“A Home for Joy”
Third Sunday of Advent
December 12, 2021
Zephaniah 3:14-20
Luke 3:1-18
I suppose most pastors preaching this weekend will be speaking about Joy. But online, most of my colleagues have been engaging in conversation about how to squeeze joy out of today’s gospel lesson. “You brood of vipers!” Joy! “Repent!” Joy! “He will separate the wheat from the chaff!” JOY!!!
Or not. Doesn’t sound very joyful. It sounds miserable, hurtful, and full of foreboding and fear. And as much as I’d like to focus on anything other than crazy-John’s fire-and-brimstone sermon, I do think there is joy to be found here. It’s just not in the form we might think of when we consider Christmas joy—at least from a secular viewpoint.
The other night, my family was watching National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation. Poor Clark Griswold had this idea of what a perfect Christmas should look like. It should have lots of decorations, tons of lights, delectable food, and days of days of family gathered together, sharing stories, faces aglow in the light of the fire. And everything he does to try to make that happen falls apart completely. But what I loved about watching the movie was affirmation that I’m doing something write. He was trying to convince his wife that Christmas was about gathering family and making memories, and at the same time, Seth and I both yelled, “No, it’s about Jesus!”
Because here’s the thing. Clark’s tree burned up, the turkey was an ashen carcass, the lights didn’t work at first, the family was a mess, and he didn’t get the bonus he was counting on. All of the planning in the world couldn’t create this happy, perfect holiday experience he had wanted so much. Happiness is too fragile a thing. It depends completely on outside forces. And, in the end, there’s always the anticipation of it all falling apart.
But joy is quite different. Joy comes from within. Joy is a choice. “Happiness,” as one commentator quoted, “denies the darkness. Joy dispels it. Happiness is temporary. Joy is lasting.” By the end of the movie, Clark discovered joy as he accepted the quirkiness of his family—but it’s still not the joy of the true center of Christmas. He got his bonus. Everything worked out okay. The squirrel in the tree was finally put outside. By the end of the movie—as in most movies—all of the issues were solved, and the all of the loose ends tied up in a nice, neat bow.
But in real life, that rarely happens. In real life, wars still rage on; loved ones still die; jobs are lost; families are evicted; people still wait at the border; children are still rejected because of who they are or who they love; sex trafficking still happens; bullies still win. And the world is still run by those who have the power to oppress others. In the real world, happiness can often be very hard to come by. But joy…joy is different.
Joy is subversive. If you want to tick off someone who is trying to get you down, don’t show them happiness. Show them joy.
In today’s gospel, we find that many came to the Jordan River to be baptized by John. This was no routine baptism. People had expectations. They wanted to be cleansed from their sins. But John throws in a caveat. His sermon—the one he preached over and over again—was simple. “Repent…and be baptized.” Repent. Bear fruit worthy of repentance. Show the world what this means, this cleansing of sins. Because it’s not just about you and your personal guilt. It’s so much bigger.
I wonder if the people looked at sin the way we do today. We’ve made sin an element of personal lifestyle and choice. Our ‘sins’ are the bad things that we, as individuals, do. But Sin is so much more pervasive. It’s not just about whether you decide to cheat on that test—or on your taxes. It’s not just about committing adultery or stealing from the convenience store. It’s fine to confess those sins and not do them again. But John refers to something much bigger—the Sin of community—the Sin of the world.
If Jesus is going to take away the Sin of the world, it might be good to understand what that is. The Sin of the world is, in part, the ways in which we allow certain practices because they benefit us. It’s celebrating Thanksgiving as a time of partnership between Europeans and Native Americans while forgetting how the new immigrants annihilated the Native people and their way of life—and continuing those practices without wanting to know about it. It’s enjoying the life in the suburbs while pretending that white flight never happened—and encouraging the disparities through redistricting and government decisions. It’s bemoaning the difficulties of shipping and distribution without working toward better work conditions and pay for those who are in the industries. It’s demanding cheaper products without caring about the sweat shop kids who make them—and die for them.
Sin is ignoring the ugly truths underneath the conveniences and privilege we enjoy. Because these conveniences make us happy—until they don’t. And while we may not want to hear about these injustices that we take part in, this is exactly what John is pointing out. “You brood of vipers!” he says. You think that just because you are descendants of Abraham, you get a pass from responsibility? Just because you go to church and call yourselves Christian and make confession and are promised forgiveness of sin, you don’t need to think about the world differently? That we can just go back to business as usual once we leave?
To their credit, the crowd and the tax collectors and even the soldiers (!) ask what they should do. It’s not to prove to God that they are worthy, by the way. It’s to begin to enact the joy that the coming Messiah anticipates. How do we live into this repentance? How do we change our ways? And the question isn’t posed out of fear. Even though John tells of a day when the Messiah will distinguish the good from the bad, this isn’t about avoiding hell. It’s about engaging hope. It’s about embodying the kin-dom that is to come.
And John recommends that the people act for the well-being of those around them. It’s not rocket science, folks. It’s quite simple. To paraphrase what John is saying, “Don’t be a jerk.” Or more eloquently, “Love your neighbor.” But that’s not easy. It’s not easy when the systems in place make it nearly impossible to do the right thing. It means letting go of some of the ways in which we have come to rely upon. Letting go of the conveniences and privilege that have serve us so well—even at the demise of others. It means practicing a way of life that flies in the face of what many of our friends and family would identify as practical—or American. It’s kind of like practicing joy, even in the midst of deep darkness.
I’ve only recently heard the term dialectical behavior therapy. It’s a practice initially designed for those diagnosed with bipolar disorder, but has been expanded to serve those with PTSD, ADHD, anxiety, depression, addiction, and many other challenges. In a nutshell, I would describe it as ‘fake it till you make it.’ But obviously, it’s more complex. It’s recognizing your feelings in the moment and practicing a variety of self-talk and bodily actions to move you out of dangerous behavior without dismissing your feelings. It’s learning how to experience joy when you are anything but happy.
It’s what John suggests to the crowd that gathers. Practice generosity until it becomes part of you. Practice humility until it’s natural. Practice joy until it no longer feels like work. Not that it changes God—but it changes us. It forms within us a character that better reflects our God of love—the God who gave up everything for our very lives. The God who both entered and exited life in complete vulnerability (a stupid idea by our standards) to show us that joy and hope are not found in circumstances but in relationship with God and one another. Joy and hope and love and faith—these are the experiences that last. These are the things that will change the world.
Pastor Tobi White
Our Saviour’s Lutheran Church
Lincoln, NE
