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Holy Hubert was a fixture in Berkeley when I lived in the San Francisco Bay area in the late 1960s. Hubert Lindsey was a street preacher – a powerful man with a pock‐marked face. He often wore a shiny blue suit and a white shirt frayed at the collar. He waved a well‐worn leather‐bound Bible.
He always drew a crowd and the message was always the same: Repent. He seemed convinced that most of the university students were doomed to hell and wasted no time telling them just that. There was nothing kind or gentle about him – at least as I saw him on the street. He shouted at the people who gathered around – called them draft dodgers or hippies. Some of them shouted back. Some people came to hear his preaching; some came out of curiosity; others came to heckle him.
I’m sure that someone must have been converted by Hubert’s preaching, but to me it was laced with gloom and doom – not a shred of hope. It mostly felt like browbeating.
I sometimes think of Hubert in Advent when we meet John the Baptist. John was in many ways quite different ‐‐ a messenger of hope, but had also had a kind of a rough approach to people. John was odd ‐ ‐ lived on the margins – dressed in animal skin, preached with what must have been kind of a wild‐eyed fervor. People came to him – big crowds of people, and he called them “You brood of vipers. Who warned you of the wrath to come?” John does not come off as warm and cuddly. He did not have a lot of people skills.
But wait a minute. Isn’t this the Sunday in Advent that’s a day of rejoicing ? Don’t we get a bit of relief from the gloom and doom today? Isn’t that what the pink candle on the wreath is all about?
How does this intense, shaggy preacher we call John the Baptist – this many who continually proclaims “repent!” fit with rejoicing? I ‘ll get back to John in a moment, but let’s look at the two other readings where rejoicing is closer to the surface.
Zephaniah is another one of those prophets who is only read on a Sunday once every three years and this is the year. And, interestingly enough, this is the only section in Zephaniah that isn’t about gloom and doom. “Sing aloud,” he says. “Rejoice and shout!” Judgments have been taken away. Enemies have been repelled. God is in your midst. God will rejoice over you with gladness – will renew you with his love.
This almost sparkles with joy. It is a celebration o
f God’s love for the people. The history that would give Zephaniah a context is a little murky, but it is probably from the 7th century BC and a time of foreign invasions. The joyful hymn we heard today was probably written after the people were delivered from danger. The judgments rendered because of their sinful behavior are set aside and the people are set free.
What is remarkable in this piece is that while the people are rejoicing, God is also rejoicing in the midst of the people. Everyone has burst into song and God is singing, too. God’s relationship with the people has been restored. God is not watching from a distance, but is involved with humanity up close and personal. God is invested in the life of the world.
That’s the Advent connection. At Christmas we celebrate the birth of a savior, Jesus, who was God among us – deeply invested in the life of the world. And we rejoice again.
Paul echoes this theme of joy in writing to the Philippians: Rejoice in the Lord always; again I will say, Rejoice. This is a remarkable letter, especially when we remember that he was sending it from prison.
Paul is inviting the early Christians to rejoice first in their experience of the risen Jesus who is present with the Church and also in the expectation that he will come again. I can never read this assurance that the Lord is near without thinking of that wonderful Taizé chant that we have been singing in Advent: “Wait for the Lord, whose day is near; wait for the Lord, keep watch, take heart.”
The nearness of the Lord, Paul says, takes away our need to worry and invites us to open ourselves to God in prayer. We are assured of God’s concern and protection as God’s peace surrounds us.
It’s easy in those two readings to find the rejoicing. It is right on the surface. Staring us in the face. But what about this second encounter with John the Baptist in two weeks. Where is the joy here?
Frankly, we have to dig a little deeper to find it. We left off with John calling the people who came to him to be baptized a “brood of vipers,” or, as Eugene Peterson paraphrases this, “You brood of snakes! What do you think you are doing slithering down to the river?” And then he renews his call to repent – to turn life around and live anew. Trees that are not bearing fruit are cut down and tossed into the fire, he says. (Are you feeling the joy yet? Probably not.)
Not surprisingly, the people ask him, “What should we do?” And John gives them a direct answer. This is very basic. Not rocket science at all: Share what you have with the poor; tax collectors shouldn’t gouge people; soldiers shouldn’t bully people or rip them off. This is a spirituality of everyday life. John’s instructions are basic, down to earth ethical behavior for everyday people. Soldiers, tax collectors, the men and women who live in the village down the road.
As one commentator says, There is joy in this because fidelity to God does not have to be heroic. There are opportunities to do God’s will, to be God’s people all around us. Opportunities abound. This is good news for sure.
We’ve reminded of this call to fidelity in everyday life again and again. There are opportunities to serve God in our work, our family life, our care for the earth, our use of money, our friendships, our ability to forgive others. In a way, we could be the people on that riverbank – bringing the stuff of our lives ‐‐ our longings, our struggles, and yearning for the presence of God among us. The cause for rejoicing here is that Jesus comes for all of us. This is not an exclusive club, but the wide embrace of God.
There is another cause for rejoicing here. We remember those who are on the receiving end of what John prescribes – those who need the food and clothing that is to be shared. Those who will be safe from the abuse and dishonesty of the tax collectors; those who will be protected from the extortion and bullying of the soldiers who occupied the country. The ones who are rejoicing are the vulnerable; the ones least able to defend themselves and care for themselves. This, too, is good news.
We don’t always hear this passage in a way that tunes into this concern. But there is a call here to be aware of and attentive to those who are vulnerable. Next week we will sing the Song of Mary – the Magnificat. In it are these words: God has cast down the mighty from their thrones and lifted up the lowly. He has filled the hungry with good things and the rich he has sent away empty.” The poor, the powerless have much to rejoice about in the coming of Jesus.
All of us – rich and poor, insiders and outsiders, rejoice in the one who is to come, in Jesus. John, the messenger who prepares the way for Jesus demurs a bit and calls Jesus “one more powerful than I; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals.” In Eugene Peterson’s translation John the Baptist continues, ‘The main character in this drama to whom I’m a mere stagehand, will ignite the kingdom life, a fire, the Holy Spirit within you, changing you from the inside out. He’s going to clean house – make a clean sweep of your lives.’
There’s a kind of Advent rejoicing in all of that. Anticipation. Mystery. The one who is to come and shake things up. The one who is to come who loves and cares for the vulnerable. The one who is to come who embrace of us and all humanity. The one who brings us hope. Who loves life into us.
We wait and watch for Emmanuel. For God with us. And we rejoice.
