"Good News of Great Joy" (Luke 3:7-18)

The last sentence we just heard said that John proclaimed the good news to the people.

Good. News.

Did you hear the good news in what John said?

In case you missed it, John called the people a brood of vipers, then spoke of wrath and judgment and a winnowing fork that would separate the chaff into an unquenchable fire.

Does that sound like good news to you?

The crowds that came out to hear John were desperate people. They were desperate for some good news. It seemed to them that the world had lost its way.

There was this distant dream they had, this hope carried through the generations, that things would get better, that a good society would come to pass, a society in which all people were more or less equal when it came to sharing the prosperity that the earth offered.

But hope was fading. People broke into factions, arguing with each other as to why society had lost its way, and who was to blame. Sadducees, Pharisees, Essenes…they each had their own ideas as to why society was going downhill.

Often the blame was placed on the people, those who suffered most under the current social order. It was their fault. They didn’t have enough faith. They didn’t work hard enough. That’s why God was punishing society.

It’s kind of ironic: even though 99.9% of the people fell into the category of “struggling to survive,” society as a whole placed upon them the blame for everything wrong with society. In their palaces and their fine homes, from their positions of authority and power, the leaders all said it’s all their fault: the peasants, the immigrants, the struggling artisans and indentured servants. They lacked faith. They lacked moral fiber. They lacked a work ethic.

After all, you wouldn’t really expect the leaders of society to point the finger of blame at themselves.

Picture a young couple. Their names are Joseph and Mary. Joseph was an artisan, a carpenter to be specific. He made things out of wood, hoping that selling these things would be enough to keep him and his family alive.

It wasn’t easy. Joseph and Mary were poor. They struggled to get by. And then: Caesar forced them and many others to leave their hometowns and make unreasonably difficult journeys to faraway cities. It didn’t matter how much hardship this caused. It didn’t even matter if the woman was about to give birth. Just throw her up on that donkey (if you could find one) and get moving.

Fortunately for Joseph and Mary, the baby didn’t arrive until they reached Bethlehem, their destination. Unfortunately, when they sought shelter in Bethlehem, knocking on the door of an inn, the innkeeper took one look at them and said, “We don’t have room for people like you, refugees and immigrants from Galilee. Go sleep with the other animals.”

You’ve heard this story before. Maybe you’re used to imagining the innkeeper as a kind person who regretfully turned Joseph and Mary away. But I think that if the innkeeper had any kindness in him at all, and a woman forced to leave her home shows up at his doorstep, and is clearly in labor, he would find space for her, no matter how full his inn was. If there was any kindness, any compassion, in him at all, he would do that.

What kind of a society would not give shelter to a woman about to give birth? What happened to the dream of a world in which everyone had at least the basic necessities of life: food and shelter? What happened to the ancient value of showing hospitality to strangers in need?

This is what the world was like under Herod and Caesar. It was a world in desperate need of some good news.

The crowds that followed John the Baptist thought maybe – just maybe – this man preaching out in the wilderness had the answers. Maybe – just maybe – he had some good news.

Most of the people in the crowd were people like Joseph and Mary: normal people who had it rough, people struggling just to survive.

But mixed in among them were some religious leaders, those who had a high position in society that straddled the boundary between church and state. These elite leaders were curious about what was going on, and what this strange man in the desert was saying.

“YOU BROOD OF VIPERS!”

That’s how John greeted the crowds when they arrived.

I’d like to think John directed this insult to the haughty religious leaders and authorities, but scripture doesn’t really say that he was limiting his focus to them. It seems that everyone – even the poor, oppressed people who made up the bulk of the crowd – got the same greeting.

As the words of John’s harsh greeting rang in their ears, the people got their first good look at him. John had abandoned all the trappings of society. He didn’t even try to look respectable. It was clear he was intentionally trying to distance himself from society, or at least, distance himself from what society stood for.

He was also a master of attention-getting rhetoric. “You brood of vipers!” he said. “Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Produce fruit that shows you have changed your hearts and lives. Don’t kid yourselves, saying ‘Abraham is our ancestor.’ As if calling yourself ‘a child of Abraham’ will save you…”

If this were 2015, he may well have said, “Don’t kid yourself, saying ‘I’m a Christian.’ As if calling yourself a Christian will save you. People will do all sorts of selfish things, hateful things, and call it “Christian” to justify it. They spout racist rhetoric, call themselves “Christian,” and challenge you to oppose them. They speak judgmentally about other people, call themselves “Christian,” and think that will save them. They tell you to get a gun so you can shoot Muslims, and say it’s the “Christian” thing to do.

But calling yourself “Christian” won’t save you. Calling yourself a child of Abraham won’t cover over your sins.

You must bear fruits worthy of repentance. It’s how you live your life that matters. Are you living according to the dream of the prophets? Are you working for a more peaceful society? Are you working to overcome oppression and poverty and inequality?

This is the good fruit that is required. Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.

Oh, that’s harsh. But I think the crowds were sick and tired of hearing their leaders justify the inequality and oppression of society, and the widespread poverty, and doing so in the name of God and Caesar.

They were ready for a change. They were ready for a fire to come and burn away all that is evil in society. They were ready for the restoration of a kingdom of justice and compassion and freedom and equality and a prosperity that is shared among all, a prosperity that is not owned exclusively by the few at the top.

And so they responded eagerly, perhaps even enthusiastically: “What should we do?”

In reply John tells people to share. SHARE! After all, it’s not about YOUR rights, YOUR welfare, YOUR prosperity. It’s about the COMMON welfare, the rights, freedom, and prosperity of ALL people.

You can’t deny rights and justify your own salvation by saying, “Well, I’m a child of Abraham.” You can’t ignore the inequality in society and justify your own salvation by saying, “Well, I’m a Christian.” SO WHAT! Call yourself whatever you want, it doesn’t mean a thing.

Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none. There are many who have no coats, while some have closets full of coats.

Whoever has food must share with anyone who is hungry. There are many who are hungry, while some have storerooms full of food.

The implications are clear.

Make no mistake: John’s teachings were highly political. They were a critique of the way the Romans had structured society. That’s why Herod – soon after this – arrested John and put him in prison. It’s always dangerous for a preacher to meddle in politics.

But for the people, what they heard really was good news. Perhaps the dream of the ages was finally coming true!

“Are you the Messiah?” they asked.

“Oh, no,” John said. “It is with water that I baptize you. Just plain, ordinary water, to symbolize the washing away of the old ways in you, and your rebirth into living a new life.

But there is one coming after me who is much more powerful. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit, the very breath of God! I am not even worthy to untie the strap of his sandals.

He will come – in fact, his time is already approaching! The winnowing fork that he uses to separate the good wheat from the useless husks is in his hand, He will clean out his threshing area and bring all the good wheat into his barn; but the husks that he separates out, he will burn with unquenchable fire.”

Too judgmental? Well, really, the only ones being judged are those who have already judged others. The ones who are judged are those who insist on oppressing the people, denying them the opportunity to break free from their lives of poverty, denying them justice. John casts judgment on those who judge others, when they do it in the name of God, saying that this is what God wants, when nothing could be further from the truth.

But perhaps there is also another kind of judgment going on. What if it also means to separate the good and the bad that is within each individual? You know what’s in your heart. You know that in you there is both good and bad. What if you could separate out the bad in you, and burn it. Destroy it. Get rid of it forever. So that all that remains is all that is good?

There is good in every person. Most people have a whole lot of good in them. But all the good that is in you can’t help but brush up against the little bit of bad… What if Jesus’s winnowing fork is meant to pull out the bad that is within you, so that all the good that is in you can shine, unhindered? Would that be GOOD NEWS? News that is perhaps – dare I say – joyful?

Imagine a world in which everything bad is taking away. Not just everything that’s bad “out there,” but also everything that’s bad in your own heart. No more jealousy. No more envy. No more selfishness. No more lies or hiding away. No more contempt for others. No more anger that you can’t get rid of.

Wouldn’t you like that?

Our lives would be better. We’d experience more joy, and so would our families and our communities.

Remove all the bad, and you’d be left with kindness and compassion and love

And a poor woman, forced to leave her homeland and about to give birth, would be welcomed in from the cold and given a place to rest.