ADVENT 2, YEAR C

Sunday 8 December 2024

Saints Matthew and Mark, Barrington, R. I.

 

Luke 3:1-6

 

At the beginning of today’s Gospel, St. Luke introduces John the Baptist by carefully dating his appearance in a detailed snapshot of who was in power where:

 

“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…”

 

Here Luke has given us a geopolitical map of the biblical world at that moment, complete with emperors, governors, tetrarchs, and high priests. (The fifteenth year of the reign of Tiberias Caesar can be dated with reasonable precision as 29 A.D.)

 

Some commentators suggest that Luke is making the point that his story is neither timeless myth nor abstract philosophy but the record of events that happened at a definite time and place in history. Others propose that Luke is hinting that the good news of Jesus Christ is to be taken out from Jerusalem and Judea into the Roman Empire and beyond, transforming the whole world and relativizing the authority of its rulers in the process.

 

But then, what follows contrasts explosively with Luke’s lead-in: “the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness …” Luke has just given us a grand tour of imperial palaces, governors' mansions, kings' fortresses, and priests' temples. But God’s word comes to none of the high and mighty in those power centers, but rather to a relative nobody in the middle of nowhere: “John son of Zechariah in the wilderness.”

 

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

 

Nonetheless, there’s something about the desert—its wide-open spaces, its solitude and silence—that disposes people to be receptive to divine communication. Away from the constant distractions of our lives in the world, we find the room and the quiet we need to explore our own inner landscapes—our questions, conflicts, hopes, doubts, 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 readings take us into the desert. In all three years of the lectionary cycle, John the Baptist appears on the second Sunday of Advent, as “the voice of one crying out in the wilderness.” And again, on the first Sunday of Lent, the Holy Spirit drives Jesus into the wilderness following his baptism by that same John in the River Jordan.

 

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

 

The Sundays of Advent always follow a specific sequence. The first Sunday 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 sing “Glory to God in the highest”, we need to respond to the Baptist’s call: “Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.”

 

This season of Advent originated as a penitential time of fasting and prayer before Christmas. In the Eastern Churches, it’s known as the Nativity Fast, kept for forty days before Christmas, just as Lent is kept for the forty days before Easter. But in the Western Church, where it became known as Advent, it’s kept at most only 28 days, from the fourth Sunday before Christmas. And the focus has been more on preparation for the two comings of Christ: first, in weakness and vulnerability in Bethlehem; second, in power and majesty when he returns to judge the living and the dead.

 

The liturgical reforms of the 1960s and 70s further de-emphasized Advent’s penitential character, highlighting instead themes of joyful hope, longing, anticipation, and preparation. In many Episcopal churches, including here at Saints Matthew and Mark, blue vestments, rather than the traditional violet, mark the season’s unique character.

 

All that’s well and good. Still, the second and third Sundays of Advent confront us with John the Baptist’s call to repent. So, there remains this irreducibly penitential dimension to the season.

 

John administered a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. People received his baptism to makes themselves ready for the coming of the Lord. And while John’s baptism was not the same as Christian baptism, it was not ineffective in achieving its own objectives. Certain passages 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 as well.

 

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. And we need to use some of that time—not necessarily all but some of it—to examine our consciences and identify the sins of which we need to repent at this particular point 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. No human intermediary is required. But the Church also affords us the opportunity to make use of the rite called the Reconciliation of a Penitent, found on page 447 of The Book of Common Prayer, in which we confess our sins privately to a priest, and receive the benefit of counsel and absolution. The rule regarding Confession in the Episcopal Church is “none must, all may, some should.” So, it’s worth bearing in mind that it’s there, available, if we ever need it.

 

Confessing our sins, whether directly to God or in the Sacrament of Reconciliation, is a wonderful way to prepare ourselves for the Lord’s Nativity. And our celebration of Christmas becomes all the more joyous when we know that we’ve been forgiven.