The Paradox of Peace - Surely we can do better than this!
2nd Sunday of Advent
Isaiah 40:1-11; Psalm 85:1-2, 8-13; 2nd Peter 3:3-15a; Mark 1:1-8
Paradox – it’s really the only word that describes the strangeness with which we approach this second week of Advent. The theme is peace – the second in a series of great words of the Christian vocabulary which describe our promise in Christ. Peace – in the experience of Advent, Peace comes after Hope, and before Joy.
So it is nothing short of paradox that in our quest for peace – in our yearning for peace in our collective and individual experiences – that we run headlong this day into the prophet, John the Baptizer. His persona is painted for us in verse 6 of the gospel text – “Now John was clothed with camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey.” He neither looks nor sounds peaceful. Listen to his message as described in verse 4 – “John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.” Here were his actual words – and listen to the tone of his message – “The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.” And people responded to this message – “People from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him, and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins.”
The entire scene looks anything but peaceful. It looks like its a million miles away from a baby in a cattle stall. Is this what we are looking for? What does this scene have to do with peace?
It is one of the great paradoxes of the Christian faith that we move through this uncertain land of Advent on our way toward Christmas by encountering this wild haired prophet. His message cuts like a knife to those of us who are yearning for peace. Repentance. In the midst of our search for peace, the prophet has the audacity to tell us that the road to peace leads past the altar of repentance.
To be sure, the landscape of the scriptures sometimes leaves us wondering – listen to the Psalmist, who says, “Lord, you were favorable to your land; you restored the fortunes of Jacob. You forgave the iniquity of your people; you pardoned all their sin.” The morally lazy among us say, “Well, good. Now that’s done with I can concentrate on finding this peace that Jesus promises.” Or they say, “Forgiven, huh? Well, I guess I don’t need to worry about my sin now.” Read on, pilgrim. There’s another side to this saga – “Let me hear what God the Lord will speak, for he will speak peace to his people, to his faithful, to those who turn to him in their hearts. Surely his salvation is at hand for those who fear him.”
“Pastor, that sounds an awfully lot like a works theology. I thought I’d heard you say before that there’s nothing we can do to merit our salvation? Are you saying now that our works are really our confessions? That we have to confess to receive salvation?”
Over the years, I’ve examined a multitude of metaphors to describe the interplay between us and God – the responsibility factor, if you will. Every metaphor breaks down at some point – but I’ve come to most appreciate the metaphor of the drowning man. That man finds himself in water over his head, swimming with all his might, but is losing strength, and subsequently losing all hope. There is nothing peaceful about his situation. Then along comes the life boat, and the captain of the boat throws over a life preserver – a means of salvation, so to speak. Here is the question to answer – does the act of throwing the life preserver toward the drowning man assure salvation? The rather obvious answer is “no” – the man must do something – he must reach out and take hold of that transport in order to find his salvation. For me, this metaphor speaks to merit – he has not done anything particular to merit his salvation, and in no way can you describe his act of reaching out and taking hold of that life preserver as meritorious. It is a response – a reasonable, but required response to an act of grace and redemption on the part of the life boat captain.
Our situation is much the same – we respond to the gracious act of salvation offered us by God through Jesus Christ – but our response is not to be considered meritorious. It is an act – a willful act on our part – that continues to make possible our salvation.
We can refuse to take hold of God’s salvation. Many do. Many encounter the salvation that is offered them, and they choose to spurn God. They spurn God’s initial offering of life, they spurn God’s insistence that we live life according to God’s plan, they spurn God’s assertion that we have violated the relationship we were offered, and they spurn any notion that we are not captains of our own destiny, and have the capacity to find our own safe harbor of salvation.
You noticed that I subtitled my sermon this week. I don’t usually do that, but something I noticed during the latter stages of study led me to add this subtitle – “Surely we can do better than this!” Here’s where I want to head with this – look around you. By any casual examination of humankind’s care of our little corner of the universe, we’re not doing a very good job. Watch the nightly news – years ago in Houston, I used to refer to it as the nightly “murder report.” They would take no less than 10 minutes each and every evening keeping us up to date with the 4 or 5 new murders committed in the last 24 hours. It was continually sobering. So much to fear in the news, isn’t there. Bird flu, natural disasters, economic catastrophes - not to mention war, rumors of war, epidemics, political wranglings, social missteps, community hi-jinx, ad-infinitum, ad-nauseum – these are the stories of our care for this world and its inhabitants. If you’re like me, you lean toward your television set each night as the newscaster offers that “human interest story” that reminds us that we can do better – but his acquiescence hardly balances the 25 minutes that preceded it. Bottom line – for the most part, we aren’t doing such a great job with the world, and something less than that with our world’s inhabitants.
Where is the peace? I love the words of the Christmas hymn the choir sang this morning.
I heard the bells on Christmas day,
Their old familiar carols play.
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men.
That third verse causes us to sit up as though we’ve been having a bad dream:
And in despair I bowed my head:
There is no peace on earth I said.
For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.
Where is the peace we seek? This has not been a peaceful year for many of us, beyond the nightly news. Too many of us have had personal tragedies come our way. We have buried fathers and mothers, friends and relatives. We have had to make plans to care for aging parents while we were still taking children to basketball games and Scouts. We have had job changes. We have struggled with relationship difficulties. Where is the peace? Surely we can do better than this?
John the Baptizer reminds us that the road to peace leads past the altar of repentance. In doing so, he reminds us that our Ebenezer of self-reliance falls woefully short when it comes to our salvation, and subsequently to the peace we so desperately seek. The road to peace leads past the altar of repentance.
Repentance. The very word causes us to step back with a gasp. Audacity calls for our repentance. But Audacity gives way to Reality, and Reality to Understanding.
Just what is repentance. In simplest terms, repentance is acknowledgement that we are headed in the wrong direction, followed by a reversal of direction. I was telling Dr. Pontious about my pastor during seminary years – when I was serving in Decatur. James Rutledge was a hard man to understand. We agreed on a number of things theologically, but he was a hard task master as a pastor – especially to a subordinate staff member. Anyway, he had an illustration of repentance that has stuck with me during the years simply because it was so visual. He would describe repentance by starting to plod across the podium at the front of the sanctuary, talking about his direction. And then, at the right moment, he would wheel on his right foot, turn in the opposite direction, and then plant that left foot with a thud that echoed under that ancient wood stage, as he began his march in the opposite direction. That example has stuck with me over the years. We turn from the direction we are heading, and reverse course. We don’t just back up – we turn and face in a new direction.
This Advent, what might that direction be? Earlier in the sermon, I described self-willed people who refuse to acknowledge their need for salvation and a Savior. There is another group of people who are equally in need – that group of people in this world who assume that their own righteousness will save them. That group of people who believe the story of Christ, understand that Christ has died for them, perhaps even have trusted Christ for salvation, but live as though their salvation depended on the accumulation of good works in their life. Their hearts and their minds are not in sync. American Christians are particularly bothered by this syndrome – our American values of hard work, independence, and self-sustenance bleed over into our understanding of Christianity. We assume that the scriptures teach that we are to rely on ourselves for everything, including our salvation. In that vein, we are mistaken. We work, and we work, and we seem always to come up short handed, saying to ourselves, “Surely we can do better than this?” Well, yes we can. We can trust Christ. We can trust Jesus for our salvation. We can find peace, but only after we confront the tyranny of our sin and our sinful nature, and then turn to Jesus for salvation.
I was somewhat pensive this week on the anniversary of Rosa Park’s action of civil disobedience. 50 years. 50 years since that stalwart soul, in her own search for peace in her life, took action by confronting the tyranny that controlled her life. She wanted peace, and she realized that she could find peace only through confrontation.
We learn from her example. This day, we find peace which is promised by kneeling in front of the altar of repentance. That is where we will find it. That is where we will find peace.
Richard W. Dunn, PhD.
Isaiah 40:1-11; Psalm 85:1-2, 8-13; 2nd Peter 3:3-15a; Mark 1:1-8
Paradox – it’s really the only word that describes the strangeness with which we approach this second week of Advent. The theme is peace – the second in a series of great words of the Christian vocabulary which describe our promise in Christ. Peace – in the experience of Advent, Peace comes after Hope, and before Joy.
So it is nothing short of paradox that in our quest for peace – in our yearning for peace in our collective and individual experiences – that we run headlong this day into the prophet, John the Baptizer. His persona is painted for us in verse 6 of the gospel text – “Now John was clothed with camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey.” He neither looks nor sounds peaceful. Listen to his message as described in verse 4 – “John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.” Here were his actual words – and listen to the tone of his message – “The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.” And people responded to this message – “People from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him, and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins.”
The entire scene looks anything but peaceful. It looks like its a million miles away from a baby in a cattle stall. Is this what we are looking for? What does this scene have to do with peace?
It is one of the great paradoxes of the Christian faith that we move through this uncertain land of Advent on our way toward Christmas by encountering this wild haired prophet. His message cuts like a knife to those of us who are yearning for peace. Repentance. In the midst of our search for peace, the prophet has the audacity to tell us that the road to peace leads past the altar of repentance.
To be sure, the landscape of the scriptures sometimes leaves us wondering – listen to the Psalmist, who says, “Lord, you were favorable to your land; you restored the fortunes of Jacob. You forgave the iniquity of your people; you pardoned all their sin.” The morally lazy among us say, “Well, good. Now that’s done with I can concentrate on finding this peace that Jesus promises.” Or they say, “Forgiven, huh? Well, I guess I don’t need to worry about my sin now.” Read on, pilgrim. There’s another side to this saga – “Let me hear what God the Lord will speak, for he will speak peace to his people, to his faithful, to those who turn to him in their hearts. Surely his salvation is at hand for those who fear him.”
“Pastor, that sounds an awfully lot like a works theology. I thought I’d heard you say before that there’s nothing we can do to merit our salvation? Are you saying now that our works are really our confessions? That we have to confess to receive salvation?”
Over the years, I’ve examined a multitude of metaphors to describe the interplay between us and God – the responsibility factor, if you will. Every metaphor breaks down at some point – but I’ve come to most appreciate the metaphor of the drowning man. That man finds himself in water over his head, swimming with all his might, but is losing strength, and subsequently losing all hope. There is nothing peaceful about his situation. Then along comes the life boat, and the captain of the boat throws over a life preserver – a means of salvation, so to speak. Here is the question to answer – does the act of throwing the life preserver toward the drowning man assure salvation? The rather obvious answer is “no” – the man must do something – he must reach out and take hold of that transport in order to find his salvation. For me, this metaphor speaks to merit – he has not done anything particular to merit his salvation, and in no way can you describe his act of reaching out and taking hold of that life preserver as meritorious. It is a response – a reasonable, but required response to an act of grace and redemption on the part of the life boat captain.
Our situation is much the same – we respond to the gracious act of salvation offered us by God through Jesus Christ – but our response is not to be considered meritorious. It is an act – a willful act on our part – that continues to make possible our salvation.
We can refuse to take hold of God’s salvation. Many do. Many encounter the salvation that is offered them, and they choose to spurn God. They spurn God’s initial offering of life, they spurn God’s insistence that we live life according to God’s plan, they spurn God’s assertion that we have violated the relationship we were offered, and they spurn any notion that we are not captains of our own destiny, and have the capacity to find our own safe harbor of salvation.
You noticed that I subtitled my sermon this week. I don’t usually do that, but something I noticed during the latter stages of study led me to add this subtitle – “Surely we can do better than this!” Here’s where I want to head with this – look around you. By any casual examination of humankind’s care of our little corner of the universe, we’re not doing a very good job. Watch the nightly news – years ago in Houston, I used to refer to it as the nightly “murder report.” They would take no less than 10 minutes each and every evening keeping us up to date with the 4 or 5 new murders committed in the last 24 hours. It was continually sobering. So much to fear in the news, isn’t there. Bird flu, natural disasters, economic catastrophes - not to mention war, rumors of war, epidemics, political wranglings, social missteps, community hi-jinx, ad-infinitum, ad-nauseum – these are the stories of our care for this world and its inhabitants. If you’re like me, you lean toward your television set each night as the newscaster offers that “human interest story” that reminds us that we can do better – but his acquiescence hardly balances the 25 minutes that preceded it. Bottom line – for the most part, we aren’t doing such a great job with the world, and something less than that with our world’s inhabitants.
Where is the peace? I love the words of the Christmas hymn the choir sang this morning.
I heard the bells on Christmas day,
Their old familiar carols play.
And wild and sweet the words repeat
Of peace on earth, good will to men.
That third verse causes us to sit up as though we’ve been having a bad dream:
And in despair I bowed my head:
There is no peace on earth I said.
For hate is strong and mocks the song
Of peace on earth, good will to men.
Where is the peace we seek? This has not been a peaceful year for many of us, beyond the nightly news. Too many of us have had personal tragedies come our way. We have buried fathers and mothers, friends and relatives. We have had to make plans to care for aging parents while we were still taking children to basketball games and Scouts. We have had job changes. We have struggled with relationship difficulties. Where is the peace? Surely we can do better than this?
John the Baptizer reminds us that the road to peace leads past the altar of repentance. In doing so, he reminds us that our Ebenezer of self-reliance falls woefully short when it comes to our salvation, and subsequently to the peace we so desperately seek. The road to peace leads past the altar of repentance.
Repentance. The very word causes us to step back with a gasp. Audacity calls for our repentance. But Audacity gives way to Reality, and Reality to Understanding.
Just what is repentance. In simplest terms, repentance is acknowledgement that we are headed in the wrong direction, followed by a reversal of direction. I was telling Dr. Pontious about my pastor during seminary years – when I was serving in Decatur. James Rutledge was a hard man to understand. We agreed on a number of things theologically, but he was a hard task master as a pastor – especially to a subordinate staff member. Anyway, he had an illustration of repentance that has stuck with me during the years simply because it was so visual. He would describe repentance by starting to plod across the podium at the front of the sanctuary, talking about his direction. And then, at the right moment, he would wheel on his right foot, turn in the opposite direction, and then plant that left foot with a thud that echoed under that ancient wood stage, as he began his march in the opposite direction. That example has stuck with me over the years. We turn from the direction we are heading, and reverse course. We don’t just back up – we turn and face in a new direction.
This Advent, what might that direction be? Earlier in the sermon, I described self-willed people who refuse to acknowledge their need for salvation and a Savior. There is another group of people who are equally in need – that group of people in this world who assume that their own righteousness will save them. That group of people who believe the story of Christ, understand that Christ has died for them, perhaps even have trusted Christ for salvation, but live as though their salvation depended on the accumulation of good works in their life. Their hearts and their minds are not in sync. American Christians are particularly bothered by this syndrome – our American values of hard work, independence, and self-sustenance bleed over into our understanding of Christianity. We assume that the scriptures teach that we are to rely on ourselves for everything, including our salvation. In that vein, we are mistaken. We work, and we work, and we seem always to come up short handed, saying to ourselves, “Surely we can do better than this?” Well, yes we can. We can trust Christ. We can trust Jesus for our salvation. We can find peace, but only after we confront the tyranny of our sin and our sinful nature, and then turn to Jesus for salvation.
I was somewhat pensive this week on the anniversary of Rosa Park’s action of civil disobedience. 50 years. 50 years since that stalwart soul, in her own search for peace in her life, took action by confronting the tyranny that controlled her life. She wanted peace, and she realized that she could find peace only through confrontation.
We learn from her example. This day, we find peace which is promised by kneeling in front of the altar of repentance. That is where we will find it. That is where we will find peace.
Richard W. Dunn, PhD.
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