Advent 2

In those days, John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness.

Interesting, isn’t it. He doesn’t appear in the city square, he doesn’t appear at the temple, he doesn’t appear in the marketplace. No, he chooses to come from the wilderness.

He’s certainly dressing the part, too, for a wilderness proclamation. No one would want him n those posh places, what with his attire and smell and general lack of hygiene.

So he comes form the wilderness, and he says one sentence. 9 words, in our translation: “Repent, for the Kingdom of heaven has come near.”

Good words, to be sure; words that the faithful were waiting to hear. Words that the faithful knew to expect – they’d all heard Isaiah’s prophesy many times. Words that the faithful likely had heard numerous times as people waited, watched, anticipated the great messenger.

And here he was – the one the prophet’s writings had told them about – the voice form the wilderness, crying out to prepare the way of the Lord and make his paths straight.

An unlikely messenger, an unlikely timing, an unlikely location.

Unlikely, yet right.

Of course it was right – otherwise the voice would not have come out of the wilderness. Otherwise the people would not have listened to that voice. Otherwise the Judean world would not have experienced change because of those 9 words. Otherwise the people would not have come from along the Jordan – some of them journeying a goodly distance - to be baptized by this stranger in their local river.

John knew that his ministry was to be part of something amazing for these folks – including himself – in the act of repentance and baptism. He knew, too, that this baptism had to be one of faith. That’s why he rejected the city folks who came out – the Pharisees and Sadducees – who were not willing to repent, therefore were not truly seeking baptism.

“Bear fruit worthy of repentance” comes the voice from the wilderness. Do not rely on your ancestor’s or your egos. Prepare yourselves, John tells them.

Prepare yourselves, John tells us. The voice from the wilderness is still calling. It calls out to each of us, inviting us to consider how we respond to this unlikely voice.  All of us have opportunity to listen to what is happening in our own wilderness; or we all have opportunity to get caught up in the hustle and bustle of our own chaotic city-square.

To be fair – I am not making a literal reference to urban versus rural. The metaphoric comparison, however, is an important one; especially in light of today’s readings.

The city is a busy place; with a lot of people and a lot of noise and a lot of things happening. It’s a great place to get lost in. Country life is different – as we well know. There are fewer people and they’re all neighbours, quieter streets, less busy-ness; a calmer lifestyle means that people can – and do – relate more to one another as community.

Then there’s the wilderness. To live in the wilderness requires skill and experience; it means you have to pay attention to what’s going on, to the most subtle of signs. Living in the wilderness means you sometimes rely on other people, but mostly on yourself. It means living with quiet and calm – learning to be comfortable enough with yourself that you don’t have to drown out your own thoughts with noise or activity.

Living in the wilderness is hard – and that’s why most of us choose not to do it. Our own wilderness experiences – and we all have them – are not about going out to live in the trees and bushes, eating locusts and wearing camel hair (though for us it would be grasshoppers and deer!) It’s about us listening to what comes out of our deepest, most inward places.

Those inward places that we don’t always want to think about – times in our past when we have hurt and been hurt; times when we have sinned against neighbor, times when we have had neighbor sin against us. Times when we have hidden behind egos and accomplishments rather than reveal our true selves. Times when we have turned away from God, or have convinced ourselves that God has turned away from us.

It is to these inward places, this wilderness, that we are compelled to go. To the places where we are most vulnerable, where we may prefer to avoid. We are not called to go there as some form of punishment or retribution; we are called to go there so that we can acknowledge our own need for repentance.

For when we do repent, we see that this wilderness is not a sad or scary place. It becomes a place where we see forgiveness granted to us, where we see new opportunities opening up for reconciliation. It is a place where we see beauty and joy, of humility and truth. It is a place where we see faith growing and sustaining us. Or, to slightly alter the meaning of the words of naturalist Thoreau: “In wilderness is the preservation of the world.”

So let us hear the invitation this week, let us hear the voice calling us. Not the human voice of an unlikely man so many years ago, but the still, small voice that calls to us from deep within. The voice that encourages us to examine what lies in our wilderness that is preventing the way of the Lord from having a straight path. The voice that will help us repent, return to the Lord, and live out the commitments we make in our baptismal vows.

Let us hear the voice coming from the wilderness: the wilderness where we journey with God, embracing our vulnerability because we trust that God will always see us through. A wilderness where we have nothing to hide, but where we are at peace, where we are known – truly, deeply, intimately.

Let us respond with faith to the invitation that God is giving each of us through John’s proclamation, the very personal invitation to repent, delighting that the kingdom of heaven has drawn near.