Sermon - Advent 3 - Matthew 11:2-15

Last week we saw John the Baptist at the peak of his ministry – baptizing crowds and calling out Pharisees. Today, we read a bit further in Matthew's Gospel, and John's in a much different place. Prison, in fact. He had criticized King Herod, who had taken his brother's wife, and didn't take kindly to John's finger-pointing. John's hopes for release were slim. And we all know what John's fate would soon be – beheaded at a grizzly birthday party for the king. In the valley of the shadow of death – John sends his followers to ask Jesus, “are you the one, or shall we look for another?” 

 

Today, we light that pink candle in our Advent wreath. It's often called the “shepherds candle” or the candle of Joy. This season of preparation evokes in us many and varied responses – and joy should be one of them. For like the shepherds who first heard the news of Christ's birth, we too believe he is the one who is to come. The Savior who brings peace on earth and God's good will toward man. We have joy, even in our expectation of Christmas. But then there's John, sitting in prison.... 

 

John must have looked around his prison cell, and found it a rather joy-less place. We can only imagine what it was like. Probably not the clean and sterile institutional setting of today's prisons – you might imagine a rat scurrying here or there. It was probably a dark place without much sunlight – figurative or literal. 

 

And if we think about what John might have heard in his prison, perhaps it was the moaning of other prisoners. The jingling of jailers' keys. The sharpening of their axes. Or even the silence of his own isolation. In any case, nothing to be joyful about. A man sitting, thinking, alone with his thoughts, and perhaps his doubts. 

 

We can relate. As we look around, and listen – what do we hear this Advent season? 

We might look around at the decorations, the bright lights and greenery. We might see the gleaming snow and the cheery red cheeks of well-wishers. We might see joy on the surface. But a closer look reveals that all is not right with this world. Sin doesn't stop for the holidays. People don't stop being people just because it's December. In some ways, the stress of the season makes us even more miserable – or makes us miserable to be around. We are busy and preoccupied. We are worried and harried. We'd like to take time to reflect on the deeper meaning of it all – but we're so easily distracted by the sights and sounds, or by the worries and cares. 

 

Or perhaps you're more like John, sitting alone with his thoughts. Maybe loneliness or the grief of a lost loved one is your constant companion in this jingle-belled jailhouse. You sit there looking at everyone on the outside going on with life as usual – happy and cheerful it seems, but you're stuck in a place that seems hopeless and joyless. 

 

Give John this. If he wrestled with unbelief, he still had some belief. In the depths of his doubt, in the dark hour of his coming demise, he reaches to Jesus through his disciples. He longs to hear a word of hope. He wants to be re-assured that Jesus really is the one. 

 

And you can say, “What a doubter! Wasn't this the same John who boldly proclaimed Jesus the Lamb of God? Who baptized him and heard the voice and saw heaven open and the dove come down?” Yes. Isn't this the same John of whom Jesus said, “among those born of women, none is greater than John?” Yes. But even the greatest of us still needs the word of Christ. Even the most faithful, the most bold and the strongest Christians need the Gospel. We all face times of joy-less-ness in our messy prison of sin. We all need to be lifted up, to see and hear.... 

 

And Jesus delivers. He sends the message back. Not a promise of earthly deliverance. No get out of jail free card. But a better answer than John could have hoped for. “Look around, John. Listen, John”. 

 

What you see – the signs of the Messiah. The miracles of Jesus point to who he is, and the list has a sort of crescendo. Healings and wonders of various kinds were his calling cards, meant to point to something even greater. Notice the climax of the answer isn't even the raising of the dead. It is this:  that the good news is preached to the poor. The Gospel!  That’s how we know Jesus is the one.   

 

What do you see? What do you hear? When it comes to Jesus – what we see and hear is good news. 

 

John must have found it hard to be joyful in prison, for what he saw and heard was so dismal. But take a look and take a listen at Calvary. On that dark day, on a hill far away, with suffering and shame were on full display. Take a look at the bloody, beaten, humiliated man wearing a thorny crown and nailed to an instrument of death. And listen to them jeering and mocking and spitting. See his disciples deserting him, and the soldiers surrounding him, casting lots for his clothing. And hear the women weeping and the silence of God as his own Son suffers. It’s not a pretty picture, it’s a ghastly scene.  It’s not the sound of music, but a funeral dirge of despair.  And joy, where is that on Good Friday? 

 

But then hear these words: “It is finished”. 

 

And then look – and see what is not there. Just a few days, and he has burst the bonds of death. The prison of his tomb is left, door wide open. And hear the words of angels, “He is risen!”. 

 

If you're like John, stuck in the prison of your sins and the broken sinful prison of life around you. If you're looking for a word of encouragement – a word of joy. Then look, and listen. But don't just look to the bright lights, and listen only to the carols piped into the shopping malls. Look to Jesus. Listen to Jesus. Look to his cross and empty tomb. Listen to his promising word, and hear his absolution. 

 

You may not be set free from prison.  You may not be healed, or granted a miracle. Indeed, like John, you may even face death. But you will know the good news of his truth. And even if you die, you will live. And even in your suffering, you will find joy in him. 

 

For you will look and listen with the eyes and ears of faith – and see a whole different reality. He who has eyes to see, let him see Jesus. He who has ears, let him hear Jesus. In his name, Amen. 

Sermon - Advent 2 - Isaiah 11:1-10

 

Imagine a large tree, towering up high, with a thick trunk and many branches.  Mightier than the other trees in the forest, full of fruit and home to all sorts of woodland creatures.  Maybe it’s a landmark in and of itself, “you know, down by the big oak tree”.  It seems like it’s been there forever.  It seems like it will be there forever. 

But then one day, you look and it’s just gone.  Like a void in the space, the whole scenery is changed.  Someone has come along and chopped down this mammoth.  And all that remains is a sad, lonely stump.  What a loss.  What a tragedy.  What a symbol of despair. 

That’s the picture Isaiah begins with in his Advent prophecy.  Only the tree was a grand metaphor for something else.  It was a picture of the line of David, the Davidic dynasty.  The roots are the roots of Jesse, king David’s father.  And the trunk and branches are David and all the kings in his royal line that followed him. 

It was a grand dynasty, to be sure.  David’s kingdom is still regarded as the glory days of Israel. The star of David is even seen today on the flag of the modern nation of Israel.  Never before, and really never since, has that land enjoyed the peace and prosperity relative to its neighbors as it did under David and Solomon.  They were truly the “good old days”.   

But then generation after generation, things seemed to deteriorate.  David’s heirs were not so faithful, on the whole.  They fell into pagan worship and dragged the whole nation with them. Finally God’s patience ran out, and his judgment came upon them in the form of the Babylonians.  And Nebuchadnezzar deposed the last Davidic king, blinded him, and carried him off to exile in Babylon.  The Babylonians had reduced the once powerful and grand Davidic dynasty to nothing but a remnant.  The mighty tree cut down, to a stump. 

Now, as bad as that was, for the Israelites as a nation and a people, and for the family of David itself, it had far greater theological implications.  For God had made a promise to David: 

“Your house and your kingdom shall be made sure forever before me. Your throne shall be established forever.”  2 Samuel 7:16 

Ah, but the house of David had now fallen.  The throne of David was empty.  The tree of David was cut down, a mere stump remained.  So the question is, did God break his promise?  Did he forget his precious words to David?  Did the Babylonians just prove too powerful, the kings of this world overcoming even the word of the heavenly king? 

Of course not.  And Isaiah the prophet (himself also a nephew and grandson of Davidic kings) comes along to give them hope.  A shoot.  A branch.  New growth will come from this stump of Jesse.  Where death seemed to reign, life would spring forth.  Where all hope seemed lost, hope would again come forth.  God would remember his promise, and fulfill it in an even more grand fashion. 

Now, not just a tree, but all of creation will be restored.  The wild animals will make nice with the domestic.  Predator and prey will no longer be at odds.  Even young children can play with the venomous vipers safely.  Paradise is restored.  No more hurt or harm.  Everything is to be set right again.  What a beautiful poetic picture.  And it is fulfilled in the Advent of God’s own son, the Son of David, Jesus Christ our Lord. 

Jesus himself, who was cut down by means of a tree – crucified and brought to nothing, died and buried.  And all hope seemed lost.  But life sprang forth from that borrowed tomb, and he conquered death in a glorious turn of events.  Now, all who come to his cross find a life-giving tree.  All who are grafted into him, the true vine, bear fruit in abundance.  He becomes a far greater and grander king than any descendant of David ever was, for his kingdom endures forever.   

We are not too unlike those poor Israelites in exile.  We, too, live in a world that has been decimated by sin.  We mourn in lonely exile here.  We remember God’s promises to us, but sometimes they are hard to believe and hard to see in light of all the despair and darkness around us. 

We suffer loss and heartache.  Sometimes especially at the holidays, we remember the glory days gone by when life seemed simpler and happier.  We yearn for the company of loved ones who are no longer with us.  Those were happier times, it seems to us.  Things were better.  The nostalgia of the season taps into these sorts of sentiments.  But there’s a bittersweetness to it, a sense of innocence lost, a feeling that things can never be the way they used to be.  If only we could go back.  If only we appreciated it more at the time. Seems like maybe all we’re left with is a stump of what the tree used to be. 

But God remembers us, and he remembers his promises to us. And into all of that comes Christ.  The Savior of the nations.  The hope of all people.  The Prince of Peace.  The one who comes to make all things new.  The one who by his death and resurrection brings light and life to all.  The one who restores the paradise that was lost, rebuilds the fallen booths of David, and establishes the mighty tree once again.  The one who brings forgiveness, life and salvation. 

He’s not just the shoot from the stump of Jesse, he’s also the root.  He was before David and Jesse and Abraham and even Adam.  He was in the beginning with God because he is God.  And he ever will be the same, yesterday, today, forever.  His kingdom will have no end. 

And if you are with him, and in him, if you look to him and trust in him, there is always hope.  There is always promise.  There is the guarantee that all that we’ve lost due to sin and death will be restored, and then some.   

Back in the Garden, there was that first tree that led to our downfall, the tree of knowledge of good and evil.  When they ate of it, Adam and Eve and all their children were cast out, and could no longer eat from the tree of life.  They would die. But God promised a second Adam, who came and conquered by a tree, that his cross would become the tree of life for all who trust in him.  And in John’s Revelation we see that tree of life pictured once again, bearing fruit year round, and even its leaves are for the healing of the nations.   

We Christians have a sort of reverse-nostalgia for that day, when God in Christ will set everything right again, when paradise will be restored, we, even our bodies are restored, and every tear will be wiped from our eyes by God himself.  We long not for the days of old, but for the days to come.  The good new days he has promised. 

We have a preview of all of that, in the holy supper he sets before us today, where we feast on the fruits of his cross, and enjoy just a foretaste of heaven.  Like the shoot from the stump, the regrowth that is so small, but carries with it the promise of a full restoration, so do we find our future tied up in the blessings of this sacred meal which promises us blessing unto life everlasting.  And so we receive it, and we depart in peace. 

The stump of Jesse, the symbol of loss in this world – may it serve as a reminder to us, this Advent season, that in Christ there is yet hope.   In Jesus, the branch, the shoot from that stump, we have the hope of life even in the face of death, the joy that transcends sorrow, and the peace that passes understanding...