SECOND SUNDAY OF ADVENT
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Readings: Malachi 3: 1-4 and Luke 3: 1-6
“Minimalism” is a phrase that has crept into our language in recent years, and the person who practices it is “minimalist.” The minimalist will ensure that their house is free of ornament and unnecessary clutter. My niece and her husband are very much in this school of thought. They belong to that generation where, for instance, everything is online and stored on computer, so you don’t need rows of bookshelves adorning your sitting room. Minimalism is also a method of thinking within biblical scholarship. They hold that the bible is a story-book and that, as such, it sheds little light on what actually happened.
A professor at Copenhagen University, Thomas L. Thompson, argues that the Gospel writers are not trying to describe the life of a real person, but just telling a story. On this view it is futile to locate Jesus at some point in history. But other more conservative writers think very differently, and are among those who set out in what was known as ‘the quest for the historical Jesus.’
In today’s Gospel, St. Luke offers a very definite historical basis for his record of events, starting with the appearance of John the Baptist. In fact he dates John’s arrival on the scene in six different ways. Firstly, against the background of the Roman Empire – ‘in the fifteenth year of the reign of the Emperor Tiberius.’ Then in the context of the political organisation of Palestine, Luke says ‘when Pontius Pilate was governor of Syria.’ Next, Luke sets John’s arrival in terms of the religious situation; it occurred ‘during the high priesthood of Anna and Caiaphas.’
In actual fact, there are discrepancies between the details Luke gives and what is known from other sources. But that is not the point. It is clear what Luke is doing – he is setting down historical markers, even if they’re hard to harmonize with other records. He is saying, ‘This happened, and this is when it happened, and this is where it happened.’ The story he tells is anchored in the history to which 1066 and 1914 and 2114 and all of us belong.
Luke, in proclaiming a gospel of world salvation, places the arrival of John on a world stage. So also we are to see the coming of Christ into the world occurring at a particular time and place. His incarnation is firmly rooted in history; it can’t be ignored or overlooked; it really happened. And as we are part of the same world history we are challenged to respond to the coming of Christ.
So Luke says what happened, but he recounts these events because of what he believes they mean. To explain their significance he directs us to the Old Testament, with which his readers would have been very familiar. He sees in John the Baptist that figure of a ‘voice crying in the desert’ in Isaiah 40. In these later chapters of Isaiah we have a series of poems containing a message of hope for God’s exiled people – those who sit by the rivers of Babylon and weep.
Now John the Baptist, as messenger, gives people notice that the Lord’s arrival is imminent. We hear from two messengers this morning. The book of the prophet Malachi comes right at the end of the Old Testament – as if to point to the new. His name simply means ‘my messenger.’ Messengers have a specific job to do, and that is to tell. They’re a bit like ‘callers’ behind scenes in a theatre, or ‘tellers’ at an election. Their function is all-important, but in a way, they themselves aren’t. ‘Don’t shoot the messenger’ is a favourite phrase we use, meaning “I’m just bringing you the information; I’m not responsible for that information.” Malachi and John would have had some sympathy with that, but, actually, they were spokesmen for the Lord, and were passionate about what they were doing.
In the short book of Malachi, there is a dialogue going on between the Lord and his people. The book was written after the Jews had returned from exile, and probably dates from the fifth-century before Jesus. Malachi calls on the people to change their ways. At the end of chapter 2, he says that the people have ‘wearied’ God – tired him out, disappointed him. The people ask what they have done. Malachi replies that they have called into question God’s justice, and therefore his very character.
So today’s verses are in the nature of a stern warning. If you’re devoted to Handel’s Messiah, you may recall the lovely lilting melody to the aria “But who may endure the day of his coming?” But actually, it’s a bit of a threat, and the next bit of the oratorio – “For he is like a refiner’s fire” is much more vigorous, and sounds threatening. Malachi says that the Lord will purify the descendants of Levi. Purify – sift out all the dross, so that only the pure metal is left.
John the Baptist’s message was also a stern one. Essentially he was telling people to turn to God before it was too late. But Luke sees the forbidding figure of John in a greater light. For Luke, the Baptist’s story is part of a history whose outcome John is not given to see. Luke goes on to give us some more verses from Isaiah. ‘Prepare the way of the Lord; make his paths straight.…the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth.” All that impedes God’s purpose for humanity’s total good will be swept away. When that is done, ‘all flesh shall see the salvation of God.’
This is Luke’s hope; our Advent hope, and the Christian hope. We see John the Baptist called at a specific point in history to announce the arrival of Jesus at a particular point in time. History, as a whole and for every individual, is what St Paul calls ‘God’s good work’. Once begun, this work must be – and will be – completed. Luke records the beginning of this good work. No date is given for ‘the day of Christ’, but of that day we can say with the 17th-century Thomas Traherne, “Yet shall the end be so glorious that angels dared not hope for so great a one till they had seen it.”
Sadly, that doesn’t mean that there is an encouragement to believe that humanity is improving all the time. Human nature remains stubbornly capable of disappointing as well as sometimes delighting. But it is still the case that the world’s history is where our salvation is won. If we sometimes despair about the world, and all that is wrong in it, we shouldn’t exclude ourselves from that lament. Have you wearied God? I’m sure I have.
Let us use Advent to heed the warnings of Malachi and John, to ask God to refine and purify us and to make our paths straight. And may the Church as a whole take seriously the message of repentance, that it may present itself as an acceptable offering to God, and in the world in which it has been called to serve him.