If you were playing close attention just now to our various
scripture readings, you will have noticed that they sort of move in different
directions and paint contrasting portraits of God’s planned future for our
world. In the first, from the Prophet Isaiah, written about 800 years before
Jesus was born, we hear a glorious image of the coming age, when the world will
be transformed into a place of peace and hope—in which the wolf will live with
the lamb, the leopard will lie down with the kid, and the lion will eat straw.
It’s a grand vision of a world turned upside down, lead by none other than an
innocent little child. It is one of the
most beloved and hopeful passages in scripture, often set to music and
inspirational to Jewish and Christian communities alike.
But then, in our gospel reading, the mood shifts and we find
something of a contrasting vision of the future: with the wild John the
Baptist, dressed in camel’s hair, eating locusts and wild honey, crying out in
the wilderness, calling his hearers a brood of vipers, and predicting the
coming of one who will transform the world, not so much as an innocent
1970s-era flower child ushering in an age of peace and harmony, but with a
winnowing fork and with fire.
Both, in their own ways, are emblematic and characteristic
of this Advent season. The first vision, Isaiah’s, is undoubtedly more
comfortable, happier, and easier to swallow and accept. But then, just as we
are feeling all peaceful and Christmassy, lulled into Isaiah’s glorious future,
John the Baptist reminds us, quite powerfully, that God’s kingdom will not come
without struggle, without our prejudices being upset, without being called to
account for our foolish, sinful, and even sometimes evil ways. God’s kingdom is
coming, John reminds us, and life will never be the same.
It’s a coincidence, of course, but quite remarkable, that
these readings are presented on this weekend when the world mourns the death of
one of the greatest figures of the twentieth and twenty-first centuries.
Naturally, I am referring to Nelson Mandela—South African activist and freedom
fighter, prisoner, president, and prophet of democracy and racial
reconciliation. Once considered a terrorist by his own country, and even by the
United States government, he is now revered world-over for his work to free
South Africa from the evils of racism and apartheid, remarkably free of revenge
or retribution, but certainly with stark and searing honesty.
There’s no question that Nelson Mandela was a prophet for our time, much like Isaiah was in his, and John the Baptist in the first century, each offering a vision of a better society that is well within our grasp, but one that can only be accomplished through struggle, tears and sweat, and, unfortunately and all too often, blood. Thankfully, unlike John the Baptist who was killed in prison by the forces and powers of evil, Mandela lived to see freedom. And what’s more, he extended the gift of his own freedom to others. He once said, “To be free is not merely to cast off one’s chains, but to live in a way that enhances the freedom of others.” He most certainly did that, every day of his life.
In the many responses to Mandela’s death by presidents, bishops, and world leaders, among the most moving, meaningful, and perhaps surprising is that of F. W. de Klerk, South Africa’s last Apartheid-era president, who freed Mandela from prison and was defeated by him in the first democratic election. De Klerk said quite eloquently: “South Africa has lost one of its founding fathers and one of its greatest sons. I believe that his example will live on and that it will continue to inspire all South Africans to achieve his vision of non-racialism, justice, human dignity, and equality for all. We shall miss you, but know that your spirit and example will always be there to guide us to the vision of a better and more just South Africa.” In 1993 de Klerk and Mandela were jointly awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for their efforts at overcoming racial separation and moving toward a new vision of life together.
Now, I’m sure that President Mandela would have been the first to acknowledge that his glorious and hopeful vision of a reconciled and just society, in South Africa and across our planet, is still very far from a reality, just as Isaiah’s vision seems as far off today as it was some 3,000 years ago when he prophesied that the wolf would live with the lamb. There is still so much more that we must do to make God’s paths straight—from defeating racial and gender discrimination, to alleviating crushing poverty and hunger, to ensuring that all people, of whatever background and means, have access to the healthcare and education they need, not only to survive, but to thrive, to live the kind of life that God intends and dreams for us all.
That was Nelson Mandela’s vision, but you know, it was not
only his vision, it was John the Baptist’s vision, as well, and the vision of
all the Hebrew prophets. And most especially and importantly, it is the vision
and it is the life of the one the Baptizer says is coming soon, whom we await
and prepare for this Advent season, who will baptize with fire and Spirit, and
through that fire, and through that Spirit, through that baptism, empower us to
transform the world.
Now, all that said, if you are anything like me, even if you
resonate with the prophet’s and the Baptizer’s call to justice and peace, you
might find yourself a little uncomfortable with the razor-sharp edge that we
find in today’s gospel reading and its implications, especially the emphasis on
Christ clearing his threshing floor, gathering the wheat into the granary, and burning the chaff with unquenchable fire. In the past, when I heard that, I always
assumed that John the Baptist was saying that Jesus will separate the good
people from the bad people, rewarding the good and punishing the bad, just as
elsewhere we read about him separating the sheep from the goats.
And, that may be what the gospel writer had in mind. After
all, Matthew the Evangelist did have a preoccupation with casting people into
the outer darkness where there would be weeping and gnashing of teeth. But upon
deeper reflection, and inspired by the life and example of Nelson Mandela and
the Truth and Reconciliation Commission led by Anglican Archbishop Desmond
Tutu, I wonder if it could mean something else. I wonder if maybe, rather than
bad people, the chaff that Jesus will destroy is everything that hurts and
diminishes human life—racism, sexism, homophobia, poverty, hunger, illness, and
more. By separating us from these evils that so drag us down and limit us, we
are then able to live free, and whole, and alive. In fact, maybe that is
exactly the kind of life Jesus came and is coming to baptize us into, a life
set free from diminishment, separation, and exclusion.
Because when you think about it, that’s actually what
baptism is all about. In fact, that’s what being Christian is all about: being
set free from the powers of sin and evil and death. And then, once we are free,
in baptism we are empowered, our hearts and souls are literally and truly set
on fire, so that we can live in the same way that Jesus himself lived, so that
we can accomplish the same things that he accomplished, so that we can extend
the work of transformation that he began some 2,000 years ago when he preached
and taught and healed, and that has continued to inspire people of faith and
conscience ever since. That’s what being the Body of Christ is all about. Not
simply believing that Jesus said and did some really amazing things long ago,
but believing and trusting and knowing that we can do them, too, because we are
united to him. Because his life is our life. Because his power is our power.
Because his passion is our passion.
And in a few moments, it is into that life of freedom and
power and passion that we will baptize Lauren. As we baptize her, we will ask
God’s Holy Spirit to come down to bless and strengthen her, to fill her heart
and soul, and unite her to Christ, and to set her heart and soul on fire. And
as we do that, the rest of us will also have the opportunity to renew our own
baptismal promises, as well, to be reinvigorated and re-empowered to live in
that same kind of way—forgiving and being forgiven, seeking and serving Christ
in all people, and striving always for justice and peace in the world.
What an amazing and extraordinary faith we have been given,
what an amazing and extraordinary life we have been given, what an amazing and
extraordinary opportunity and responsibility we have been given in Christ, who
came into the world 2,000 years ago and who lives in us all now, empowering us
to bring the prophet’s vision of a renewed and restored world to life. Whether
we find ourselves fighting against oppression and for reconciliation on a large
stage, with life and death consequences like Nelson Mandela, or in far more
modest ways here in Wakefield, Massachusetts, in schools, in the church, in our
places of work—the call, the responsibility, and the opportunity this Advent
and always is exactly the same: “Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths
straight.”
To God be the glory: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
Amen.
© The Rev. Matthew P. Cadwell, Ph.D.
