This sermon was preached at Glenwood and Canoe Ridge Lutheran Churches, Decorah, Iowa on December 9, 2018. It’s based on Luke 3:1-18. If you’d prefer to listen to it, find it at https://soundcloud.com/stacey-nalean-carlson/.
Luke 3:1-18
1In 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, 2during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness. 3He went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, 4as it is written in the book of the words of the prophet Isaiah,
“The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.5Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth; 6and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.’”
7John said to the crowds that came out to be baptized by him, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? 8Bear fruits worthy of repentance. Do not begin to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor’; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. 9Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.”
10And the crowds asked him, “What then should we do?” 11In reply he said to them, “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.” 12Even tax collectors came to be baptized, and they asked him, “Teacher, what should we do?” 13He said to them, “Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.” 14Soldiers also asked him, “And we, what should we do?” He said to them, “Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.”
15As the people were filled with expectation, and all were questioning in their hearts concerning John, whether he might be the Messiah, 16John answered all of them by saying, “I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. 17His winnowing fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”
18So, with many other exhortations, he proclaimed the good news to the people.
Recently, I was engaged in a conversation about the Des Moines marathon. The person I was talking with was surprised by the 700 feet of elevation gain in the front half of the course. The back half of the course, the part I’ve run for the half marathon, she described as fast and flat. No wonder I like it. Maybe I’ll stick with the half.
Fast and flat is what Isaiah was picturing when he described the way of the Lord in the wilderness, the highway of God in the desert. Luke later uses these verses to describe John’s call to repentance as a call to prepare the way of the Lord. Every valley filled, every hill made low, a fast and flat path.
Isaiah was speaking to a people who had experienced the destruction of their city at the hands of the Babylonian empire. Many living in Jerusalem at the time were exiled to Babylon—far from home, far from all they had ever known, without hope, without a vision for the future.
Now, in the wake of their world turned upside down, God speaks a word of comfort: this devastating time is done. It’s time to go home. I will lead you, just as I led you out of captivity in Egypt. I will free you, once again, from fear and sorrow and suffering. Only this time, you won’t wander in the wilderness. This time, the path home will be straight, flat and fast.
This time, the path home might look like I-80 through Nebraska.
Now, no offense to Nebraskans, but if salvation looks like I-80 through Nebraska I don’t want it! Something more scenic, please. [Although, looking through my pictures to find the featured image for this post, I found a picture I actually took while traveling on I-80 through Nebraska. It was more beautiful than I remembered!] Something like the roads around here…a beautiful sight around every curve. And lots of curves there are! Imagine this driftless region without hills and valleys. No, thank you.
But then I remember Highway 17 in North Dakota, a road I traveled often during the years we lived there. It was the epitome of fast and flat. When we moved back to Iowa, I honestly had to learn to drive all over again. All these beautiful curves were a hazard! No more fast and flat for me. And the thing I miss most about that straight, smooth North Dakota travel: the expansive view. You felt like you could see forever. You knew what was coming. You knew where you were going. There was a clarity of vision.
This is what God promises first through the prophet Isaiah and again through John: the way of the Lord is fast and flat and you can see forever. God is leading you from captivity to sin to the freedom of forgiveness. Repentance, which John proclaimed as a messenger to prepare the way for Christ, reorients us, opens our eyes to see clearly the vast landscape of love all around us, points us in the right direction, and paves the way for our homecoming.
Bear fruits worthy of repentance, John said to the crowds that came out to be baptized by him. And instead of flinching at his colorful language or growing defensive in the face of his no-holds-barred honesty, the crowds actually ask him, What then should we do? They want that fast, flat journey home. They want that freedom that God has promised.
And not only the crowds, but also the tax collectors. These collaborators with Rome, known for cheating the people from whom they collected taxes, would have been despised by their neighbors. They desired to bear fruits worthy of repentance.
And not only the tax collectors, but also the soldiers—there to monitor the situation and to keep the peace—even they are pulled into the drama of this scene. And we, what should we do?
To each group of people, John gives a clear, concise answer that speaks practically to each one’s specific context. To the crowd: whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise. Make sure your neighbor’s needs are met.
To the tax collectors: Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you. To the soldiers: Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages. Do your job honestly so as not to hurt your neighbor.
What would John say to you if you were there that day? What do fruits worthy of repentance look like in your life? What practical actions might pave the way for God to lead you to the peace and security of home? What actions on behalf of our neighbors might orient us toward Jesus, in our neighbors, and create an openness to the work of God in our lives?
To be clear, these commands in response to what then should we do? are not what Luke deems the good news. They may pave the way for the good news to take hold in our lives, but they themselves are not the gospel. Instead, John’s exhortations at the end of our reading are the good news…and at first hearing, they might not sound all that good.
I baptize you with water, but one who is more powerful than I is coming…He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.
This is good news for a people who want to repent, who want to do something to make their lives better, but who ultimately cannot discern the wheat from the chaff in their lives. Yes, we can try to heed the kind of practical commands John offers. But we can’t save ourselves.
Jesus comes into the world—into our hearts, into our lives. And yes, it might be painful. We love our chaff. We think it serves us well—the walls we’ve put up to protect ourselves, the righteous anger we’ve used to justify our intolerance, all our selfishness disguised as compassion—but Jesus knows we’re better off without it. God intends for us to be free of it.
Jesus throws our chaff in the fire, so that our wheat—who we were created to be, that which will actually feed and nourish our neighbors and ourselves—can be gathered safely home.
Jesus is coming. This is the good news on this Advent day. Amen.