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The Church of
Our Saviour
in the Town of Secaucus, New Jersey
----------------Leave frames---------------------
An honest
mistake
Reflections on the
lessons for the Third Sunday of Advent
17 December 2000
By The Rev. Mark A.
Lewis, Vicar
Zephaniah 3:14-20 / Psalm 85:7-13
Philippians 4:4-7(8-9) / Luke
3:7-18
Good morning . you brood of vipers.
You look pretty lazy to me. Can I see some kind of evidence
that you really mean business about hooking up with God?
Is that any way for a preacher to
greet a congregation? Not for me. Not here. Not now. So
don't worry. I recognize that I'm no John the
Baptist.
And even John admitted that he
could only go so far when it came to holding up the standard
of God's judgement to the community of faithful
people.
There's no use alienating everyone
with a fire-breathing exhortation. Jesus shows us that the
preacher's job -- the prophet's job, the disciple's job --
is to open the community of God's people to anyone who'll
come in. And then trust that as many people as possible will
begin to see the world in God's way, begin to "repent" and
prepare for the Kingdom's birth all over the world.
John knew that he could get
people's attention. And he was really good at it, too. But
he admits that he is only a forerunner. He points to a more
authoritative prophet yet to come. One with such integrity
and insight that John is unworthy so much as to untie the
thong of his sandal. Sandals. In the time of Jesus people
wore only sandals -- if they wore any shoes at all.
And even though our own streets
today are hardly sanitary, just think about the streets
Jesus and his friends walked. They were dirt streets. And
they were filled with animals wandering all over -- doing
what animals do in streets. And people probably threw things
out into the streets that we wouldn't throw there today. The
Encyclopedia of New York City (Ed: Kenneth Jackson, Yale,
1995) gives a pretty ripe picture of the streets of
Manhattan from Colonial times right up to the beginning of
World War I. The horse-drawn traffic and the sanitation
policies (or lack thereof) left the cobblestones covered
with inches of manure and garbage and mud to the point that
even paved streets looked like dirt roads.
You can imagine that foot washing
was important in the ancient world. When the man of the
house came home -- or when guests arrived -- it was the most
basic of courtesies to have someone get out the water and
wash up the feet. And it was a not a pretty job -- reserved
for entry-level slaves and, lacking those, the women of the
house -- always candidates for doing the dirty work when no
one else is available for it.
Knowing that makes today's gospel
all the more interesting. John the Baptist was not a nobody.
He was the great and famous prophet of his time. He was a
bona fide celebrity. People came from great distances to
hear his preaching and to have him baptize them in the
Jordan River. It was a kind of initiation rite that said
publicly "Sign me up. This guy hits the nail right on the
head." John was so famous that Herod, the Roman governor of
Palestine and a very important national figure, had John
arrested and executed because Herod took John's criticism of
the court's private life so seriously. So how could this man
-- one so ferocious and authoritative about God's message --
be unworthy to do even the humblest service for the one who
was coming? The one -- whoever it might be -- who would be
the real spokesman for God?
Well, John didn't believe that he
was himself the Messiah. People just know these things. And
the Bible leaves us still to wonder just what Jesus himself
thought about the whole subject. But John was convinced that
whoever came along to turn the whole Jewish world around
would be so holy and so righteous that the Israelites would
turn back to godly ways and never stray again. Something
John never thought he could do on his own. But he thought he
could get the ball rolling at least.
John was probably -- no, certainly
-- thinking of himself as somewhat like Moses. Being just a
mortal, Moses was never allowed to see God with his eyes,
but he was chosen to have a close encounter with God on
Mount Sinai and to be a messenger for God bringing them the
Law, the commandments. When Moses came down from the
mountain, it is said, his face was glowing so much from
getting even a little closer to the presence of God that he
had to put a veil over his face before people could look
directly at him.
The great Judeo-Christian legend
says that after God made a covenant with the Hebrews at
Sinai -- agreed with them on how to live a good life -- the
God consented to dwell among them in a particular way. They
would be the Chosen People. The tablets of the commandments
and Moses' staff were put in a special chest -- the Ark of
the Covenant -- and carried around on long pole wherever the
wandering Jews went on their long journey from slavery in
Egypt to the Promised Land. It carried with it -- in the
people's hearts and minds -- the presence of God. Later,
when David was King of Israel, he had the Ark moved at last
into the grand Temple he had built in Jerusalem. At last, a
permanent home for the Holy One.
But, as the Ark was being
transported there, one of the men carrying the poles slipped
and fell. Another one of the carriers, Uzzah, threw up his
hands and grabbed the side of the Ark to keep it from
hitting the ground.
Who knows what happened next?
Instead of being rewarded for saving the precious Ark, the
holiest thing in the world to the people, Uzzah was struck
dead on the spot. He had come too close to the Divine. And
he was just a sinner, unworthy. Unworthy to touch the vessel
that contained something real about God and he paid the
ultimate price.
Later, in Jerusalem, people
believed that God lived among the Israelites in the Holy of
Holies -- where the Ark was kept -- in the very center of
the Temple. There were many levels of approach to God. Outer
courtyards where anyone (that means Gentiles and women)
could go. Father in, Jewish men could go. Still closer to
the center, only priests could go to take in people's
sacrifices. Finally, in the Holy of Holies, only the High
Priest could go -- then only once a year. Dressed in his
finest robes, walking backward, looking down, face covered
(lest he accidentally see the glory of God and be struck
down just like Uzzah) he would make the greatest sacrifice
of the year on the Day of Atonement -- Yom Kippur -- daring
the presence of God to beg mercy for the sins of the whole
nation.
All that was behind John's
statement about loosing the strap of the Messiah's sandal.
John didn't know what to expect when the Messiah would come.
But reason and tradition led him to assume that someone so
close to God would be so holy and righteous that to touch
him -- maybe even just to look at him -- might cause an
ordinary sinner to drop dead on the spot.
So, in our part of the story of
God, we think of Jesus as that one who was coming. The way
the events get told to us by the gospel writers, as John
exited the stage, Jesus entered -- to fulfill the big, big
role John saw coming next. And what Jesus did would have
shaken John to the core -- maybe even made him faint dead
away -- had he lived to see it.
The Holy One from God sat down and
ate at the table with sinners of all kinds: Prostitutes, tax
collectors (notorious cheats and bullies), foreigners who
weren't even aware of the Law of Moses or Jewish living. The
Messiah -- as people eventually came to believe -- let
lepers and a woman with a hemorrhage and people who clearly
were being punished by God for some secret sin (deaf and
dumb and lame and blind people) touch him. And what did they
get in return? Struck dead? No, healed. Were they made to
pay dearly for their sins and their mistakes? No, the sins
and the mistakes were forgotten, forgiven. It was a whole
new way of thinking about God. A new way of living with
God.
Remember that the Bible is not a
hastily filed newspaper report by a harried journalist. It
is an interwoven poem developed over thousands of years by
sophisticated religious philosophers. So, it really does
matter that John says "I am unworthy to take off the coming
Holy One's sandals" at the beginning of the story of God
coming to live among us in a new way. And the story of Jesus
of Nazareth draws to its close with him tying a towel around
his waist and washing his friends' feet.
The revision comes full circle. An
exceptional vision of how God wants to live with us is
complete. It's not a rulebook in a box that's holy. It's a
heart and a spirit in a human body. He takes off his
disciples' sandals like a slave. He washes their feet. And
they are not struck dead. They are filled with something
they never felt before.
We aren't worthy to untie Jesus'
sandals. And we aren't worthy to come to the altar and share
the sacred meal he shared with the disciples after their
feet were washed.
But nevertheless, Jesus has
embraced us, and loved us, and loves us still. He asks that
we love him back. And he wants us to love each other. He
especially asks us to look after the poor, the sick, the
dying, the prisoners, and the ones who can't seem to make it
through life as well as some of us can. The ones people once
thought weren't holy enough for God. It was an honest
mistake -- and easily made. Who could blame John for it? But
after Jesus we should know better. Always look for the good
news in any sermon. And here it is in this one. We are
sisters and brothers with Jesus, one big unworthy family.
And in God's family there are lots and lots of people -- as
holy as Jesus and as unworthy as me -- with dirty
feet.
-- Mark Lewis
Your comments or questions are welcome MLewis@secaucus.org.
Links to additional "Reflections on
Lessons" may be found at the bottom of the Sunday web page.
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