The idea I had for this sermon gave me an excuse to watch (and quote in a few seconds!) an episode of ‘Rev.’ – a painfully true-to-life TV series about an Anglican vicar ministering to the people of east London. In episode 2 of season 1 the church is temporarily taken over by a charismatic evangelical congregation, and Colin – a regular in the church – starts pursuing the opportunities they offer, including a two-day course at Center Parcs called ‘Be transformed’. He returns from the course looking very cheerful, proclaiming that he is ‘So transformed!’ and telling the vicar that the weekend was full of parties and smoothies and beautiful girls.
The experience Colin had, returning from the course with a new T-shirt, a branded bag and some glow sticks, is likely to have been a lot more exciting and entertaining than what we see in our readings and liturgy today. What we do see is indeed a demand for transformation, but it looks very different. Please bear with me as we explore it.
The Advent Prose that we hear and sing in the beginning of each 10.30 service in Advent is actually a rich piece of theology. It is also known as ‘Rorate Caeli’ after the Latin version of the opening words. The words of the refrain are from Isaiah 45 verse 8, and the rest of the text is from other chapters in the book of Isaiah. The whole text of Advent Prose, if you look at it closely, is both a journey and a dialogue between God and his people. In the first two verses the people speak, and in the last two the Almighty replies. The first verse speaks of desperation, sin and grief. The second is a confession and an acknowledgement of the distance sin has created between God and Israel. Verse three speaks of God’s power and his certainty in choosing the ones he has chosen, and finally the last verse leads us into the joy of forgiveness. ‘Fear not, for I will save you’, says the Lord, ‘I have swept your offences away like a cloud’. It is a journey from the darkness of abandonment into the light of forgiveness, enabled by God’s love. Our Old Testament reading from Zephaniah echoes a joyful proclamation of forgiveness. It speaks of renewal and restoration, love, victory and end of all fear. Sounds wonderful! But – and it is an important ‘but’ – this is not just God’s work; we also are not to be passive travellers on this journey. For all these great things to take place, we are required to change, to be transformed. What we are not seeing in this passage from Zephaniah is the preceding verses that tell about the Lord utterly destroying the earth, bringing distress and punishing those who have not listened to him. He tells people to turn to Him, to seek righteousness and to repent before they can be pardoned. They must correct their ways before the joyful days can come.
It is interesting that we seem to talk about personal transformation a lot in Lent – abstaining from things we like perhaps too much, leading a more prayerful life, studying together through Lent courses and generally paying attention to our spiritual wellbeing. But it seems that we might be expected to do the same in Advent. In fact, the season of Advent is likely to have originated in the 6th century as a six-week pre-Christmas fast, similar to Lent. Moreover, Advent and Christmas are leading up to Epiphany, which used to be a great baptismal season, equal to if not greater than Easter. In the Eastern Orthodox church, the Baptism of Christ, celebrated in January, is still a valued and public opportunity for the renewal of baptismal vows. Thus, the narratives of Advent and baptism are linked together, just as they are in today’s Gospel reading.
John the Baptist is known as ‘the voice crying in the wilderness’, the one leading the way and making the Messiah’s paths straight. It all is about going before the Lord, as I said last week. However – and the clue is in the name – baptism is a part of it. It is particularly clear in Luke’s Gospel and, to an extent, also in Matthew: John’s baptism comes with a demand of radical re-structuring of the candidate’s life. The tax-collectors, those who live off their own greed, are told not to take what is not theirs as they are baptised. The soldiers, the epitome of corruption, have to promise to be satisfied with their wages and not coerce anyone into giving them more. Everyone else must share with those who lack the things they happen to have. Baptism is not something to receive, it is something to enact. It is something that we have to transform ourselves for. As the reading tells us, our efforts will be judged by the Messiah when he arrives, as he separates those who put the effort in and those who did not bother.
The point of being ready to meet Christ is not only in being alert enough and having our eyes peeled, because he will come ‘like a thief in the night’, but in making ourselves ready to be worthy of him.
Christmas is not just the story of the birth of the Christ-child which we tell following the Lukan birth narrative – it is ‘a change in the world order’, an event ‘of cosmic significance’. It is way greater than a story or a calendar event. It is a change to our very reality which continually unfolds before our eyes, not just at Christmas time. In the same way, baptism is not just an affirmative rite of passage involving a cute baby and proud godparents who say all the right words at the right time and then have a party. Baptism is a demand for transformation. Next time we have in front of us the liturgy containing renewal of baptismal vows let us be mindful of this. Most of us will have been baptised as children, but, just like the change in the world order invoked by the coming of Christ, the call to be transformed is ongoing.
Our final destination on this journey will be a synthesis of our work and God’s mercy. Remember God’s promise of forgiveness in the last verse of Advent prose and the uplifting verses promising rejoicing and exultation in Zephaniah? This is God’s work. We can trust him to do it. But changing our own ways to be loving, prayerful and mindful of others is our work, which we sometimes neglect to do perhaps relying too much on God’s mercy. I think it is easy to think of the birth of Christ and of God’s forgiveness and making all things new as some kind of magic: the Almighty will turn up and make everything right because he is almighty! But the task is shared and we have our part in it too.
If at this point you are thinking, ‘Oh dear, I have not done well, I am doomed’, don’t worry, because, rather paradoxically, this is the good bit: we always start in the dark. The Advent Prose starts in desolation and desperation, the whole season of Advent is a journey from the darkness of sin and failure into the light of Christ, the book of Zephaniah starts with destruction before it ends with glorious forgiveness and the same happens in other minor prophets’ books. Even the earthly life of Christ starts by going all wrong: we get a poor baby born God knows where instead of a great king everyone was waiting for. But every journey that has a negative starting point concludes with the ultimate good coming from God. And the whole story, having started in a manger, culminates in victory over death! There is hope, wherever we start. And as we approach Christmas and continue to be transformed (but hopefully not like Colin), let us be reminded of that hope that every story leads to, no matter how dark or desperate the beginning, no matter how much work there may be ahead of us. Our hope will make the work easy. Amen.