SECOND SUNDAY OF ADVENT, YEAR C

Sunday 5 December 2021

St. Uriel’s, Sea Girt, N. J.

Luke 3:1-6

At the beginning of today’s Gospel, St. Luke introduces John the Baptist by carefully identifying the timing of his appearance according to a detailed chronology of who’s in power where: 

In the fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberias Caesar, Pontius Pilate being governor of Judea, and Herod being tetrarch of Galilee, and his brother Philip tetrarch of the region of Iturae´a and Trachoni´tis, and Lysa´nias tetrarch of Abile´ne, in the high priesthood of Annas and Ca´iaphas …

Here we get a geopolitical map of the ruling authorities of the biblical world: emperors, governors, tetrarchs, high priests. The fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberias Caesar can be dated with reasonable precision as the year 29 A.D.

Some commentators suggest that Luke is making the point that the story he’s about to tell is not a timeless myth or groundless legend but the record of events that really happened at a definite time and place in history. Others propose that Luke is hinting that the good news will be taken out from Jerusalem into the Empire ruled by Caesar and beyond, transforming the whole world and relativizing the authority of its ruling principalities and powers in the process.

The explosive force of Luke’s lead-in bursts upon us, however, in the contrast with what follows: “the word of God came to John the son of Zechariah in the wilderness …” Luke has just given us a grand tour of imperial palaces, governors’ mansions, kings’ fortresses, and the Jerusalem Temple. But the word of God comes to none of those high and mighty people in any of those geographical landmarks, but rather to “John the son of Zechariah in the wilderness.” A relative nobody in the middle of nowhere.

The word “wilderness,” as we know, can also be translated as “desert.” In the Bible, the wilderness or desert is the archetypal place of encounter with the divine. Of course, God is perfectly capable of revealing himself wherever, whenever, and to whomever he chooses. In many biblical stories, the word of God, or indeed the angel of God, comes to someone in the town or the city—such as the Blessed Virgin Mary herself at her home in Nazareth. 

Nonetheless, something about the desert, its wide-open spaces, its solitude and silence, disposes people to be receptive there to divine communication. Away from the distractions of constant chit-chat, the hustle and bustle of business and commerce, we find the space and the quiet we need to confront our own inner wilderness landscapes, our questions, conflicts, doubts, hopes, and fears. And sometimes, just sometimes, God speaks a word that changes everything, offering us a new horizon, a new sense of mission and purpose, a new vision.

Early in the seasons of both Advent and Lent, the lectionary readings take us into the desert. In all three years of the liturgical cycle, John the Baptist appears on the second Sunday of Advent, as “the voice of one crying in the wilderness.” And again, on the first Sunday of Lent, the Holy Spirit drives Jesus into the wilderness to be tempted by Satan following his baptism by that same John in the River Jordan.

It seems that the journey into the desert is an indispensable component of both seasons. Before we can truly experience the joy of either Christmas or Easter, we need to spend some time out in the wilderness.

Moreover, the Sundays of Advent always follow a specific sequence. The first Sunday of Advent announces the Lord’s return on the last day to judge the living and the dead. The second and third Sundays take us into the wilderness of Judea to hear John preaching his baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. Then the fourth Sunday begins to unfold the fulfillment of God’s promises in the Annunciations to Mary and Joseph and, this year, in Mary’s Visitation to Elizabeth.

The point seems to be that the River Jordan is a necessary stopping place on our journey to Bethlehem. Before we can hear the angels singing “Glory to God in the highest,” we need to listen and respond to the Baptist’s call: “Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.”

The season of Advent originated as a time of fasting and prayer before Christmas. In the Eastern Churches, it’s known as the Nativity Fast, and is kept for forty days before Christmas, just as Lent is kept for the forty days before Easter. But in the Western Church, it became known as Advent, kept from the fourth Sunday before Christmas, and focused more on preparation for the two comings of Christ: the first, in weakness and vulnerability in Bethlehem; the second, in power and majesty on the Day of Judgment.

The Western Church’s liturgical reforms in the 1960s and 70s further de-emphasized Advent’s penitential character, highlighting instead themes of joyful hope, longing, and anticipation. All that’s well and good. Still, the second and third Sundays of Advent confront us with John the Baptist’s message. So, there remains this inescapably penitential dimension to the Advent season.

John administered a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. People received his baptism to ready themselves for the arrival of the messiah or Christ. And while John’s baptism was not the same thing as Christian baptism, it was not ineffective. Certain passages elsewhere in the Gospels indicate that those who received John’s baptism were those most likely to welcome and follow Jesus when he appeared, while those who rejected John’s baptism were those most likely to reject Jesus.

Today’s celebration invites us to find some extra time to be alone and quiet this Advent, even in the midst of all the pre-Christmas hubbub. In this way, we undertake our own spiritual journey into the wilderness to be attentive to God’s Word as John was. And we need to use some of that time – not necessarily all of it but some of it – to examine our consciences and identify the sins of which we need to repent at this particular stage in our lives. 

We can certainly always confess those sins directly to God, knowing that he hears and forgives in virtue of Christ’s sacrifice on the cross. But our Anglo-Catholic tradition also affords us the unique privilege of being able to enlist the assistance of a priest in the Sacrament of Reconciliation. Making our confession is a wonderful way to prepare ourselves in heart, mind, and soul for the Lord’s Nativity. And our celebration of Christmas becomes all the more joyous when we’ve been absolved and know that we’re forgiven.