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Friday, 7 January 2022

entering authenticity

 

SERMON PREACHED AT St MARY’S, Nth OAMARU

and at St ALBAN’S, KUROW

BAPTISM OF OUR LORD (January 9th) 2022

 


 

READINGS:

 

Isaiah 43: 1-7

Psalm 29

Acts 8:14-17

Luke 3: 15-17, 21-22

 

When Luke told the Jesus story he set about anchoring the events of Jesus’ life within the framework of known history. Or so we were often told. He is writing, he said, to Theophilus, though we may well question if there ever was a Theophilus. Luke may have been deliberately obfuscating, playing a Dr Who-esque game with lines of time and space in order to demonstrate truths far greater than mere timelines and geographical particularities.

Like many great writers in the story of literature Luke sets up expectations, then dismantles and, we might even say, “remantles” them. For those of you who are lovers of literature or film or visual arts there will be some resonances here:  some of the greatest creators of human artistic depth have done that. Such creators – and let’s not forget that’s a title that echoes the heart of God – do so not to be clever, but to expand our horizons, expand our understanding of the world around us. For Luke this is not an academic exercise but an inspired means to take us, his audience (though we are not the audience he intended) deep into the heart of God’s truth, light, hope.

Theophilus, therefore, may never have existed despite having been addressed at Luke 1:3 (he will be again in Acts 1:1). We may be Theophilus – you and me – and we are being asked to see something beyond words here in Luke’s story. We are being asked to see Truth. John uses a similar technique, referencing what we might call the Truthness of Jesus, the Truthness of Good News, over and again. Theophilus is told that the Jesus story contains – we might say “is” – Truth. It is truth deeper than mere facts and figures of history.

So Luke, having created word-pictures around the birth and early life of Jesus – later we will return to his preparation for public ministry as he wrestles with Satans in the wilderness – introduces us to a listless, directionless people. They are a people filled with expectation, but expectation of what?

They live in a corrupt and already crumbling Roman Empire. They live in a time when soothsayers and idiot fringe charlatans are eagerly leading them this way and that. John the Baptist is no charlatan, but for many people he is just one more entertaining distraction from a decadent, disintegrating society. So they flock to the desert, and rather than stroke their egos he rebukes them.

Yet they encounter in him not some latest fad, not an empty-headed, self-aggrandizing false prophet feathering his own ego with meaningless titles and his pocket with their hard-earned cash. They do not find a self-proclaimed “bishop” climbing down from a fleet of expensive cars and motorbikes long enough to seduce more dollars from their pockets. They do not find a rock star peddling his own importance and destructive lies, (believing, as one prophet critiqued it, that his nose has led him straight to God[1]). They do not find an over-inflated, over-paid tennis player believing that he or she has the right to spread disease in the name of personal freedoms (and a pay cheque).

They find John the Baptist in the desert, and while some choose to follow him he makes it quite clear that there is a different path to follow: “one more powerful than I is coming.” later of course the same people will murder both the prophet and the messiah. But for now we have a humble, God-saturated man pointing to another humble God-saturatec man, directing lost, directionless human hearts to the demanding way of Jesus: “he will baptize with the Holy Spirit and with fire.”

For Luke the message is both timeless and urgent. For too many of Christianity’s centuries we have turned the prophets of God into rather dull figures propping up self-indulgent societies. Every now and again, though, times of complacency become times of urgency. We live in one such – Covid is only one particularly noisy ingredient of a crumbling security. Charlatans, predators, will inevitably arise in such times, but so too do genuine servants of God.  In recent days of course we have seen one such servant, Desmond Tutu, pass from human sight. Not all are as spectacular as Tutu. But we live again in apocalyptic times, and Luke, John and above all Jesus dare us to look in right places for the footprints of God. We are dared to look not to those who write their own names in neon lights, but to those who proclaim justice, hope and love.

As the story goes on (as our year goes on), we will find that Luke challenges us to look to Jesus amongst the lines of prophets not just as a pointer, but as the heart of God, as all that we need to know of God. The words of the Spirit will reverberate through the year, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” These reverberating words of course mean far more than a surface level reading will disclose. Interestingly, as sermon-blogger Mike Marsh puts it, they are spoken to Jesus before he has …

… done a darn thing. He hasn’t preached or taught. He hasn’t healed anyone. He hasn’t walked on water, turned water into wine, or fed 5000 with a few fish and loaves of bread. He hasn’t raised anyone from the dead. He hasn’t died on the cross, been resurrected, or ascended to heaven. He hasn’t performed or proved himself worthy or deserving. He doesn’t even say, “Thank you. I’ll work hard to be a good son. I’ll prove myself to be worthy of what you have said.” He simply receives the gift. He lets the words wash over and drench him.[2]

 

We’ll leave that thought there. Except insofar as it reminds us that Luke is challenging us to enter a journey that is not about us or our ego, but a journey of surrender, a journey of trust in times of difficulty, uncertainty, bewilderment, even exhaustion. The voice from heaven authenticates the person and the task of Jesus. The voice invites us to enter, too, into that authentic existence, that place of faith against all doubt, hope against all despair, light against all darkness. You are, says the voice of God, my beloved child: enter and re-enter the journey of Jesus.



[1] Lou Reed, “Strawman.”

[2] Michael K. Marsh, Interrupting the Silence, January 13th, 2019. Online at https://tinyurl.com/4yu724zd.

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