Isaiah 40.1-11; Mark 1.1-8
Today is an occasion of great joy for us as a cathedral community, for this day, through baptism, we welcome William Petrick into the family of faith. Yet this, I suspect, is not the only reason for great rejoicing in the cathedral this morning. When the Provost informed me last week that there would be a baptism this Sunday, he also gave me the following instruction – keep the sermon to seven minutes. Now I suspect most of you here think that is a further reason for great rejoicing this morning. Being an obedient type of person I agreed to limit myself to no more than a single sheet of A4 – but just in passing may I say it is amazing by using both sides with 8 point Times Roman how much one can actually fit on a sheet of paper! However this morning, now with only six and a half minutes left, no matter how interesting this discussion of font types might be (maybe I should put my anorak on at this point!) – I will not detain you with talk about Times Roman – instead I want to start by talking about Roman times.
The year is 63 B.C., or B.C.E. for the more politically correct among you. For nearly a hundred years the land of Judea had enjoyed relative autonomy after casting off the shackles of its Syrian overlords. In the intervening years of the so-called Hasmonean dynasty the government was a form of theocracy with the chief political figure also serving as High Priest – no separation of church and state. The nation was relative stable until the death of Queen Salome Alexandra in 67. Her two sons wrestled for a protracted period of four years to obtain the kingship and High Priesthood. Then they both made a fateful decision. In 63 B.C. the Roman general Pompey was moving through Armenia and Syria to the north. In an attempt to gain the decisive military strength required to win the struggle, both sons appealed to Pompey to come to their aid. Let me tell you now, it was never a particularly good idea to appeal to the Romans – especially when your country was unstable. Pompey did indeed come as requested, but not for the reason requested. In the end both sons were deposed from the kingship. In their place the Romans made a certain strong man called Antipater the governor of the region. His second son is better known to us, – he was called Herod, and now we are back in the familiar territory of the New Testament.
When John the Baptist began ministry of preaching repentance and baptizing people for the forgiveness of sins, the land of Judea had been under Roman rule for more than sixty years. Herod the Great had died, but some of his sons acted as governors over various parts of Judea and Galilee in his place. Religion was centred in Jerusalem, and in many ways it had become highly institutionalized, as well as often being subservient to the prevailing political powers. Then like a throw-back to the former age of the prophets John appeared, not with the backing of the religious hierarchy or with the support of political overlords. Instead, he both spoke a message of hope to the marginalized, while issuing a harsh message to the religious and political élite, labelling them as a ‘brood of vipers’. Here was somebody that spoke with a freshness and a religious zeal not derived from academic learning, but from a prophetic sense of calling. His words comforted the afflicted, yet they also afflicted the comfortable. At last there was fresh life being breathed into an overly-institutionalized religion through this straightforward preaching of the word of God, whicht saw spiritual and social renewal as one and the same thing. If we consider what was actually going on with the Baptist’s preaching it should make us feel uncomfortable in our own religion – perhaps if John were to stand in this place today and address us then I would be among those called a ‘brood of vipers’. What, however, is even more important than the personal challenge is what the figure of the Baptist helps us to understand about the institution of the church. There are indeed denominations in Christianity that are heavily regulated from the centre. Such grinding bureaucracy at the heart of the ecclesial institutional structures often crushes any possibility of renewal or vitality in proclaiming the gospel. The Baptist, girded in his striking yet uncomfortable garb of a camel hair shirt and a belt made from animal skins, warns us of the dangers of trying to fit the gospel into our domesticated church structures, like the folly of placing fresh wine in old wineskins, the vitality of the gospel will always find a way to burst through our constructed institutional controls.
Our Old Testament reading not only resonates with the story of the Baptist, it is cited in the description of John’s ministry. Isaiah promised a voice cry in the wilderness, and the gospel writers saw that prophecy as finding its fulfilment in John. The introduction to many of the prophetic books of the Hebrew Scriptures opens with the declaration that – the word of the Lord came to Ezekiel, or to Hosea, or Joel, or Jonah, and so on. Like John the Baptist, the Old Testament prophets were seen as uncomfortable figures, often speaking the word of God into situations where the rich and comfortable would rather not have heard it. Our reading from Isaiah promises comfort to a people that have experienced exile. Yet what is promised is not cheap comfort or pious platitudes – the mortality of the created order is acknowledged, but the writer of this section of Isaiah proclaims the enduring quality God’s word even in the midst of this changing and transitory life. He writes, ‘The grass withers, the flower fades, but the word of our God stands for ever.’ The Old Testament prophets spoke the word of God boldly, often challenging kings of Israel and Judah who thought that there were no consequences for their action. Isaiah declared the enduring validity of the word. The Baptist spoke the discomforting word of God to the religiously and politically self-satisfied. And in this Advent season we look to the incarnate Word, God with us, calling upon him to transform our values, our society, and our very lives.
This second Sunday in Advent traditionally used the following well-known collect or prayer, ‘Blessed Lord, who has caused all holy scripture to be written for our learning: Grant that we may in such wise hear them, read, mark, learn, and inwardly digest them, that by patience, and comfort of thy holy Word, we may embrace, and ever hold fast the blessed hope of everlasting life, which thou hast given us in our Saviour Jesus Christ.’ Read, mark, learn, inwardly digest – not just some fine sounding words, but actions that are incumbent on each of us here today. So in my last minute, I want to set you some Advent homework in the hope that the word of God may work its transforming power in each of us. I want you to read your bibles every day between now and Christmas. Here is my challenge, maybe sit down and read perhaps the book of Acts – two chapters a day perhaps, only 10 minutes of your time. And don’t simply just read it, but mark its message, learn from it lessons, and digest what it says, so you may be more fully conformed to the incarnate Word.
In a few minutes we will gather around a font, and as the Baptist did two millennia ago we will still pour out water, to symbolise the mystic washing away of sins, and we will welcome William into the family of God and on to the journey of faith. It is not a journey he will make unaided. Both his Christian family will stand with him, and the word of God, which is both comforting and discomforting, will be his guide. So this Advent as we read the word of God, as we gaze again on the incarnate Word of God, we give unceasing thanks to our blessed Lord who caused all holy scripture to be written for our learning, and in order that we may learn how better to praise him to whom belongs, all might, majesty, glory and dominion, both now and in the world to come. Amen.
