Advent 2, 2025

 Two first graders were overheard at the Baptismal Font as they crossed themselves with the water on their fingers over and over, “I still can’t remember my baptism, can you?”  We gather at the font this day when John the Baptist is baptizing at the River Jordan.  Some of us can remember and some of us cannot and some have not yet been to the font and yet are still touched by grace.  It’s a confluence of many stories, God’s story of God saving the people through the water, and our story of being washed, our parent’s story of dedicating us or of guilt or of hope, or who knows what other motivations.  It is the ancient story and the new story that gushes forth together in one river, one bowl, one brow.

            Whether we remember our own baptism or not, Can we remember the ancient story?  These are stories so ancient, of the Spirit moving over the waters, of Noah and the flood giving a chance for transformation again, of the Israelites crossing the Red sea from slavery into freedom only to wander in the wilderness for 40 years unready to trust God, and then the crossing of the Jordan river some 40 years later to again begin a new life.

            These are the stories of stones so ancient, that spring from even more ancient myths in which people are created from stones.  Stones are stacked and they fall.  They make walls, they form altars, they shelter kings, they are reliable.  Stones provide temptation to Jesus to make them into loaves of bread to serve himself as he is tempted.

            These are the stories of trees—the tree of life, the tree of the knowledge of good and evil.  Trees bear fruit, trees give shelter, trees provide leaves that hide nakedness and give healing, trees wither, trees regain strength, trees are cut down, and trees put up shoots again.  And trees bear the Son of God at his crucifixion.

            These are the stories of wilderness, of wandering, of isolation, of learning to trust.  The wilderness is a place to listen for God’s voice, free of distractions, free of comforts.  The wilderness is a place of danger, vulnerability.  It is a place on the margins, where God provides.  From this wilderness a voice cries out, a warning, an invitation, “Prepare the way of the Lord.  Make his paths straight.” 

            These ancient stories converge in this river where wilderness and society converge.  Everything was about to change as Jesus prepares to enter the scene, as he prepares to begin his ministry there at the convergence. 

            On this Peace Sunday, the Gospel seems to have very little peace in it.  John is fiery.  He is warning everyone.  The axe is lying at the root of the tree.  Unquenchable fire is being kindled to burn the chaff.  John calls for repentance and the people actually change direction—that’s what repent means—change directions.  They stop their everyday lives and they come closer to that voice in the wilderness. 

            Why did they come?  Some of them heard a voice they recognized from times of old, that old story of transformation.  Some of them were fleeing the wrath to come—was it a wrath from living their previous way?  Was it a wrath of society that divides and destroys people?  Some of them were curious.  Some of them were hopeful.  Some of them wanted a change.

            It cracks me up because Jonah was a lot like John the Baptist.  He warned the people of Ninevah of the wrath to come.  They repented and then Jonah threw a giant temper tantrum that they actually listened and changed their ways.  John reminds me of this.  The voice is crying out from the wilderness and the people respond.  Maybe not the people John expected, and who knows their motives, but they listen and show up and ask to be washed in the waters of baptism.  So he calls them a brood of vipers—vipers having to do with temptation, maybe.  He asks them who warned them to flee from the wrath to come.  Well, John, you did! 

            John is the full of power.  His voice is powerful.  His message is powerful.  The images he uses is powerful.  He is dressed like the great prophet Elijah, who came with a similar message of repentance.  He walks like a prophet, dresses like a prophet, and eats like a prophet.  He’s probably a prophet.  He is pointing out the hope that is coming into the world, Jesus.  John uses his power to lift up another and to call people to get ready for the Messiah.

            We find ourselves, too, in this crowd listening to John, our story converging with the ancient story, our lives ready for transformation, curious, hopeful, terrified.  What new things was God doing in the lives of all these gathered at the river?  Would any of them meet Jesus, hear him preach, eat of the loaves and fishes?  Would any of them be healed by him?   Would any of them have their whole lives shaken by his teachings?  Would any of them stand at the foot of the cross? Would any of them see him risen from the dead?  Would any of them spread the message of his love and grace, the good news of his salvation?  Would they give their lives to service because of Jesus?  Would any of them be arrested because of their faith?

            We, too, stand on the shores of the river, on the cusp of something new, new life, transformation.  We’re probably here for all kinds of reasons.  Are our motivations pure?  Are any of us really ready?  Maybe not, but God can work with that. 

            Things are changing, ready or not.  Some things are getting chopped down.  They have to go.  Pruning is necessary for health and future growth.  Some habits we can let go of. Some things that are not good for us, distractions can go to make room for what God is doing in our lives.  Some of the chaff, the hard husk is falling away and being burned.  The tough outer shell that keeps people out, the fortifications against enemies are falling away.  The good fruit is exposed. 

This is where the vision takes place of the peaceable Kingdom in Isaiah, where the wolf lies down with the lamb and the child plays over the adder’s den.  Even enemies can find relationship in the kingdom of God.  This is where the vision takes place of the shoot of Jesse comes up from the stump that everyone thought was dead.  This is the invasive tree you tried to chop down and many little shoots started coming up from the roots . 

What we thought was dangerous was not.  What we thought was dead was not.  God is doing a new thing through Jesus.  It is old and it is new.  It is the ancient story of freedom, of hope, of reconciliation, of relationship, of trusting God and starting a journey of discovery, love, and grace.  It is a new story of all the new possibilities, all the new relationship, all the new life that is possible when you clear the threshing floor, making room for Jesus and his upside-down priorities, his sweeping grace, his unconditional love, and his willingness to be cut down, to take our suffering upon himself to free us and claim us.

The axe is at the foot of the tree, has cut down the cross on which hung the savior of the world, destroyed it as a means of doing violence and silencing voices.  Where a dead tree stood, new life will spring up in the community, everyone sharing what they have, generosity bringing life to the community, strangers becoming friends, and the love of God growing in our lives.