Preparing the Way of Shalom 12/8/24
Preparing the Way for Shalom
Phil 1:3-11; Luke 3:1-6
Phil 1:3-11
I thank my God every time I remember you, constantly praying with joy in every one of my prayers for all of you, because of your sharing in the gospel from the first day until now. I am confident of this, that the one who began a good work among you will bring it to completion by the day of Jesus Christ. It is right for me to think this way about all of you, because you hold me in your heart, for all of you share in God’s grace with me, both in my imprisonment and in the defense and confirmation of the gospel. For God is my witness, how I long for all of you with the compassion of Christ Jesus. And this is my prayer, that your love may overflow more and more with knowledge and full insight to help you to determine what is best, so that in the day of Christ you may be pure and blameless, having produced the harvest of righteousness that comes through Jesus Christ for the glory and praise of God.
Luke 3:1-6
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. He went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, as it is written in the book of the words of the prophet Isaiah, “The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth; and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.’”
Prayer –
It all starts with Luke’s penchant for situating his narrative amid the historical figures of the day. As you probably remember from your NT 101 class, Luke more than any of the other evangelists writes self-consciously as a historian. Not, mind you, a historian of the twenty-first century, but rather of the first century. That’s when you wrote history to make a point, to teach a truth, to draw people into the community narrative. And that’s what Luke is doing here: placing the beginning of the Christian story – a story that now defines, encourages, and challenges his community of faith – into the history of the world.
This is the third time Luke locates the drama he narrates amid the major actors of the world stage. The first time was the birth of John the Baptist “in the days of King Herod of Judah” (1:5). Next is birth of Jesus that takes place under the rule of Emperor Augustus and while Quirinius was governor of Syria (2:1-3). And now, as John is about to start his ministry, Luke again places his story amid historical figures.
Why does Luke do this? Because, as we would have said when I was a kid, he’s got guts. He makes bold, that is, to say that these events – about as small and insignificant as you can imagine – deserve to be placed along side the world-shaking people and events of the day. “Really,” Luke dares his readers to ask, what does the birth of two small children or the ministry of misplaced prophet have to do with kings, emperors, and governors?” And his reply: “Everything!”
This is the way it is with the Gospel – it seems so small it’s easy to miss. More than that, God’s mercy comes disguised is human weakness – two vulnerable children who will grow up to change the world, an instrument of Roman torture turned into the means by which God reconciles the world unto God’s own self. Yes, there is always something of the mustard-seed about the gospel – it creeps in, unawares, small and insignificant, until it grows and spreads, infesting whole fields and inviting all kinds of creatures to take refuge in its branches.
So Luke begins his story by making the outrageous claim that God is at work in the weak and small – babies and barren women and unwed teenage mothers and wild-eyed prophets and itinerant preachers and executed criminals – to change the world. And, to be quite honest, God’s not done yet. God continues to work through unlikely characters today – unpopular teens and out-of-work adults and corporate executives and stay-at-home parents and underpaid secretaries and night-shift workers and police officers and volunteer baseball coaches and even burned out preachers – to announce the news of God’s redemption. It is as if God is preparing the way for a peace which passes all understanding, one small brick at a time. It’s a promise, as I said, that’s easy to miss, but when we hear it – and even more – when we see it taking place in our own lives – it changes us along with the world.
Luke’s outrageous claim that the “word of the Lord” comes to this nobody named John in that no-place called the wilderness and that that small and insignificant thing is more important and all the important people and events of the day. And then point out where that same “word of the Lord” might be coming to the nobodies – according to the world – of our congregation in the middle of the no-places of our various neighborhoods and communities. John is preparing 1st century Palestine for the Prince of Peace, not some warrior leader.
If you’re game, there’s still a bit more. Because I think Luke is going further than merely locating John amid the VIPs of the day, he’s also setting him against them. Previously Luke mentioned one or two of powerful. In these verses he mentions seven, and as you read the list aloud it sounds like an ominous litany or loud and insistent drumbeat marshalling the political, economic, and religious powers and principalities to war:
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…
And against all these stands paltry, insignificant John, son of Zechariah. Well, not quite: against all these stands paltry, insignificant John, son of Zechariah…and the Word of the Lord. The word, as Isaiah said, that fills valleys and levels mountains, that straightens out what is crooked and smooths over the rough places, all in order to build a direct path by which God can bring us God’s love and mercy. Insignificant John, a itinerant preacher out beyond the edge of town, is preaching and teaching every day, ordinary people that someone is coming who will change, perhaps even transform the world.
Seven there are representing the collective power of the world and against them all stands just John, armed only with God’s word, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins and pointing people to the savior who was soon to come. By the time Luke’s community was reading these verses, none of those seven are still alive, yet they are still telling the story of John and of Jesus, the one John heralds. And today these proud and powerful men are just footnotes to the story of Christ, the one sent to reveal the salvation of God to “all flesh.”
Perhaps this, too, is worth mentioning, because I suspect that our people at times also feel overlooked, insignificant, and small, surrounded by insurmountable problems, people, and challenges. Maybe it’s not an Emperor that makes life miserable, maybe it’s just a difficult colleague or unhappy marriage. Maybe it’s not a Roman procurator that oppresses, but instead a struggle with addiction to alcohol, drugs, or porn. Maybe it’s not governors that threaten to destroy, but instead feeling lost at school or work with no real friends. Maybe it’s not rulers and priests that overwhelm, but instead a struggle with depression, grief or loneliness.
Whatever it maybe, Luke shares the gospel promise that these things, too, will pass; that in the end they will be but a difficult and distant memory; that over time they will become mere footnotes to a larger, grander, and more beautiful story of acceptance, grace, mercy, and life – a wholeness that reflects the peace of the Garden. The waiting can be hard, which is why Luke reminds his community and ours of this promise that is so easy to overlook but big enough to save and audacious enough to transform.
The word John preaches is not his own. His sermons are not self-derived or original. If God had not come to John out in the wilderness, there would be nothing for John to say. Luke is clear, “the word of God came to John.” John the Baptist didn’t come to God; God came to John. I think this distinction is important. John is in the wilderness. He is out beyond the established, governmentally approved media outlets. It is there, in the wilderness, in a world full of political oppression and unjust suffering, where the powerful swagger about stepping on the powerless, that the word of God comes to John the Baptist.
John gives people the good word: get ready, people of God, God’s coming to you, God’s reaching out to you. (The typical way to get from exile in Babylonia back home to Israel is to go all the way around the desert, over the mountains, through the wilderness valleys. The prophet Isaiah foretold a time when God Almighty was going to perform a mighty highway construction program, straight through the desert down a level highway straight home. Level, smooth, peaceful – what a trip that could be.)
While John the Baptist dresses like the prophets of old and is explained by quotes from Old Testament prophets (suggesting that his news is not completely new), John’s message is not merely a reframing, reiteration, or repetition of what was said before. John’s appearance and message in the wilderness presage a truly fresh start.
Don’t miss the “news” in Good News. The gospel is not, in the Greek, photismos (enlightenment), or musterion (an indescribable mystery), gnosis (secret knowledge that a wise one whispers into your ear), or nomos (rules and regulations that, by following, will make our life turn out right). The gospel is euangelion. Good news. Get ready to be surprised by the new, the God you didn’t expect. A God who at the end of the day cares about each person having a wholeness, a peace, a shalom from within and from out.
John the Baptizer appears out in the middle of nowhere and says to the gathered crowds, “I’ve got just one thing to say to you, Prepare!” Implied in John’s short, hortatory sermon is the admonition, “Here comes Jesus! Get ready to change direction, be surprised, all shaken up, and turned upside down! Prepare!”
John is the advance man, the announcer, the one who warms up the audience before the star attraction. Judged from the content of his introductory remarks, the next act, the One who comes after John, who is so much mightier than he, must be quite a surprise.
How different is the sermon of John from many of the sermons of mainline, old-line, rapidly being side-lined North American Christianity? Who needs to prepare to hear a preacher say, in effect, “Let me introduce you to Jesus whom you already think you know. As you know, he’s a very nice, moderate person who is a lot like you. He will tell you what you have always wanted to hear, confirm what you have always believed, and walk alongside you in whatever direction you are most comfortable walking.”
No preparation is needed for the advent of a god that we’ve made up on our own. Sorry if you thought God was a projection of your fondest wishes and deepest desires, a technique for getting whatever it is that you think you just must have more than God. One comes to us whom we did not expect. Get ready for your world is to be rocked. Don’t be surprised that you are surprised.
John reminds us to be prepared, not for a rockstar, but for a quiet, unassuming Savior who can bring us a peace that is beyond measure. I’m not sure we could have handled rockstar Jesus any better than we have handled the Prince of Peace, but I have hope that at the end of the day, or at least of my days, that Peace will abound – thanks be to God – amen.