On Wednesday I attended a performance of the Nativity Play at Alexander’s school. It’s a special occasion for the year one to three boys. A lot of work goes into it - costumes are made, songs are learnt, lines rehearsed – and on the day, the hall is filled with an atmosphere of innocent joy, as the children retell the Christmas story in front of the older boys and their parents.

I think, for most, what is seen and heard in this performance is appreciated. The message is simple and inoffensive; and in the build-up to Christmas, it’s a gentle reminder of the true meaning of this season. But I have to admit, as I go about my role as chaplain, talking with those who have come, I often feel a slight unease. The boys do a great job, too many children grow up without ever hearing the Christmas story, but I think the danger is this: in our rush to get to the manger, we too often miss out on the message of Advent.

To put it another way, the lights are up, the parade is over, yet Christmas is still two weeks away; and before we’re ready to welcome the Christ child there’s much we must do. As we heard in our gospel, a voice cries out in the wilderness, ‘Prepare a way for the Lord; clear a straight path for him.’ (3.3)

Some may be surprised to learn the earliest gospel, Mark’s gospel, the gospel from which Matthew mostly draws, has no record of Jesus’ birth. Unlike the other gospels, Mark doesn’t tell us of the appearance of an angel, nor of the message of the shepherds and the gifts of the wise men. And he doesn’t begin with the journey of an expectant couple and a baby’s birth in a stable.

Instead he begins in the wilderness; and there he introduces us to the most unlikely of characters stirring up the locals with his hard hitting message.

The man’s name is John: John the Baptist. He appears in all four gospels, and is a very interesting figure. Dressed in not much more than that worn by Wellington’s infamous ‘Blanket Man’, he wanders about looking more like a prophet of old, than someone with a new message to bring. But the crowds flock to him. They come from all over and they seem to like what he says.

And his message is no nonsense stuff. He tells the people to repent, to turn their lives around, to transform their ways; and to the good religious leaders, the Pharisees and Sadducees, he warns them against complacency and self-righteousness; and he speaks of one, greater than he, who is still to come.

Over the years, many artists have attempted to depict this scene of John the Baptist beside the River Jordan. I seem to recall in the lead up to Christmas last year Peter and Phyllis talked to you about some of these works. One of my favourites is a piece by the 16th century painter, Peter Bruegel, the Elder.

The painting is entitled Sermon of St. John the Baptist. What makes it different to others is the way Bruegel portrays the fiery preacher preaching and baptising in his own time and place. Hence, through a clearing in a forest you can see the buildings and the churches of a Northern European town; and the people gathered are a cross section of his community - soldiers and monks, peasants and landowners - all eyes fixed on the figure in the centre.

In this way, Bruegel endeavours to bring John’s words a little closer to home, to allow them to speak into the lives of those living in 16th century Europe, to challenge their world and their ways. But in doing this, his work also invites us to ask similar questions: Where would we find John the Baptist today? What would his message be? And how might we respond?

In a collection of writings on my desk, there’s a quote by Kathy Galloway. She describes the wilderness where John is to be found not as a place but as a state of being. The wilderness is discovered within us. ‘During Advent’ she writes, ‘we have the opportunity to explore the inner geography of our lives for areas of dead wood, thorns or tangled knots. Twisted relationships, the dead wood of old hurts or habits, the confusion that sometimes comes when we feel we can’t see the wood for the trees – all these are wilderness areas, and they need to be cleared away before growth and new life is possible.’

I think Galloway’s right, at least in part. We all have those wilderness areas she describes. We all have clearing to do before new life is possible. And the way forward is, as John proclaims, through an inner transformation of our lives; this involves going with him into the twisted and tangled places, being open to the new start on offer, accepting God’s healing and love, learning forgiveness, seeking reconciliation, and making room for the Christ to come.

The trappings of Christmas are all around us; but in these days of Advent, John reminds we’ve still got a long way to go. Before we get to the manger, and are truly able to welcome the Christ child, we must pass through the desert of his preaching and open our hearts to his words. Because it’s there in the wilderness the seeds of hope and new life are to be found.  .

And so as you make this Advent journey, may you not be afraid to explore the inner regions of your life; and as Paul tells us in his letter to Romans, ‘May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in your faith in him, until by the power of the Holy Spirit you overflow with hope.’ Amen.

A sermon preached in St Alban’s Anglican Church, Eastbourne, on Sunday 9th December 2007 by the Reverend Damon Plimmer
(Isaish 11:1-10; Romans 15:4-13; Matthew 3:1-12)

Posted in Sermons |