Dec. 11, 2022

Third Sunday in Advent

Texts: Isaiah 35:1-10 and Matthew 11:12-1

A highway shall be there, and it shall be called the Holy Way; it shall be for God’s people;

no traveler, not even fools, shall go astray. (from Isaiah 35)

I would love to find a road where it is impossible to go astray. As many of you know, I am unbelievably bad at directions; even in a small town like Davis I am often unable to find my way from Point A to Point B without the direct and sustained intervention of my smart phone. The idea of a highway through the wilderness where it is impossible to get lost, where God’s people have a perfect, unerring navigation system, is incredibly alluring to me. How nice it would be to never again waste my time on wrong turns, dead ends, and missed highway exits.

While the prophet Isaiah points to what God wants for the world, how God desires for us to live, a world of straight paths through a desert made verdant and alive, we know that this isn’t exactly how things really are in the here and now. Most of us probably don’t feel like we are walking unerringly along the path of holiness, never stumbling or searching or veering off course. We may want to blame ourselves for this disconnect, or we might be tempted to find fault with others. Surely someone is to blame!

But our Gospel today reminds us that even a person as dedicated to a holy life as John the Baptist was had moments when he could not figure out why the world appeared so different than the way he thought it was supposed to be. Being in prison, his life about to end at the hand of a cruel despot, was one of those moments.

John is the last person we might expect to find himself in this dilemma. He spent his life in a state of total obedience and self-abnegation, becoming the voice crying out in the wilderness, and risking everything to prepare his people for the arrival of Jesus. He was as  utterly ego-less and fearless as a man could be, completely uninterested in the usual trappings of success and power.

And yet, when he winds up in prison, he finds he has a few questions. Giving his life for a messiah who would come and set things right for Israel is one thing, but giving his life for a nice guy who seems content to hang out with sinners and tax collectors while wandering around telling stories about mustard seeds and hidden treasures…well, that wasn’t exactly what he’d had in mind. Doubt is beginning to creep in. And so he sends people to ask Jesus, “Are you the one? Or should we keep looking?”

The response Jesus gives is the heart of our Gospel today. There are two parts to it, but it all hinges on a single question: What did you go out to see? It’s a question that, if we grapple with it long enough and often enough, can guide us as we seek our own Holy Way through the wilderness. Asking “what did you go out to see?” challenges us to honestly assess our own predisposition to see what we want to see, our all-too-human tendency to feel betrayed when reality doesn’t match up with our expectations or preconceptions.  

Notice that Jesus does not get angry with John for having doubts, nor does he hurry to reassure him with his own promises or proclamations. Instead, he asks the people who know John to provide their own testimony; he wants them to be able to talk about what they have seen and heard. All around Jesus good things are happening, things that are especially good if you are poor, sick, weary, or marginalized. But just because these things are happening doesn’t mean that everyone notices them, or interprets them in the same way, and it certainly doesn’t mean that everyone is happy about them. So much depends on what exactly they were looking for, what they went out to see.

Jesus doesn’t say, “Tell John about all the good things I’m doing.” Instead, Jesus says something like, “If you see good things happening around me and because of me, then speak from the heart about your experience, about what you have seen and heard.” Even the son of God knew that there is nothing more powerful than firsthand witnesses sharing their own stories of healing and new life.

In fact, this is one of the primary purposes of the church. As we seek to be transformed by God’s love, to live our lives in holiness and hope, we need a place where we can be encouraged to see the good that is all around us and also encouraged to practice sharing this good news with one another and with the world, both in words and actions.

To me, that is what it means to walk on the Holy Way—not that we will never make a mistake or take a wrong turn, but that we will always be seeking to see the good in the world, to be on the lookout for moments of generosity and kindness and healing. In our own small ways, we can help strengthen people’s hands and bring courage to their hearts, until we all “obtain joy and gladness.”

Admittedly, it is not always easy to see the good in life. Yesterday I sat watching trees outside my window bending almost to the ground as seemingly unending wind and rain tore through town. I knew that what was an inconvenience for me—this was the day we were supposed to buy our Christmas tree!—was a true hardship for others. I worried about people who live on the streets of Davis, and prayed that they were finding shelter. It all left me feeling a little helpless and flustered.

And yet, at the same time, I was so grateful for the rain, a true answer to a prayer. Our soil has been so parched, our rivers and ponds so close to empty, our watersheds on the brink of collapse. Even if we might prefer a gentle shower instead of a wild storm, it is impossible to deny how much our land needs this water. In the steady drumbeat of rain on my roof I heard echoes of Isaiah 35: “The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom…it shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing.” I prayed to be able to hear the sound of rain as the sound of the desert singing.

Most things in life are like the rain. They’re both good and bad, both welcome and threatening, not just one thing or the other. That is precisely why we need to keep asking ourselves the questions Jesus asked: “What do you see?” and, even more, “What are you looking for?” Because it’s very likely that what we are looking for will shape what you see, and what we see shapes our whole lives.

Back in the early days of our marriage, my husband John was my real-life Global Positioning System. When I would get very lost driving somewhere on my own, I didn’t have a cell phone to help me out. I would have to stop the car, find a public pay phone, and call him. He would look at a map, if necessary, and help me figure out where I had gone wrong and what I needed to do next to get back on track. He probably doesn’t miss those days all that much, never knowing when I would call in a panic, and most of the time I’m glad to have a worldwide navigation system in my pocket, but sometimes I still feel like I should call him and ask for help, just for old times’ sake. A church can be a little bit like that, too—full of people who help us get back on track when we can’t quite find our own way.

What do you see? What are you looking for? When I look around me today, I see people who keep showing up, keep finding ways to bring good news into the world. I see parents working hard to raise kind and compassionate children. I see teachers and caregivers, I see friends who visit people who are sick or lonely. I see busy professionals who nevertheless make time to serve on committees, set up for worship, or bake cookies for coffee hour. I see people who are walking the Holy Way. In Baptism, we welcome people to the path and promise to be their companions on the way. In the Eucharist, we recognize that we all need to find bread for the journey and share it with others. It is not in walking perfectly, but in walking together, that the way is made holy. Amen.