Enough

Luke 3: 7-18 page 726
John said to the crowds coming out to be baptized by him, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath? Produce fruit in keeping with repentance. And do not begin to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our father.’ For I tell you that out of these stones God can raise up children for Abraham.
The ax is already at the root of the trees, and every tree that does not produce good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.”
“What should we do then?” the crowd asked.
John answered, “The one with two tunics should share with the one who has none, and the one who has food should do the same.”
Tax collectors also came to be baptized. “Teacher,” they asked, “what should we do?”
“Don’t collect any more than you are required to,” he told them.
Then some soldiers asked him, “And what should we do?”
He replied, “Don’t extort money and don’t accuse people falsely – be content with your pay.”
The people were waiting expectantly and were all wondering in their hearts if John might possibly be the Christ. John answered them all, “I baptize you with water. But one more powerful than I will come, the thongs of whose sandals I am not worthy to untie. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his barn, but he will burn up the chaff with unquenchable fire.” And with many other words John exhorted the people and preached the good news to them.
Sermon
Now I’ve learned a few things about being a minister over the past few years – but John the Baptist has obviously not learned those same things.
I learned that it’s important to greet people warmly when they come to church – after all, they’ve woken up early, they’ve gotten dressed and here it is their day off – so I like to begin each service by saying, “Good morning, and welcome to Good Shepherd Presbyterian Church.”
John, however, takes a different approach: “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath?”
I’ve learned that it’s important to respect tradition and heritage – and that, should you feel so led as to try and change something – then a wise minister will do so without insulting the folks who hold that tradition dear, knowing that those who built up your church deserve respect for their hard work. John however spits in the face of tradition and heritage saying: “You think it means something that you were born into the blood-line of Abraham? I tell you it doesn’t matter at all who you are, what your father does, or what your grandfather did, for I tell you that out of these stones God can raise up children of Abraham.”
I’ve also learned to speak about sin in broad, sweeping, generalizations, to avoid making anyone feel too uncomfortable – but John tells the crowd exactly what they need to do to repent – if you have two tunics than give one away, if you have more food than you need then share with someone who’s hungry.
John is a uniquely radical person – just the kind of person needed to prepare the way for a uniquely radical savior poised to turn the world on its head.
But he also stands in the familiar - as this concept that he was preaching about – the idea that someone is on the way and that we need to be prepared for his coming judgment is nothing new.
The Jews had been waiting; indeed they are still waiting, for this messiah who is to come to restore the nation of Israel to greatness. This Messiah is to judge the unjust, punish the powerful, and restore the weak to their rightful place in glory.
What’s so strange about John though is that he’s not talking about someone who will be attacking the Romans but the pious, the religious authorities who expected to be rewarded when this messiah finally showed up.
The Roman soldiers were also poised to hear John’s message – the idea that a divine being would come to surprise and judge his people, rewarding the kind and punishing the wicked was a common theme of their mythology, so to prepare for God’s arrival must have made sense, to always be ready, to always extend the hand of hospitality, not knowing when they might entertain the divine in disguise.
But what must have made John sound strange to their Roman ears was the means of preparation– they’re not supposed to set the table for wayfaring gods in disguise, but treat those in their charge with respect, “don’t extort money and don’t accuse people falsely – be content with your pay.”
Even to our ears the idea that someone is coming due to surprise us with his delivery on Christmas Eve is nothing new. That this coming one would come to judge the naughty and reward the nice – that he’s got a list and he’s checking it twice – is a common idea.
But that to prepare for his coming, we shouldn’t make a list of all that we want, but should instead make a list of all that we have, then give away what we don’t need, is a profoundly countercultural message – especially now at Christmas.
Our Christmas celebrations will be marked with more presents, more food, and more lights – as though more than enough ensured that this Christmas would be better than the one before.
Interestingly though, I’m not sure that’s the way it works.
I was old enough to remember the Christmas that my parents felt like they could splurge on a camcorder, as they bought it, not when I was 7 and had red curly hair like my sister, always ready to improvise a tap-dance; not when I was 3 and full of smiles and cute mispronunciations of common words like my brother; but when I was 12, gangly and without self-confidence, worried about my voice that hadn’t changed, unwilling to smile no matter what the occasion.
So on Christmas day, Santa had made his delivery, the room is full of smiles and laughter until the camera pans to me, morose, and looking over my loot accounting for what I had received in relation to what I had hoped to receive but didn’t get.
The camera, for good reason, doesn’t stay long on me before it goes to my sister, then my brother, sitting there in a pile of wrapping paper, completely disregarding his actual gifts, happy and amazed at his luck to have so much colorful paper all around.
I look at my seven month old daughter Lily now, her eyes wide open in amazement at the world around her, and I wonder what it is that happens, not only to surly 12 year old boys, but all of us. Why it is that we all stop being satisfied with a pile of wrapping paper and start taking notice of what we didn’t get.
What I want this Christmas isn’t more of anything. What I want is to regain the lost skill of being satisfied with enough.
Now I’m no John the Baptist, but I tell you this – God is coming – and while you’ve heard this story enough times for it to be familiar, hear it again trusting that this year there’s something new.
That there is something new in the claim that who you are, where and when you were born, doesn’t really matter, as the birth of Christ makes us all Children of Abraham, heirs to the promise of salvation.
That how nice or naughty you’ve been doesn’t make a difference, as the God of all grace and mercy is coming, and in God all sins are forgiven, all lives made ready for new life.
That the size of your house, the food on your table, the clothes in your closet don’t matter all that much when you consider that this child to be born was born in a stable to two wayfaring travelers with nowhere to sleep.
This Christmas, may you take a look at all that you have, and be thankful, knowing and believing that in Christ Jesus we have all been given enough – enough to give thanks, enough to share, enough.
-Amen.