Second Sunday of Advent

December 9, 2007
The Rev. David R. Hackett

“In those days John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness of Judea, proclaiming, ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.’ This is the one of whom the prophet Isaiah spoke when he said, ‘The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.’” -- Matt. 3:1-3

“Would you tell me, please, which way I ought to walk from here?” said Alice. “That depends a good deal on where you want to get to,” said the cat. “I don’t much care where …”, said Alice. “Then it doesn’t matter which way you walk.” said the cat.

The question of Alice in her Wonderland, in her lostness, is often our question, “Which way?” And it doesn’t matter which way if we don’t have a destination. This morning I want you to consider my belief that for all too many people there is no destination, no goal, no purpose in life. There is a sense of lostness and is pervasive in our society today. Haven’t we lost our direction when our nation is one in which 12.9 million children live in poverty? Here in West Virginia the poverty rate for children is 24.6%; that’s one in four of our children subsisting at the poverty level. If you want to check that out come and volunteer at Manna Meal and see how many families with small children there are. And the war in Iraq costs over $474 billion and counting. We continue to have the repercussions of the scandal of corporate executives who have made immense profits while their employees are forced to go on welfare. Hundreds of thousands of families are losing their homes because of foreclosures. We see the growing gap between the haves and the have-nots. Our wilderness is all around us.

But ultimately our lostness is sensed deep inside of individuals. Our era is marked by the supremacy of self. Individualism has been elevated to the highest good. My feelings, my happiness, my welfare are what are important. Others are placed on the periphery of my existence and are welcomed in so far as they benefit me.

Robert Bellah, in one of the most important books in our lifetime, Habits of the Heart, tells of an interview he conducted in preparation for the book. The interviewer was trying to discover at what point the woman being interviewed would take responsibility for another human being. Listen and ask yourself how you would answer.

Q. So what are you responsible for?
A. I’m responsible for my acts and why I do.

Q. Does that mean you’re responsible for others too?
A. No.

Q. Are you your sister’s keeper?
A. No.

Q. Are you your brother’s keeper?
A. No.

Q. Are you responsible for your husband?
A. I’m not. He makes his own decisions. He is his own person. He acts his own acts. I can agree with them or I can disagree with them. If I ever find them nauseous enough I have a responsibility to leave and not deal with it any more.

Q. What about children?

A. I …. I would say I have a legal responsibility for them, but in a sense I think they in turn are responsible for their own acts.

Isn’t that a telling interview? Everything, it seems, is centered on self.

But this season of Advent is pointing us beyond self and proclaims that everything is centered on God; that God comes to us, and we are moving to God. This lostness we experience is part of the journey. The journey is to Bethlehem. That is, the journey to wholeness, to salvation. But the journey is through the wilderness of lostness. It is a journey through the desert. T. S. Elliot addressed this when he wrote,

“You neglect and belittle the desert,
the desert is not remote in southern tropics,
the desert is not only around the corner,
the desert is squeezed I the tube-train next to you,
the desert is in the heart of your brother.”

The desert is in the heart. That’s where our wilderness lies – in the heart.

In the desert is where our faith is born. The wandering tribes of Israel couldn’t stand their time in the desert. They longed to return to slavery in Egypt. The security of what is known has more appeal than the hope-for future. Yet, it was in the desert that they found their faith in God. Our desert is in our hearts, and in the hearts of those near to us, in lives parched from lack of love, too seldom watered by words of affirmation, characterized by the aridness of existence without a healing touch or the caress of appreciation.

Everyone of us has his or her wilderness. As we walk through our desert, our wilderness of lostness, being lost in sickness, or death or alienation, we should not be surprised to find ourselves in that desert. These are things, these are the events, through which our God comes to us.

Event his time of transition here at St. John’s can feel like a desert. Transition times, interim times are often characterized as a wilderness period. Your attendance is down, your anxiety up. You want this process of searching to be over with. This can feel like a wilderness for the parish. I know that. Your vestry understands and shares that feeling.

Remember, it was in the wilderness, in the desert, that John the Baptist preached. It was in the wilderness that the children of Israel were forged into the People of God. It was in the wilderness that Jesus found the strength to persevere. And it is in our wildernesses that our God comes to us.

John the Baptist was the one spoken of by the prophet Isaiah when he said there would be a voice of one crying in the wilderness, “Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.” Isaiah’s vision was that of a highway being built in the wilderness on which God will come and lead his people safely to salvation. Isaiah could see a major thoroughfare, a wide boulevard, easily traveled.

I come from a part of the country which was explored by the Spanish. Almost every town has one road in it called “Kings highway”, el camino real. Isaiah spoke of a highway, a king’s highway; not the King of Spain, but the King of Creation.

The prophets call us to repentance; and that call is a call of grace, a call of love. The call of repentance is a call to change direction, saying “Here is the way”; follow this way on your journey homeward to the king. It is a call to no longer travel on our own, seeking our own paths, but to walk the king’s highway, a highway which leads through the wilderness, through our lostness, to wholeness, to Bethlehem. But the king’s highway which has been made straight with valleys filled and mountains and hills leveled, is not one way. For as we move on our pilgrimage to Bethlehem an amazing sight confronts us: Bethlehem comes to us!

In this Advent season we are called to remember and experience the graciousness of our God in our wilderness, in our journey. And to know again that life indeed has purpose; that each one of us has a purpose in our lives, a goal for our lives, a destination. And it is nothing less than the Kingdom of God.

Amen.