Changed Hearts and Lives (Luke 3)

 

Baptism

On the Sunday after Epiphany, the lectionary always gives us a baptism scripture. So today, it’s not just me preaching about baptism; it’s thousands of preachers all over the world, all preaching on baptism today, which is kind of cool. It’s just another reminder that the church isn’t just our small community gathered here; it’s millions of believers all over the world.

It’s good for me to preach on baptism, because doing so is a challenge. I never feel that I quite fully understand the significance of baptism. 

But that’s not necessarily a bad thing. It means I’m always asking questions, always looking to grow in my understanding. 

I have a lot more questions now than I did when I was a kid. When I was younger, I didn’t know what questions to ask. When it comes to baptism and almost any theological issue, maturity comes not from finding all the right answers, but from finding the right questions.

What does baptism mean? What is its purpose, its significance?

I thought I knew, on the day I was baptized. I was about twelve years old, and I had attended a baptism class with other youth my age, led by our pastor Ken Scovill. 

That class was mostly about learning about the church; I remember learning about deacons and elders and what they did. I remember memorizing the books of the Bible, and earning a prize when I did so. And there were other things we learned, like what it means to believe in Jesus, but, strangely, I don’t remember those lessons as well.

And then, on Easter Sunday, we were baptized.

But in the 39 years since that day, I’ve continued to ponder these things. What does it mean to be baptized?

Repentance

In seminary, I read about how theologians had different ideas about baptism. Many said that forgiveness comes about through baptism; others (like Alexander Campbell) argued that we are already forgiven, but baptism provides us the assurance of that forgiveness. 

And of course we discussed how some believe that infants should be baptized, while others believe that baptism should take place only after one is old enough to confess their faith. “Infant baptism” and “believer’s baptism.” One emphasizes the work of God in baptism; the other emphasizes a person’s response and affirmation to the work of God. And actually, baptism involves both: an act of God, and a person’s response.

For those who baptize people once they are old enough to confess their faith, we say that baptism into Christ is a baptism of repentance and forgiveness. This comes straight from how baptism is described in the gospel. Luke, chapter 3, verse 3, describes how John the Baptist proclaimed a “baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.”

But the Common English Bible leaves out that word, repentance. Instead, it uses the phrase, “changed hearts and lives.” And that’s one of the reasons why I like the Common English Bible. Churchy words like “repentance” have acquired so much baggage over the years; but the original meaning is often quite simple. Repentance, for example, simply means a “change in one’s heart and life.”

Biblically speaking, to repent means to change one’s heart and one's life.

Changed Hearts and Lives

The scripture presents some clear examples of this happening.

First, notice how today’s scripture began by describing what authorities were ruling over the people at the time, how it was “in the fifteenth year of the rule of the emperor Tiberius—when Pontius Pilate was governor over Judea and Herod was ruler over Galilee, his brother Philip was ruler over Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias was ruler over Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas…”

All these rulers, including the high priests, were servants of Rome, and they ruled not only over the kingdom; they also ruled the hearts and minds of the people. Hearts and lives were concerned with one thing: how to survive, how to get by, in the Roman world. And the ideals of Rome governed everything, including one’s heart and one’s mind.

But John the Baptist came along and reminded people that there is another way to live one’s life, another mindset by which one could live, and a different set of ideals one could follow. In other words, another kingdom. 

To live this alternative life, to adopt this alternative mindset, and follow the ideals of this alternative kingdom required a complete change of one’s heart and mind.

 And as a symbol of this change of heart, John invited people to be baptized.

People accepted that invitation. Tax collectors, whose very occupation supported Rome and its ideals, changed their hearts and lives, and were baptized. And soldiers, whose entire lives were committed to serving Rome and its ideals, were baptized, symbolizing a shift in their allegiance from the kingdom of Rome to the kingdom of God.

I’m sure there were tax collectors and soldiers and people from all walks of life who decided that this type of change was just too drastic, or too risky; but evidently there were some who were ready to make the change, and who were willing to be baptized.

And among those who came to John to be baptized, there was one question on their minds: “What should we do?”

The crowds asked, “What should we do?”

The tax collectors asked, “What should we do?”

The soldiers asked, “What about us? What should we do?”

In other words, how do we live out these changed lives that we are now committed to?

And John said: Whoever has two shirts must share with the one who has none. Whoever has food in abundance must also share. And to the tax collectors and soldiers, John said: don’t harass or cheat anyone. Stop oppressing people for your own gain. Instead, do what you can to care for people…

Because then, as now, a lot of people who are in positions of power and authority sought out those positions for their own gain and their own benefit. But now, with changed hearts and lives, they are to exercise their authority for the benefit of others.

Because in the kingdom of God, there is an emphasis on making sure those who have been deprived of resources, those who have been oppressed, those against whom the economic system is rigged,... there is an emphasis on making sure that they are treated fairly, justly; 

…that they who have been cast down by society are lifted up and exalted, while those who have been lifted up and exalted in society humble themselves for the sake of the kingdom…

that all people are treated as humans, loved and cared for because of their inherent, God-given goodness.

In the kingdoms of earth, we talk about what makes a person worthy. People are so concerned about giving help to those who, in their eyes, don’t deserve it. Who deserves health care? Who deserves a living wage? Who deserves the right to vote? Who deserves to be welcomed in, and who still needs to prove themselves and prove their worthiness?

But in the kingdom of God, all people are worthy of love, worthy of care, worthy of a place in society, simply because they are human.

Understanding all this is part of the change of heart that comes with baptism. Because once we are baptized - once our hearts and lives have been changed - we no longer see a distinction between them and us. Those divisions are broken down.

So, those are some answers. I guess that’s a lot to think about. And I still have questions. After all, when we’re talking about changed hearts and lives, there are a lot of implications. 

A baptism story…

I came across a story this week I want to share with you. It’s told by Scott Cormode of Fuller Theological Seminary. He says:

“I once heard a man explain why Presbyterians emphasize baptism’s communal nature. He talked about the baptism of his daughter and how part of the service called for the congregation to make vows. The congregation promised to proclaim the faith to the children just as the parents promised to raise the child in the way of the Lord. 

“The man went on to describe what happened many years later, after his child had grown. One night she called him from Denver, where she had gone to live. She told her father that she was in trouble. She had gotten into drugs and made a series of choices that she now regretted. She called asking him to help her turn her life around. 

“But the man did not have a lot of options, a lot of resources. Circumstances were such that he could not move to Denver and she could not move back to his home. What was he to do? 

“That night he called an old friend who now lived in Denver, a man who had been a part of the congregation that had promised at her baptism to proclaim the faith to her. He reminded his friend of that vow. And he asked his friend to honor that vow. He asked his friend to be the family of God for his daughter that night and in the months to come. 

“His friend dropped what he was doing and attended to the girl and proclaimed the love of God to her when neither her father nor the institutional church could. When this man called on his friend he was drawing on the sacrament of baptism as a resource.”

Remember Your Baptism

It’s a cool story. The friend who responded helped a complete stranger, because of the change in his life brought about by baptism.

But I still have questions. Because doesn’t the love we as Christians are called to share extend even to those who haven’t been baptized? How do we live out that love to strangers, people with whom we have absolutely no connection? And doesn’t that last question contain a lie, since there’s no one to whom we aren’t connected? Aren’t we are all connected simply by virtue of being human? Didn’t Jesus call upon us to love even our enemies? How do we change our hearts and our lives so that that becomes possible?

Martin Luther - the 15th century reformer, not the 20th century preacher - believed it was important to remember one’s baptism. He was baptized as an infant, so he couldn’t do that literally, but he could remember that he was baptized, and ponder the significance of that - and that’s something he tried to do on a daily basis.

For me, asking these questions is how I remember my baptism. And the conversation continues… but not right now. I have a few more thoughts on baptism, but I’ll save them for next week. Right now, it’s time to enter into a time of prayer…

The Word of God Come to John (Luke 3)

I feel bad. Last week, Ginger was our worship leader, and she read a short scripture that contained a lot of hard to pronounce names… and I didn't even preach on it.

So today I'd like to start by reminding you what Ginger read last week, a scripture that began like this:

“In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high-priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas,... the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness.”

Some of those hard-to-pronounce names probably don't mean much to you. But they certainly meant something to people in the first century… Let's see if we can recapture some of that meaning.

Twenty years ago a preacher named Gardner Calvin Taylor wanted to bring out the meaning for modern Christians, so he rewrote that first sentence of Luke Chapter 3, so that it sounded like this:

“During the presidency of Dwight D. Eisenhower, when John Patterson was governor of Alabama, and J. Edgar Hoover the omnipotent autocrat of the FBI, when Billy Graham and Norman Vincent Peale were the high priests of middle America, the word of God came to Martin Luther King in the wilderness of America.”

For many of you, those names mean something. You recognize the political power of all those names, and you remember how that last name - Martin Luther King - was a preacher whose voice challenged and confronted all those other names.

But perhaps, for some of you, even these names are too far in the past to fully understand the significance of those names used in Luke chapter 3.

So let me share with you another rewrite of this passage, this one by William H. Lamar IV, a pastor in Washington DC, with only minor modification to keep it up-to-date. His version goes like this:

“In the second year of the presidency of Donald J. Trump, when Mathew Whitaker was the attorney general (following the firing of Jeff Sessions), and Rudolph Giuliani the ubiquitous and loquacious defender of the present order, and Franklin Graham, Paula White, and Joel Osteen the priests of American civil religion, the word of God came to …”

Who?  Who does the word of God come to, today?

Luke made it very clear that the word of God didn’t come to those in power. It didn’t come to the emperor. It didn’t come to the governor. It didn’t come to the high priests who had sold their soul to the government in exchange for power and freedom from government interference…

Instead, the word of God came to some guy dressed in animal skins, wandering around the wilderness at the very edge of society; a man who called on people to repent, to turn away from the wickedness and evil of the world; a man we know as John the Baptist.

Who is today’s version of John the Baptist? Who is it that the word of God comes to, today?

John was Jesus’s cousin and predecessor, to whom the word of the Lord came, and who preached repentance in the wilderness, and who baptized those who came to him.

Last week’s scripture introduced John the Baptist, and today’s scripture continues right where last week’s left off.

And maybe you wonder why the lectionary spends so much time on John the Baptist at this time of year, when all we really want to hear is Mary and Joseph and baby Jesus, and angels and shepherds and wise men.

Well, we’ll get there. Next week, the focus is on Mary, and the song she sang after the angel told her she would give birth to Jesus.

And then, on Christmas Eve, we’ll hear about the journey she and Joseph took to Bethlehem, and the birth of Jesus.

But today - and last week, if I had preached last week - the focus is John the Baptist, and the word of God that came not to those in power, but to this weird wildman out there in the wilderness.

And clearly, the powers in charge did not like John. He was a rabble-rouser. He was calling people to life in a new kingdom, which of course was a threat to those with power.

The emperor just couldn't allow someone to go around talking about a new kingdom. The governor couldn't allow it. The high priests who got their power from Rome couldn't allow it.

No surprise, then, that John was eventually put in prison, and executed.

Because John is a rabble-rouser.

John’s message upsets the status quo. To those who liked the status quo, John was a disturber of the peace.

But their peace was no peace at all. When people are being oppressed, that's not peace. When the poor are being taken advantage of, that's not peace. When rights are being unfairly denied to masses of people, that's not peace.

But isn’t that happening today? We’re being told that immigrants and Muslims and transgender people are a threat to our peace and a threat to our way of life, so our government is working to take away their rights, take advantage of them, and oppress them.

These groups do not actually pose a greater threat to our society than any other group; they’re just more vulnerable and thus make easy targets for hate and prejudice.

And those who stand up for the vulnerable and oppressed, and who challenge oppressive policies and actions, are seen as rabble-rousers. Just like the hundreds of U.S. pastors who were in Tijuana this week to learn from and stand with migrants seeking asylum. Darn rabble rousers. Just like John the Baptist.

John referred to the leaders of his day and those who collaborated with them as a brood of vipers, because they injected poison into the life of the church and the world. They made religion into something other than what it should be; they made it into a system of belief that supported current corruption, oppression, and injustice. They made a mockery of religion.

But religion that supports corruption, oppression, and injustice is no religion at all. The word religion comes from Latin: re-ligio. And, literally, it means to re-connect.

True religion connects people. True religion connects people to each other. True religion connects people to God. This morning on twitter, one of my favorite authors, Diana Butler Bass mentioned how joy is the experience of connection. If you experience connection, you get joy. If you experience disconnection - joy is missing.

And so any religion that reinforces the divisions of society is - by definition - no religion at all. Any religion that divides people by wealth, keeping some people poor, denying them assistance, while condoning the redistribution of wealth to those who are already wealthy - is no religion at all.

Any religion that divides people by race, calling some people superior and others inferior, is no religion at all.

Any religion that subjects any group of people to a second class status - because of nationality, immigrant status, sexual orientation, gender identity, age, or anything else - is no religion at all.

This is the type of religion dictated to the people by the high priests, on behalf of the Roman government. And this is why John the Baptist called people out away from the cities, away from the centers of power, and proclaimed to them: Repent!

People want to know ‘What’s in it for me?’ How will this new economic policy benefit me? How will our voting laws benefit me? How will defending the rights of others help me? How will addressing climate change help or hurt me?... Every issued is approached this way. It’s all about my rights, and my ability to accumulate wealth.

To this, John says: Repent.

It’s not about you. Or me.

It’s about us. All of us.

When some asked John, “What should we do?” John said: “Share.”

If you have two coats, give one to someone who has none. Don’t take more for yourself than you need. If you have more, help someone who has less.

I remember hearing a story once about some farmers; they all had equal access to a canal to irrigate their crops, and the cost to access that water depended on how much water they used. A wealthy farmer could take as much water as he wanted, because he could afford it. But a poor farmer downstream could not.

Economic supply-and-demand also came into play, so that the more water that was taken, the higher the price went. This didn’t bother the wealthy farmer. He continued taking more water, because he could; he could afford it. But his consumption meant the poor farmer could only buy less and less water as the price got higher and higher.

Now, in the old kingdom, one might say that the wealthy farmer has every right to use his money to buy as much water as he wants. But is that fair to the poor farmer? Because of the way the wealthy farmer consumed water, it became harder and harder for the poor farmer to pay for even a small amount of water.

That’s how our world works. The wealthy can buy all they want, because they can afford it. But that just makes it harder and harder for the poor to buy even a little bit of what they need to survive.

That’s why God - speaking through the prophet Ezekiel - said this: “Is it not enough for you to feed on the good pasture, but you must tread down with your feet the rest of your pasture? When you drink of clear water, must you foul the rest with your feet? And must my sheep eat what you have trodden with your feet, and drink what you have fouled with your feet?”

In our society today, the gap between rich and poor is growing. The rich are treading down the pasture and fouling the water… and the poor and even the middle classes are way poorer than they used to be.

And even when the business page says times are good, and the stock market is up… fewer and fewer people are actually benefiting from a good stock market. Fewer and fewer people are benefiting from a growing economy. For most, the growing economy isn’t helping them at all.

To all this, Ezekiel and all the other Old Testament prophets say: “Repent.”

To all this, John the Baptist says: “Repent.”

To all this, John the Baptist says: “Share.”

Don’t just think about what’s good or right for you; think about what’s good and right for your neighbor.

And it is this message - this message of John the Baptist - that prepares the way for the ministry of Jesus.

It is this message - this message of repentance - that the Bible calls “good news” for all those who are poor and oppressed in our world.

It is this message that is good news for those who live “In the second year of the presidency of Donald J. Trump, when Mathew Whitaker was the attorney general, and Rudolph Giuliani the ubiquitous and loquacious defender of the present order, and Franklin Graham, Paula White, and Joel Osteen the priests of American civil religion.”

It is this message, the message of John the Baptist, that is good news - the word of God - come to us.

"Called by Name" (Luke 3:15-17, 21-22)

In Star Wars: The Force Awakens, there is a character named – well, he doesn’t really have a name, at least not at the beginning of the movie.

Don’t worry, I’m not going to spoil the movie for you. But I want you to imagine what it must be like, to have no name.

What must it be like, to have never had anyone care enough to give you a name.

Having never been given a name means you aren’t even human. You’re an object. A thing. A tool to be used.

Instead of a name, he was referred to as FN-2187. He was a stormtrooper. He was raised to be a storm trooper. He was well trained; every moment of his life had been spent in training. But for what? At one point in the movie, he says: “I was raised to do one thing... but I've got nothing to fight for.”

Apparently, the First Order fed and sheltered him. But never was there love. Never was he cared for as a human being. He had value only because he was a storm trooper.

But that was it. If he ever failed at being a storm trooper, if he ever made a mistake – well, there would be no one to stand by his side, no one to rush to his defense, no one to console him, no one to tell him everything would be okay, no one to say to him, “You’ll do better tomorrow.”

There was no affection at all, no attachment, no love. He was a person with no name.

But things change for FN-2187. Over the course of the movie he meets people who see him as more than just a tool to be used. They see him as an ally. A friend. A human being.

One of them even gives him a name.

He’s overcome by it all. He’d never known friendship before. He’d never had anyone care for him; before, people only cared about what he could do for them. They had never cared… for him.

For me, the most memorable line of the movie is when he says to one of his new friends: “You look at me like no one else does.”

Imagine what that must feel like. To have someone look at you, and for the first time in your life, they.. see… you. Not what you can do for them. They just see you. A person worth caring for. A person worth loving. A person to call by name.

When Jesus was born, he was given a name. In the first century, the name “Jesus” was a rather common, ordinary name, highlighting the fact that, in Jesus, God became a common, ordinary human.

This was the name he was known by. He was Jesus, the son of Joseph and Mary. He had a name, he had parents who loved him, and the way people talked about him reflected this love. As soon as Jesus began his ministry and began preaching about the kingdom of God, people said: “This is Joseph’s son, is it not?” [Luke 4:22]. He was the son of a father who loved him.

When Jesus was baptized, he affirmed a new identity. In the waters of baptism, he submitted himself to the will and work of his heavenly Father. In return, God said, “You are my Son, my Beloved.”

In addition to being Jesus, son of Joseph, he was also Jesus, son of God. And also, “Beloved.”

The fact that baptism involves water… and the fact that God pronounces new names for Jesus… should make you think of Isaiah 43. That is certainly the gospel writer’s intention. Luke wants you to think of Isaiah 43 when you read this passage.

What happens in Isaiah 43? Isaiah 43 was written after the people of Israel had been through a terrible ordeal. They had been taken captive by Babylon… taken to a land that was not theirs… and there, they had their identity stripped away from them. With their identity stripped away, it was as if Israel was no longer Israel. Their name had been taken away. It was as if Israel had been forgotten by God, or that God no longer recognized the people he had once claimed as his own, that God, when looking at Israel, would stutter: “um, do I know you? I don’t recognize you. I don’t know your name.”

That’s what it felt like to Israel.

But the promise of Isaiah 43 is this:

“Thus says the Lord, he who created you, O Jacob, he who formed you, O Israel…”

What’s this? God is calling the people by name?

Not just one name, but two names! Jacob. Israel.

“Thus says the Lord… Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by your name. You are mine.”

Isaiah is saying that Israel is not forgotten, that Israel is now being called by name, that Israel is loved.

Isaiah goes on…

“Thus says the Lord: when you pass through the waters, I will be with you; and through the rivers, they shall not overwhelm you.”

To get back to their home, the people would have to pass through the waters of the Jordan River. There isn’t always a whole lot of water in the Jordan River, but if it’s the rainy season, the river could swell and become a dangerous. Think of the people who sometimes get swept away in the L.A. River during a big rainstorm. There isn’t always much water in the L.A. River, but when there is… look out!

Of course, the first time the people had to cross the Jordan River, many generations back, was when Moses and Joshua first led them to the promised land, to start a new nation. It was a new birth for the people, a new life.

All this, in turn, reminds us of the flood, which Noah and his family endured. That is also an example of new life emerging out of the water.

And in the creation story itself, the earth was formless, with nothing but a watery chaos; and from that watery chaos, God created all that is.

The symbolism here is very deep. It goes way back.

But no matter how deep it is, the water will not overwhelm you. That is the promise of Isaiah 43.

After all, God is with you… the God who calls you by name.

And, a few verses later, God declares that you are precious in his sight, and honored, and loved.

Hearing this from Isaiah, from God, Israel could very well have replied to God, “You look at us like no one else does.”

God looks at Israel, calls Israel by name, and says “you are precious and honored and loved.” The nations of the world had treated Israel like rubbish, like a nation with no name. But not God. God looks at Israel with respect, affection, and love. “You are precious and honored and loved.”

In the same way, after Jesus emerges from the water of the Jordan River, God looks at Jesus and says “You are my son, my beloved.”

Passing through the water remains an important ritual in the church. When you are baptized, God declares to you what has always been true: that you are a child of God. God calls you by name. God calls you beloved. God calls you precious.

And in that naming, and in the water, there is new life. When FN-2187 is given a new name, a real name, a new life begins for him. He learns to understand that there is a purpose and a meaning to his life. And he commits himself to that higher purpose.

When we are baptized, we recognize the affirmation that comes from God. We are God’s children. From the moment we are baptized, people look at us and recognize the connection. They see you and say, “This is God’s child, is it not?”

God calls you by name, and bestows upon you a new name: beloved child.

And with that new name comes a purpose and meaning to life. In choosing to be baptized, we commit ourselves to that higher purpose.

The story of FN-2187 is not over. Disney has more Star Wars movies to make and a lot more money to earn. I don’t know how the story will end.

I also don’t know how my story will end. I don’t know how your story will end. But I hear again the echoes of Isaiah 43, and the promises made there:

The waters shall not overwhelm you.

The flame will not consume you.

Do not fear, for I am with you.

Look! I am about to do a new thing: I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.

For I am the God who created you, formed you, and who calls you by name. You are precious in my sight, and honored, and I love you.

"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.

"Called by Name" (Isaiah 43:1-7; Luke 3:15-17, 21-22)

So what do you do on New Year’s Day, after you’ve watched the parade, when you’re in a hotel 400 miles from home, and no one in your family cares one bit about watching football on TV?

You go see a movie.

We drove a few miles to the matinee showing of Les Miserables.  I was not too familiar with the story, and in case you aren’t, either, it begins with prisoner 24601.  Prisoner 24601 is about to be released, but he will forever be on probation, and will forever be marked as an ex-convict. 

Nevertheless, he insists that he is not prisoner 24601, but Jean Valjean. The name is important.  The name is power.

In some of the fantasy books my boys like to read, characters have names that are well-known, but they also have secret names, magical names, names in the ancient language, which few know.  In some of these stories, the characters themselves don’t know their true name, and must discover it.  Discovering their true name always matches the character’s journey of discovering who they really are as a person.

I don’t know if readers of these stories know it or not, but in many real-life cultures and societies, people have names that everyone uses, and they have secret names that are never spoken to outsiders and which are used only in sacred rituals.

The name is important.  The name is power.

We see this in scripture.  Several figures who appear on the pages of scripture undergo name changes at significant moments in their lives.  Abram becomes Abraham.  Sarai becomes Sarah.  Simon becomes Peter.

The name is important.  The name is power.

Even God’s name, it was believed, carried great power.

The name of God in Hebrew scripture is Yahweh.  However, the ancient scribes believed that this was a name too sacred to pronounce, so they included notes in the scripture indicating that one should instead say Adonai, meaning “Lord,” or Elohim, meaning “God.”  In modern English Bibles, in part to honor this ancient tradition of not pronouncing the holy name, the Hebrew word Yahweh is usually replaced by the word “Lord,” written in all capital letters to signify that it is used in place of the ancient name for God.

Names are important.  Names are power.

God knows that names are important, and that names have power.  In Isaiah, God says to Israel, “Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name.  You are mine.”

More correctly translated, what the scripture says is “I have called you by your name.”

I think I am getting better at remembering people’s names.  I sure hope so.  This has always been a struggle for me. 

Names are important.  Names are power.

When he was eight days old, Jesus was presented in the temple, and given a name.  Years later his baptism served as a different sort of naming ceremony.  There, as he emerged from the water, he was called “Beloved, Son of God.”  It was a descriptive name that defined who he was,… and whose he was.  Because of this, the name of Jesus is important.  The name of Jesus has power.

This week I came across an essay by former South African Methodist Bishop Peter Storey.  He wrote about Maya Lin, who designed the Vietnam Veteran’s Memorial in Washington, D.C.  He says she was once asked why the monument has such a strong grip on the emotions of the American people.  She replied:  “It’s the names.  The names are the memorial.  No edifice or structure can bring people to mind as powerfully as their names."

In another article, I read that Maya Lin won a competition for the memorial, beating out over 1400 other submissions, while she was still an undergraduate student.  Lin believes that if the competition had not been "blind", with designs submitted by number instead of name, she "never would have won" due to her Chinese heritage.

For better or for worse, names have power.

In Isaiah 43, the Lord (written in all capital letters) tells Israel, “I have called you by your name.”  Several verses later, the Lord promises blessings on “everyone who is called by my name–“  that is, the name of Yahweh, as opposed to the name of another god like Marduk or Baal.

In Isaiah 43, being called by one’s own name – and being called by God’s name – is important.  It is powerful.

Later in Isaiah, in chapter 62, it is written:  “You shall be called by a new name that the mouth of the Lord will give… You shall no more be termed Azubah [a Hebrew word that means “forsake”], and your land shall no more be termed Shemamah  [which means “desolate”]; but you shall be called Hephzibah [“My Delight Is in Her”], and your land will be called Beulah [“married”]… For as a young man marries a young woman, so shall your builder marry you, and as the bridegroom rejoices over the bride, so shall your God rejoice over you.”

  Just like at Jesus’s baptism, names often tell not only who we are, but to whom we belong.  Many surnames originated this way.  A look through our own church directory reveals Henrickson, Johnson, Williamson, and several other “sons.”  The scriptural equivalent of this would be the word “bar.”  At one point the man Jesus called Peter is referred to as Simon, son of Jonah, which in Hebrew is Simon Bar-Jonah. 

And then there’s Bar-abbas, the criminal who is set free in place of Jesus.  “Abba,” you know, means “father,” – Abba, Father – so Bar-abbas means “son of the fathers.”  When Jesus is sentenced to crucifixion, the crowd is given a choice as to who should be set free:  Bar-abbas, the son of the fathers, or Jesus, the son of the Father.

Names are important.  The way names are used are important.  It has power.

At his baptism, Jesus is called “Beloved, Son of God.”  By virtue of our own baptism, all of us have been named children of God.

Our regional minister, Susan Gonzales Dewey, often spends time with our youth at Loch Leven.  Several times I’ve seen her there, and every time she invites the youth to repeat after her these words:  “I am a beloved child of God, and I am beautiful to behold.”  It’s a powerful moment, especially for kids who are used to being called by other names, names given to them by those who pick on them and bully them, names of insult and slander.

In fact, in a society that looks upon each human individual as a number, or a consumer, it is a powerful thing to know that your true, secret name is a name of wonderful blessing.

“I am a beloved child of God, and I am beautiful to behold.”

After having the kids repeat those words several times, Susan then reads the beginning verses of Isaiah 43:

The God who made you, Jacob; the One who got you started, Israel; says to you:  “Don’t be afraid, I’ve redeemed you, I’ve called your name.  You’re mine.  When you’re in over your head, I’ll be there with you.  When you’re in rough waters, you will not go down.  When you’re between a rock and hard place, it won’t be a dead end, because I am God, your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior.  I paid a huge price for you:  all of Egypt, with rich Cush and Seba thrown in!  That’s how much you mean to me.  That’s how much I love you.  I’d sell off the whole world to get you back; trade the creation just for you.”

One of the more well-known stories of Fred Craddock refers to this type of naming and belonging.  In the story, Fred Craddock is dining at a restaurant when an old man comes over to his table, and – upon finding out that Craddock is a preacher – begins to tell him a story.  And according to Craddock, the story the old man told went like this:

“I grew up in these mountains.  My mother was not married, and the whole community knew it.  I was what was called an illegitimate child.  In those days that was a shame, and I was ashamed.  The reproach that fell on her, of course, fell also on me.  When I went into town with her, I could see people staring at me, making guesses as to who was my father.  At school the children said ugly things to me, and so I stayed to myself during recess, and I ate my lunch alone.

“In my early teens I began to attend a little church back in the mountains called Laurel Springs Christian Church.  It had a minister who was both attractive and frightening.  He had a chiseled face and a heavy beard and a deep voice.  I went to hear him preach.  I don’t know exactly why, but it did something for me.  However, I was so afraid that I was not welcome since I was, as they put it, a bastard.  So I would go just in time for the sermon, and when it was over I would move out because I was afraid that someone would say, ‘what’s a boy like you doing in a church?’

“One Sunday some people queued up in the aisle before I could get out, and I was stopped.  Before I could make my way through the group, I felt a hand on my shoulder, a heavy hand.  It was that minister.  I cut my eyes around and caught a glimpse of his beard and chin, and I knew who it was.  I trembled in fear.  He turned his face around so he could see mine and seemed to be staring for a little while.  I knew what he was doing.  He was going to make a guess as to who my father was.  A moment later he said, ‘Well, boy, you’re a child of…’ and he paused there.  And I knew it was coming.  I knew I would have my feelings hurt.  I knew I would not go back again.  He said, ‘Boy, you’re a child of God.  I see a striking resemblance, boy.’  Then he swatted me on the bottom and said, ‘Now, you go claim your inheritance.’ I left the building a different person.  In fact, that was really the beginning of my life.”

I was so moved by the story I had to ask him, “What’s your name?”

He said, “Ben Hooper.”

I recalled, though vaguely, my own father talking when I was just a child about how the people of Tennessee had twice elected as governor a bastard, Ben Hooper.

We are given many names and labels by the world around us.  Many of them are names that hurt us and destroy our soul.  It wasn’t any different for Jesus.  But at his baptism, he was given a name, a title, by God that reflects who he truly was:  a beloved child of God.

It’s the same name and title that each of us receives on the day of our baptism.