2023 12 17 Sermon
Rejoice? Rejoice
Advent 3 B
John 1:6-8, 19-28; Psalm 126
Rev. Karl-John N. Stone
Three summers ago I went with my son Liam and our Scout Troop to northern Minnesota for a backpacking trek. We hiked 34 miles, much of it in the wilderness near the north shore of Lake Superior. It was a challenging hike for all the normal reasons, but was made more challenging because that summer they were enduring a terrible drought. We had to adjust some of our plans because some of the places, where most times you could count on having access to water, were all dried up. Even the rivers which normally flow swiftly and deeply were reduced to a shallow trickle, winding among rocks that are usually covered in flowing water.
Another consequence of the drought was the stress it put on wildlife—particularly birds, I noticed. If you’re camping in the woods you almost always hear birds singing. Especially early in the morning; as soon as the first light of dawn—the dayspring—starts to appear, then the birds wake you up as they sing to each other. On this trip, however, the mornings were eerily quiet. No water also meant no bugs—which you’d think would be a good thing, but no bugs meant there wasn’t enough for the birds to eat, which no songs for the birds to sing.
The wilderness is a place that is often define by what it lacks. We think of it as barren, empty, because it lacks the conveniences of modern civilization—the electricity, plumbing, cars, stores. But the wilderness is never really empty. When it is healthy, it is full of life that calls us to appreciate things that we often miss noticing. And as I learned on this backpacking trip, when the things that truly make a wilderness go missing—things like flowing streams, singing birds, and even annoying bugs—when they are missing, you do notice it.
Maybe this is one reason why John the Baptist began his testimony to Jesus Christ out in the wilderness. Because out there, away from the conveniences of civilization, it becomes easier to appreciate the things that we might have missed noticing.
The wilderness is a place for honesty—this is the first thing to notice. John the Baptist begins his testimony about Jesus by speaking truthfully about himself. “Who are you?” ask the priests and Levites who were sent from Jerusalem. They were curious about this eccentric man whom crowds of people were walking through the wilderness to go and see. John could have used his popularity as an opportunity to puff himself up; to make himself the center of attention. But in the wilderness there was no need to hide his true purpose; only the truth would do. So John confesses, when they ask him “who are you?”, he confesses: “I am not the Messiah; I am not Elijah; I am not the prophet.” These are all figures whom the priests and Levites might be expecting to appear, according to their faith. John is making it clear that even though he was “a man sent from God”, he still was not the One they’ve been waiting for.
Similar to how we define the wilderness by what it lacks, John defines himself by who he’s not. Yet because he is clear about that, now he’s free to be truthful about who he really is: “I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness.” John is telling them, “I speak in order to point you towards the one whom you have been waiting for; so when he does appear, you’ll have a better chance to actually notice him.”
It’s a bit curious why we get this particular gospel reading today. The 3rd Sunday of Advent is traditionally known as “Gaudete” Sunday, meaning “Rejoice” in Latin (which is why we light a pink candle on the Advent wreath; it’s a sign of rejoicing). All the other scripture readings for today feature “rejoicing” as a prominent theme. John the Baptist doesn’t seem to fit. But it does make sense to hear about him, because you can’t get to joy without first being grounded in what is honest and true—and John the Baptist came to speak truth.
One truth about this time of year—Advent, Christmas, the holiday season—is that not everyone feels merry or happy or cheerful. We of course want to be merry and happy and cheerful, and it’s certainly a good thing if you are. I hope you are! But let us not forget those who feel grief and loss for family and friends who have died. Or those spending the holidays feeling lonely or far from home. Or those who are struggling with illness or disease, or who are hoping to recover but have a long way to go. Or those who get depressed when there’s gloomy weather or lack of sunlight. Or those who find themselves in the midst of a difficult personal situation. Or those in despair from war or violence.
Sometimes it’s difficult to feel merry or happy or cheerful during this season. And as much as I love Advent and Christmas, I’ve had times in my own life when I haven’t felt merry, and in fact have felt pretty low, at this time of year. If that’s the kind of spot you find yourself in, then John the Baptist is speaking to you. “The voice of one crying out in the wilderness” speaks a word to reassure you that God is faithful, and God comes down to meet you with grace and mercy in Jesus Christ.
You might be going through a time of pain, sorrow, grief, confusion, despair—and if you are, then it’s okay to be blue. If even Elvis Presley could have a blue Christmas, then you can, too. Just remember the ministry of John; he came to testify to the light—the light of Christ that shines in the darkness; the light that promises that the bad things do not have the last word. Even if you find yourself in a wilderness that feels full of nothingness and you don’t know where to turn—there is One who stands among us, and he has already turned towards you; to cover you with God’s robe of righteousness and clothe you with the garments of salvation. Jesus Christ has come among us; and to borrow a phrase from Psalm 126, “we sow with tears, so that the risen Christ will harvest with songs of joy.” Jesus is for every place; every time; every one. Jesus is for you. And in that we can rejoice. Amen.