DECEMBER 13, 2020 "Waiting for the Light" Rev. Dal McCrindle
“Who are you?” That’s a question that’s usually asked or implied at every gathering, be it a church meeting or any social occasion. “George, Mary, I’d like you to meet Helen and Dal. Dal’s the minister at St. David’s United Church in West Vancouver. And Helen does fabric arts, finishing work and kilt making in her studio. Before you’ve got your coat off and thrown onto the pile in the Master Bedroom, you’ve been exposed. Your anonymity is lost. They know who you are what you do. We tend to be uncomfortable when we’re with someone we don’t know. I think that’s why most of us go to church because we are trying to get a handle on the infinite; we’re trying to find out who God is. Even if we never solve the mystery of God’s love for us, it’s kind of comforting to go someplace where we have a way of talking to, or at least about God that helps to make us feel a little less lost in the universe. It’s comforting to have songs to sing and rituals to perform; and I believe acting out the mystery is essential for everyone — take ritual away from the church and people will create an environment to introduce ritual back into their lives. Ritual helps us express what is inexpressible.
But the privilege of gathering for worship, even watching it virtually has involved some risk, only I’m not thinking about the dangers of persecution from the past or even about bad preaching. I’m thinking about the danger of religion; that’s the systems invented and defended by humans in order to pigeonhole God. Someone once said, it’s not Christianity I dislike, it’s organized religion.
Just to make sure I was on safe ground here, I looked up the word religion in my concordance. It’s mentioned five times, once in the book of Acts when Paul is talking about his past as a Pharisee, twice in Galatians when he’s speaking about the Jewish religion and twice in the letter of James where James defines religion as caring for orphans and widows in distress.
That’s all the religion there is in the Bible. Jesus never uses the word at all, perhaps because he found religion so unfriendly. The first time he preached in his home synagogue, the entire congregation rose up in wrath and tried to throw him off a cliff. The clergy in Jerusalem had a similar reaction to him. Every time he showed up in the temple, they stood around in clumps trying to figure out how to get rid of him. At least once, he got so mad what was happening in God’s house that he turned all the furniture upside down; he might even have used improper language!
Jesus wasn’t big on religion, as far as I can tell. He seemed to see it as something people did instead of worshipping God. When people could no longer stand surrendering themselves to a love that would not give them deals, cut them no slack, they invented a religion that would and they worshiped that instead. They spent their prayer time making up rules and definitions. They spent their orphan and widow time keeping their records up to date.
Anyway, this kind of religion wore Jesus out. It might have been all right if they limited the use of their religious organizational skills on each other but they tried to organize God too! And whenever people try to organize or limit God, that religion keeps people from seeing God.
John, the messenger, the forerunner of Jesus drew crowds out into the wilderness, which is how he came to the attention of the religious establishment in Jerusalem; only they don’t know what to make of him. He doesn’t dress, act or sound like anyone they’ve encountered before. He certainly doesn’t sound, dress or act like them, so they send a delegation of clergy down the river to his camp to find out who he is. They figure, they should be able to figure out where he got his authority to act the way he does.
“Who are you?” they ask. Can’t you just see them standing there with their clipboards and checklists, ready to tick off category after category? Hmmm, is he conservative, liberal, a fundamentalist, reformed, charismatic? Is he high church or low? What does he believe: predestination, transubstantiation, dispensationalism? Where does he stand on believer’s baptism, the ordination of women or gay people, does he use incense or bless same-sex unions? Hmmm? They want details but John gives none.
“I am not the Messiah,” he says which is a pretty interesting answer since they didn’t ask him that. John must be up to something, which is all but lost on the inquisition. “I am not!” The whole conversation is a denial. “What then, are you Elijah?” “I am not.” “Are you the prophet?” “No.” It must have been terribly frustrating for them. Who is this guy who has attracted so many, stirred up all of Jerusalem, and we can’t figure out what he does for a living, or what school he went to.
John simply dismisses all their religious categories. Soon they figure out his tactics. Whatever they ask him, he is going to say “no” so they invite him to categorize himself. “What do you say about yourself?” “Give us an answer about yourself. Tell us so we can back to Jerusalem and report on you.”
“I am the voice,” He finally says, “the voice crying in the wilderness, ‘make straight the way of the Lord.’” It’s the only claim John ever makes about himself. John is a honking horn, a crowing rooster, a ringing bell, and a jangling alarm clock. He is not the main event. He is the wake-up call for what is to come. And if they think John is hard to peg, just wait until they meet the one who is coming, whose sandals he is unfit to untie. That one won’t fit any of their descriptions or boxes either; won’t obey their rules or honour their systems.
Remember the words about the light shining in the darkness; well if the coming light could fit any of their descriptions, it wouldn’t be much of a light to brighten up the darkness, would it? Way back in 1952, J.B. Philips wrote that very popular book that needs to be put back on our library shelves: “Your God is too small.” If we can know who is God, and what is the nature of the light that comes, then we know it all. We’ve succeeded in containing the very God we seek, trapped God inside our religious systems.
By refusing every title the religious authorities try to pin on him, John turns out to be a very good witness to the light. Neither he nor the one coming after him will fit into anyone’s religious pocket. No system will be big enough to contain him, John warns his inquirers, so they might as well give up now.
“Among you stands one whom you do not know,” John tells those who are supposed to know everything there is to know about God, it’s a wonder they don’t have arrested right there. But he’s not part of their religious structure. They can’t fire him, force him out. He lives in the wilderness, far from the temple, operating outside their boundaries.
“I am not the Messiah, I am not Elijah, “Are you the prophet, no.”
John is Mr. Not, Not, No! A voice, heralding the coming one, which he does not even know himself, at this point. If he thought he knew who he was waiting for, he might miss the one who comes, when he does come, from way out past the limits of our expectations. The point here is to know that he does not know and to help everyone else know that they don’t know either. It is enough to trust God to open their eyes when the time comes. It is enough to trust the light to be the light, so that we can see, when we need to.
Our Advent message from John is that none of us ever knows exactly whom or what we are waiting for. How will a baby’s cry break into our lives? What will happen tomorrow? Next week? Next year? When the family arrives for Christmas? We cannot know, we are not supposed to know. But we know who we are. We are those who are prepared to surrender ourselves to God’s love and God’s leading of which we cannot predict or control, especially in this season when so many people, churched and non-churched are expectantly waiting for something miraculous to happen.
Even though we might imagine holding the Christ Child in our arms, we can never possess him. For in the end, it is he who puts arms around us. No religion, nor person, no group can contain him. No church has a monopoly on salvation or the way. But we can worship the one who comes. We can worship until the light is all we see. And so we wait. At least that’s the way I see it