Luke 1:57-80
Rev. Caela Simmons Wood
First Congregational UCC, Manhattan, KS
December 5, 2021
The author of Luke’s gospel keeps driving us forward while firmly rooting us in the present.
“In the days of King Herod of Judea, there was a priest named Zechariah…”
“In the sixth month, the angel Gabriel was sent by God to a town in Galilee called Nazareth…”
“In those days, Mary set out and went with haste to a Judean town in the hill country…”
“Now the time came for Elizabeth to give birth, and she bore a son…”
The days fly by and time stands still. The earth spins wildly on its axis and yet our feet stay firmly planted in one place. Our spirits stretch to infinity and everything collapses into one still, small moment. A baby’s first cry. A love and wonder that makes our hearts do double-flips.
He was to be named John. And although naming babies is always of great importance, it seems to take on additional weightiness in Luke’s gospel. Two families visited by angels. And the angels are quite bossy about names. This one is to be named John - not up for negotiation. And the other, Jesus - also not up for negotiation.
John. “God is gracious.”
Jesus. “God is salvation.”
A gracious God of salvation is breaking forth among us. The names of these two babies point the way. They are a sign. A flashing sign that says, “Watch. Wait. Sit up. Take notice. Lean in. Pay attention. Take on a posture of expectation.”
We’re expecting. We’re driven forward and firmly rooted in the present.
Zechariah and Elizabeth have a head start. The angel comes first to Zechariah. And the angel says what angels nearly always say: “Do not be afraid.” Right. Of course.
Take a deep breath, Zechariah. Find that posture of expectation. God is about to do a new thing.
Zechariah hesitates for a brief moment. Puzzled over the angel’s words. And in that moment of hesitation he loses his voice. The angel tells him he’ll get it back when the baby arrives.
And so he and Elizabeth enter into a time of waiting. Expecting and wondering and preparing and probably folding diapers and distracting themselves with bad TV and doing all the things we humans DO when we can feel that the world is about to shift in some seismic way and we have no idea what to do with ourselves. Waiting.
“Now the time came for Elizabeth to bear a son…” Expectations fulfilled.
On the eighth day it’s time to name the baby and everyone naturally assumes he’ll be given his father’s name. But, no. Elizabeth firmly states that he is to be called John. “John? Who’s John? That’s not a family name!” the community puzzles. But Zechariah, furiously scribbling away on a notepad, backs her up. John it is.
And the community looks at this little one with curiosity. “John. What then will this child become?”
This baby - the first of two, remember - this gift of Grace wrapped up in tiny human form is here to pave the way and point the way.
“One is coming who is more powerful than I,” the grown-up Voice of Grace proclaims, “And I’m not even fit to untie his sandals. I baptize you with water, but he will baptize you with fire and the Holy Spirit.”
Cousins. Splashing together in the wombs of their earthly mothers. Diving down deep into the River Jordan and listening for the voice of the One who called them into being, Stories tangled up from before the beginning. And John is clear. His job is to pave the way and point the way. He points to something beyond himself and his own ministry. He points to Jesus - “God is salvation.”
Father Richard Rohr says that John is the embodiment of the descending way. “I am not the Messiah,” John says, “I have been sent ahead of him. He must increase and I must decrease.” John makes space for God to act.
Rohr says, “John the Baptizer is the strangest combination of conviction and humility, morality and mysticism, radical prophecy and living in the present. This son of the priestly temple class does his own thing down by the riverside; he is a man born into privilege who dresses like a hippie; he is a superstar who is willing to let go of everything…” [1]
He comes by it naturally. Remember Zechariah & Elizabeth? Setting aside tradition and family expectations - allowing an angel to name their child. They empty and descend, forgetting their egos for a moment, leaning expectantly into their role in God’s story.
Rohr says that some have cleverly said ego can be understood as an acronym for “edging God out.” We allow ourselves - our own dreams, fears, ambitions - to get in the way of what God is doing. We get so caught up in our own drama that we don’t make room for Grace to be born among us. We get so busy trying to save ourselves that we forget God is our Salvation.
But John points to an alternative. John empties himself and makes room for God. Rohr says, “There’s got to be such emptiness, or we cannot point beyond ourselves to Jesus, as John did. Such emptiness doesn’t just fall into our laps; such humility does not just happen. It is surely the end product of a thousand letting-goes and a thousand acts of devotion, which for John the Baptist gradually edged God in.” [2]
In Advent, John captures our attention. Pointing the way and inviting us into this season of holy expectation. It’s not a time of passive waiting. At least it doesn’t have to be.
Advent can be a time of radical waiting. A digging deep and finding the strength and courage to accept the Gospel’s invitation to be driven forward while rooted in the present. A leaning in, leaning on, leaning against Hope as it is born again among us now. A deep breath of Peace and a giant exhalation of Joy as we make space for Love in our bodies, our homes, our community, our world.
More than anything, though, it seems that Advent is a time of radical expectancy. Feel that sense of expectancy with me now, will you? What’s the feeling you have in your body when you’re expecting something? When we’re expecting something bad, it might feel like dread. When we’re expecting something good, it might feel like elation. And then there’s everything in between - because we often don’t know what to expect, right? And there are just so many uncertainties in our lives.
To accept the invitation to Advent is to place our gaze where John directs it. To allow this wild-eyed, radical, charismatic prophet to capture our attention and hold it for a bit. To say along with Zechariah and Elizabeth and Joseph and Mary that we’re expecting.
We’re expecting God to do a new thing in our midst.
We’re expecting God to show strength with her arm and scatter the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. We’re expecting God to bring down the powerful from their thrones and lift up the lowly. Maranatha: Come, Lord Jesus.
We’re expecting that the wolf will live with the lamb and that the leopard shall lie down with the kid and the lion and that fatling together. We’re expecting that a little child will lead us. Maranatha: Come, Lord Jesus.
We’re expecting that we shall beat our swords into plowshares, and our spears into pruning hooks. We’re expecting that nation shall not lift up sword against nation, neither shall we learn war any more. Maranatha: Come, Lord Jesus.
We’re expecting that every valley shall be be lifted up and every mountains and hills be made low. We’re expecting the rough places smoothed out and the glory of God revealed and all flesh shall see it together. Maranatha: Come, Lord Jesus.
We’re expecting that the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, and give light to those who sit in darkness and the shadow of death. We’re expecting God to guide our feet into the way of peace. We’re expecting Emmanuel - the Word in flesh and blood, dwelling among us now. A light shining in the darkness. We’re expecting that the darkness cannot overcome it.
Maranatha: Come, Lord Jesus.
[1] Rohr, Richard. Preparing for Christmas: Daily Meditations for Advent (p. 21). Franciscan Media. Kindle Edition.
[2] Ibid, 2.
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