    But the scene as such is not scriptural.  It combines two separate and somewhat contradictory stories found in Matthew and Luke.  The Magi, the star, a house, and murderous King Herod are Matthew’s; the census, the stable, the shepherds, and angelic choir are Luke’s.   In the three year cycle of Sunday Eucharistic Gospel readings, we focus on Matthew in Year A and Luke in Year C.  John is used in part in all three years. 

But here’s the problem—this year is Year B, when we read Mark.  And neither Mark nor John tell of Jesus’ birth in Bethlehem. Mark starts with the preaching of John the Baptist and is explicit in saying that Jesus was from Nazareth.   John starts with “in the beginning was the Word,” and “the Word was made flesh,” but has no infancy narrative.

So this year, as far as our Sunday readings are concerned, we have Christmas, but no nativity.  And how can we see how special Jesus is without the sets and stage props for a nativity play: Matthew’s dreaming Joseph, wise men, star, jealous and murderous king, and flight into Egypt, or Luke’s census, pregnant Mary’s hard donkey ride to the ancestral home, no room in the inn, the stable and manger, the angels, and shepherds?

The Gospel of John does not go for Matthew or Luke’s dramatic trappings.   He actually takes exception to the idea that Jesus’ earthly origins matter.  For John, what matters is Jesus’ heavenly origin.  The Johannine Jesus in chapter 7 says that insisting on Bethlehem, or any earthly place, as the Messiah’s origin is a mistake (John 7:27-29, 41-43).    The Fourth Gospel shows us who Jesus is not by stories of infancy, but of his ministry and signs.   The Prologue continues “Life was in him, and this life was the light of the human race.  The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”   Then the evangelist interrupts his prologue by having a person serve as witness to Jesus: “There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He was not the light, but came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him.” 

No star of wonder, star of light here, or luminous glory around an angelic choir.  Here, Jesus himself is the light.  And John the Baptist, that mentor of Jesus who ends up being killed for speaking truth to power, is the witness, the martyr, to the Light itself.   Hope and witness to Jesus are here:  “Life was in him, and this life was the light of the human race, and the darkness did not overcome it.”  

Life was in Jesus and is in Jesus still.  He is the light of all humanity.   He shows us the face of God fully, unclouded by the breaking and twisting of God’s intention seemingly found in us all.   But Jesus shines in the darkness and darkness does not overwhelm him.  He is light.  And in him there is no darkness at all.   A lot of religion today, including that styling itself “Christian,” seems to suggest that God has a dark side, is darkness in some ways.   But God revealed in the face of Jesus has no darkness at all.  He is life and not death.

In the Gospel of John, God sends John the Baptist to testify, to witness, to be a martyr, to the light.   This witness here does not baptize Jesus, but proclaims that he saw the Spirit of God descending upon him  So instead of birth legends to introduce Jesus, the Fourth Gospel gives us the witness of John.

No rivalry exists here between Jesus and John: “He himself was not the light, but came to witness to the light.”  John here is not insisting on his own way, his own teaching.  He is not in competition with Jesus.  John bows before the light, and does not resist it, or seek to manipulate it. And this mirrors Jesus’ own bowing before the Father and submission to the Father’s will.  The Gospel of John comes from a community riven with schism, sects, and little cliques—for the flavor of it, just read the three Letters of John from that same community near the end of the New Testament.   Rivalry—always setting ourselves in competition with others—destroys shared life, hopes, and dreams.  It splits community into armed camps.  Rumor, backbiting, and bullying—brutal or quietly polite—kill congregations.   

We are blessed here at Trinity because we see so little of such rivalry.  Most of us have learned the importance of focusing on our shared dreams and hopes, in our faith in a crucified Lord who rose from death itself.     Most follow the spiritual practice of putting other people’s needs and feelings above our own desire to be right and to control things. 

John here does not challenge Jesus and Jesus himself does not challenge his Father.   They are in unity because they share common vision, and seek God’s will before their own preferences.   Later in John’s Gospel, Jesus tells the disciples—and this includes us—that we must be one as he and the Father are one.   We disciples are to find our unity in Jesus:  “I am the vine and you are the branches.  The branches cannot live apart from the vine.” 

Today is the third Sunday of Advent, Gaudete or “Rejoice” Sunday.  That's why the chasuble I'm wearing and the candle of the Advent Wreath today are rose.  We call it “stir up Sunday” not, contrary to many of our mothers’ explanations, as a reminder to mix and cook the Christmas puddings that need to rest and be fed brandy before the holiday.  No, it is because of the collect, “Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us; and, because we are sorely hindered by our sins, let your bountiful grace and mercy speedily help and deliver us.”

Hope is what gets us through the rough bits.  And Jesus on our hearts gives us hope beyond all else.  Centuries of Christian practice of spirituality and experience with rules of life have taught us again and again:  you do not generally make real headway against a besetting sin through force of will or head-on efforts at rejection and control.  You gain traction against really intractable sin only sideways, not head on.  Relapse is too great a risk: a high probability in deeply held habits and default ways of handling things, and almost a surety in compulsive or obsessive issues.  So instead of focusing on what’s wrong, we encourage an overall change of heart and mind through building other habits: ones of prayer, meditation, talking through matters with a group of supporters or a spiritual director, and active service and placing others before self.   We focus on Jesus, his example, and we gain hope and confidence.  The besetting sins simply wither and die in the warm  brightness of Jesus’ light.  We focus on day-to-day practices that give life and confidence in the gentle love of having others have their way.  We see all things in our life by the light in whom there is no darkness.  We nourish ourselves in the vine from whom our life and joy springs. 

Surrendering to our loving Lord, submerging ourselves in Jesus’ light and life, this brings joy, hope, and power.  It brings the Year of Jubilee, of release from debts and worries, described by Isaiah.  It makes us, in the words of Thessalonians, rejoice in the Lord always.  Those who have sown in sorrow come back from the fields in joy bearing ripe sheaves.  We follow Jesus, and no one else.  He is our center; he is our common life, our common prayer. It is Christ who gives us unity, and when we lose sight of him, we we fall apart and our shared life suffers.  

It is not a question of understanding how everything fits in, or where things are going.  It is simply a question of having that hope and vision of Jesus give us the wherewithal to be present in our lives, our real lives, with all their ambiguities and fears.  Thomas Merton, the great contemplative who died 49 years ago last week, writes, "You do not need to know precisely what is happening, or exactly where it is all going. What you need is to recognize the possibilities and challenges offered by the present moment, and to embrace them with courage, faith and hope."

God stirs up his power, Jesus, and comes mightily to save.  Joy comes in the morning.  In joy, we open ourselves to thankfulness and kindness.  We shake of the stupor of the night. 

When we let ourselves, like John, be witnesses to the light, all becomes clear.   Jesus takes us by the hand and guides us.  He heals our wounds and helps keep us from wounding others.  In his light, we see light, and know that the day is breaking and the shadows are fleeing away.   This is because God is love, as Jesus revealed, and in the presence of this love, all that is broken will mend, and all that is darkness will pass.

Thanks be to God.