Witness to the Light

Scripture:  Isaiah 61:1-4, 8-11,  I  Thessalonians 5:16-24,  John 1:6-8, 19-28

Witness to the Light

Today, the third Sunday of Advent, is called Gaudete Sunday, from the Latin word for “joy” – joy that, even though we are waiting in darkness, the light will very soon be dawning, as the Christ child is almost here.

In last week’s Gospel reading, we were introduced to John the Baptist, with his relentless of message: “Repent and be baptized.”  I guess it felt so nice, we’re doing it twice, as we are introduced to John the Baptist once again, this time in John’s Gospel – and I should clarify that the person who wrote John’s gospel is not John the Baptist – we have two different Johns, John the narrator of the gospel and John the Baptist.  Mark’s introduction of John the Baptist is fairly straightforward:  John the Baptist was in the wilderness by the river Jordan, urging people to repent, baptizing those who did so, and telling people to prepare for one coming more powerful than he.  In John’s Gospel, the religious establishment gave John the Baptist some pushback:  “Who are you, you weird person dressed in camel skin and eating grasshoppers in a wild honey glaze and ranting and dunking people in the river.  Who sent you?  Why are you doing this?”  (And, of course, along with this came the unspoken question, “And when are you going to stop?”)  The people learn a lot about who John isn’t, as John tells them, “No, I’m not the Messiah.  No, I’m not Elijah come back to life” – by way of explanation, there’s a verse in the book of Malachi (4:5) that talks about the return of Elijah.  Similarly, in Deuteronomy (18:15), Moses said that God would raise up a prophet like Moses from among the people – and John the Baptist also said that “No, I’m not that prophet either.”

So who was John?  John’s gospel gives us two answers.  John the Baptist describes himself as “the voice of one crying in the wilderness, ‘make straight the way of the Lord.’”  And John, the writer of John’s gospel, describes John the Baptist as “not the light, but a witness to testify to the light”.

It was in the wilderness – away from the worldly powers that were, the powers of Rome and of the official Temple religious establishment - that John could best see and testify to the light.  I remember growing up in northern Berks County, in the metropolis of Hamburg PA – population 3,000, counting cows and chickens – and loving to look up in the sky at night and see all the stars.  When I was Eric Jr’s age and Lilly’s age and Alyssa’s age, sometimes at night I’d lay on the grass and look up, and I used to know the names of the various constellations and what they look like – the big dipper, the little dipper, and so forth.  Living in the city, we really can’t see the sky at night.  It wasn’t until I went on my first church trip to Cuba – where outside Havana, there’s very little artificial lighting and when it gets dark, it gets really dark – that I could see the sky again in the way I remembered growing up, with all the stars and constellations.  Ironically, I had to travel with church folk to a country our government doesn’t even want people to visit, in order to see the sky like I did growing up back home. To adapt a line from the Coldplay song “A sky full of stars” – and since the notes get kind of high I’ll spare you my trying to sing it - you’re welcome – stars gets brighter the more it gets dark.  Ironically, if you really want to see the stars, you have to get away from the light – the glare of artificial light – in order to see the light.

Advent is a season of waiting in the darkness for the coming of the light.  Over the past two weeks I’ve talked a lot about the darkness of our society, the brokenness of our society.  Without rehashing the details of what I spoke about over the past two weeks, suffice to say that in part because of unchecked corporate power at home and an unchecked military-industrial complex abroad – what Trappist monk Thomas Merton some 40 years ago called “the Unspeakable” - politically, sociologically, economically, ecologically, our situation is bleak.  In the midst of this bleakness, the most vulnerable in our society are being targeted for official injustice and violence, as evidenced in recent events in Ferguson, Staten Island, Cleveland, and too many other places.   Right here at Emanuel, many of our members are suffering the fallout – unemployment, mounting bills, even the threat of being turned out of house and home into the winter cold just before Christmas – along with personal crises such as illness and the passing of loved ones.  But could it be that, amid the bleakness, we might better be able to see the light?

The writer of John’s Gospel said that John the Baptist was not the light, but a witness to testify to the light.  What does that light look like?  Today’s text from Isaiah, part of which Jesus adopted as his mission statement in Luke’s gospel, reads,

 The spirit of the Lord God is upon me,
   because the Lord has anointed me;
he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed,
   to bind up the broken-hearted,
to proclaim liberty to the captives,
   and release to the prisoners;
to proclaim the year of the Lord's favor,
   and the day of vengeance of our God;
   to comfort all who mourn;
to provide for those who mourn in Zion —
   to give them a garland instead of ashes,
the oil of gladness instead of mourning,
   the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit.

They will be called oaks of righteousness,
   the planting of the Lord, to display his glory.
They shall build up the ancient ruins,
   they shall raise up the former devastations;
they shall repair the ruined cities,
   the devastations of many generations.
For I the Lord love justice,
   I hate robbery and wrongdoing;
I will faithfully give them their recompense,
   and I will make an everlasting covenant with them.

That’s what Jesus was about – bringing good news to the oppressed, patching up the brokenhearted, releasing prisoners, comforting those who mourn.  I will say that when Jesus read these words in his hometown synagogue, he left out the part about the day of vengeance of our God – it wasn’t yet the time for that.  But make no mistake, when Isaiah wrote that the Lord loves justice and hates robbery and wrongdoing, that’s what Jesus is like, and in his earthly ministry Jesus did all he could to help and empower the victims of injustice.

John the Baptist was not the light, but was a witness to testify to the light.  To use the illustration from my children’s sermon, the sun in the sky is the light and generates light, but while the moon generates no light of its own, it reflects the sun’s light, and thus is bright.  John was like a mirror, reflecting the light that was given to him. 

We, too, are witnesses to testify to the light.  Any brightness we have comes from God, but we are to share that brightness with others.  In the bleakness of our present situation, while we are not the light, we can bring the light for one another and for our neighbors.  And by bringing the light, I mean praying for one another, but also providing practical help – sometimes we pray with folded hands, and sometimes we pray with open arms and walking legs.  I’ve said before, and I’ll say again, that I’m so proud of how well our members do at caring for one another.  In our present bleak situation, deep, persistent, practical caring – at the level of making sure none of us is going hungry or is out on the street - is going to be more and more necessary.  In a society in which the powers that be have seen fit to cut government services more and more, so that Bridesburg elementary school has to request donations of basic supplies like pencils and paper for heaven’s sake, we are going to have to be a safety net for one another, and for our neighbors. On Facebook pages about Bridesburg, I often see the phrase “Bridesburg - Stick together”.  I think sometimes that phrase has sometimes been used in a negative way – as in sticking together to keep those deemed undesirable out of the ‘Burg – but I believe we really need to stick together in a positive sense of being there for one another – not in an intrusive way, not like bulls in a china shop - we all are fragile in different ways, and if we come on too strong we can sometimes do more harm than good - but in practical ways and always with gentleness and humility, knowing that it may be us asking for help the next time around.  Sticking together means not letting one another or our neighbors go hungry and homeless.  Certainly, we all have different resources and skills to offer.  I can buy you food, but I don’t know how to fix your leaking pipes – but I bet somebody here can.  I can give you a ride, but I can’t fix your car – but maybe someone here can.  I have phone numbers and connections for some kinds of free services – I know that there’s a Catholic Worker house in the 1800 block of Lehigh Avenue that runs a free medical clinic periodically, for example – but my network of contacts is limited – I’m only one person.  Each of you has information and contacts that I don’t, and if we share that information, we may be able to keep some people and situations from falling through the cracks of our society.  Cheri Honkala, director of the Poor People’s Economic and Human Rights Campaign, keeps people in their homes if possible, and finds them homes if she can’t – it’s her life’s work.  She’s doing God’s work, and I’ve invited her to talk after worship about what she’s doing for Susan in her situation, and what we may be able to do to help.

“There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light.”  May we, too, be witnesses to the light, sharing the light that Christ has given us with one another and our neighbors.  On this Gaudete Sunday – the Sunday of joy – may we bring joy to one another and our neighbors through words of kindness and deeds of love.  May it be so among us.  Amen.