“Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, and every
mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways
made smooth; and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.”
One of the wonderful things about Advent is that, in our scripture readings we have a flurry of Old
Testament prophecies pointing toward the coming of Jesus the Messiah. The passage I just read is
from the prophet Isaiah, and it’s repeated here by St. Luke to show its fulfillment in the person of
John the Baptist. For it’s he who came to prepare the way for Jesus’ ministry.
Last week we heard Jeremiah predict the coming of the Righteous Branch of David who would bring
justice. And this morning we also have Malachi, who may well have been the most recent of the Old
Testament prophets, saying words that sort of echo those of Isaiah. Malachi writes, “I am sending
my messenger to prepare the way before me, and the Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to his
temple.”
Now, there’s something very important to realize about the prophets. And that’s that, more often
than not, they came to bring correction to God’s people. Depending on your perspective it may be
either alarming or comforting to know that rebellion against God’s ways, even by those who claim his
name, is by no means a new thing. So, every so often God has had to send messengers to
straighten out exactly what are His expectations for His people. In fact, the name Malachi means “my
messenger.” And Malachi continues by describing the one who will precede the coming of the Lord.
He writes, “Who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears? For he is
like a refiner’s fire and like fuller’s soap; he will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver, and he will purify
the descendants of Levi and refine them like gold and silver, until they present offerings to the Lord
in righteousness.” In the vernacular, he’s saying that this messenger, this forerunner, this new
prophet, will open the doors to the broom closet so lives can be cleaned up. This is much more than
the tidying up we did here yesterday in preparation for the Lord’s coming. This is a wholesale
housecleaning so that God’s people can once again present their offerings in a state of goodness,
and even purity. That’s why the baptism of John the Baptist is said to be a baptism of repentance.
Now this is where things can get a little dicey for us as believers. Because when we hear words like
purity and righteousness, our reflex is to start thinking about the stuff that we need to do to clean
house. In other words, we start focusing on our own works.
A week or so ago I saw a poignant blog link related to this whole thing. The author, Rod
Rosenbladt, wrote about one of those things we as Christians, and especially we as clergy, don’t like
to talk about. We of course like to talk about those people who see the light and invite Jesus into
their lives, and take their active place at the table of the Lord and in the Body of Christ.
But what about those who become frustrated and then entirely discouraged trying to live the
Christian life, and simply drop out? They’re who Rosenbladt calls ‘alumni’ of Christianity. With great
sadness they feel they’ve graduated from the whole thing, and it didn’t work for them. I suspect
many of us have come closer to that brink than we care to admit. It goes something like this: We
want to be better and more satisfied people, and we find that we’re unable to do it on our own, so we
turn to the Lord. We’re welcomed into the church, where we receive lots of messages of what
exactly we should now look like, and gradually begin to realize that we can’t live up to these
expectations.
Perhaps we hear about the power of prayer, and we pray hard, but we don’t receive the exact
answer we’ve been programmed to expect. Or we’re told that now, at last, we’ll have the power to
live sinless lives, but we find that we not only continue to struggle with sin, but we very frequently
lose that struggle. That life of victory we were led to expect turns into a morass of doubt and
demoralization. So then the very people with the highest need for encouragement end up as
discouraged ‘alumni’ of Christianity, and often feel too ashamed even to talk about it.
Do you know anyone like this? I have to admit, one of the reasons Michele and I ended up joining
the Episcopal Church was that we felt a bit demoralized by the endless expectations for a Christian
that were laid on us in the church we’d been attending. We would go to church on Sunday and feel
nothing but burdened afterward. It felt like a big, dark “should” hanging over us.
So what does all of this have to do with the words of the prophets we’ve been talking about? Well,
quite a lot, I think. And much of this is captured by St. Paul as he writes about the law and grace in
his Letter to the Romans. In Romans 3 he writes: “Therefore no one will be declared righteous in his
sight by observing the law; rather, through the law we become conscious of sin. But now a
righteousness from God, apart from law, has been made known, to which the Law and the Prophets
testify.”
The prophets very rightly identified the problem. The people who were supposed to be God’s people
were in rebellion. They needed to be reminded of what God’s standards are. The prophets warned
of the consequences of continually ignoring God’s standards. But most importantly, they pointed to
our need for a Savior. Their forward gaze came to rest upon the person of the Christ, the Righteous
Branch, who would through his sacrifice bring His own righteousness to the people. Isaiah says, “All
flesh shall see the salvation of God.” And Paul says, “But now a righteousness from God, apart
from law, has been made known, to which the Law and the Prophets testify.” So neither salvation
nor righteousness are a result of what we do, but instead a result of what God does.
For us as believers, there is a sequence that’s clear in Scripture. First, when we become aware of
our sin, we repent. That is, we decide to turn away from the way we’ve been doing things. Second,
we receive the freely given gifts of forgiveness and salvation made possible by Jesus’ death and
resurrection. This is called grace. And third, as we live in Him and He lives in us, we gradually
(sometimes very gradually) become more Christ-like ourselves.
And it’s right here that a crucial distinction must be made. We don’t just skip from step one to step
three and start all over again trying to be good. That’s not how it works.
Instead, we remember each day, each hour, the no-strings-attached gift of Christ’s incomparable
love, and accept as far as our grateful hearts can bear the reality that there’s nothing we can do to
earn it; He’s already given it to us. Are you hearing me clearly? He’s already given it to us! It’s in
our hands.
This side of heaven we’ll always struggle with sin. So we confess, sincerely repent, and once again
glory in the gift of grace. We don’t let the Accuser convince us that, just because we still struggle
with sin, either we’re disqualified or there’s something defective about God’s grace. I like the way
Rod Rosenbladt says it. He asks, “Is the blood of Christ enough — all by itself — to save a still-
sinful-Christian? Or isn’t it? Can Christ’s righteousness imputed save a still-sinful Christian? And
can it save him all by itself? Or not? I think the way we answer this question determines whether we
have anything at all to say to the ‘sad alumni’ of Christianity. What the ‘sad alumni’ need to hear
(perhaps for the first time) is that Christian ‘failures’ are going to walk into heaven, be welcomed into
heaven, leap into heaven like a calf leaping out of its stall, laughing and laughing as if it’s all too
good to be true.”
If this is shocking, chalk it up to the scandal of grace. It’s the same kind of scandal found in Jesus’
parable that says that the workers who started the job at 5 pm get the same pay at the end of the
day as those who started at sunrise. It makes no humans sense. Grace is absurdly lavish.
When we struggle, our struggles should never, ever be taken as a failure of grace. They merely
point to two things: first, the incomprehensible love of God that would forgive even a wretch like me
for the asking, and second, our need to stay close to our Savior as He continues His work in and
around us until the day of our death. So if you’re one of those who’s battered by relentless great
expectations, either yours or others, please take heart. You’re in good company. It’s been said that
the church is not a museum of saints, but a hospital for sinners. One only needs read the
biographies and autobiographies of the saints to realize that there runs a very fine line between the
two. We’re saved by grace alone, and His grace is sufficient.
We recited a few minutes ago the song in Luke’s Gospel sung by Zechariah, John the Baptist’s
father, on the occasion of John’s christening. While the Old Testament prophets focused largely on
a ministry of fiery conviction and repentance by this forerunner of Christ, through the Holy Spirit
Zechariah saw clearly the most important role to be played by his son. He sang, “You, my child,
shall be called the prophet of the Most High, for you will go before the Lord to prepare his way, to
give his people knowledge of salvation by the forgiveness of their sins. In the tender compassion of
our God the dawn from on high shall break upon us, to shine on those who dwell in darkness and
the shadow of death, and to guide our feet into the way of peace.”
As we continue our approach to the holy day of our Savior’s birth, let us not forget that that day is
not one of burden or great responsibility, but a daybreak celebration of new freedom for the human
race. For in fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy, “All flesh shall see the salvation of God.” In the name of
the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways
made smooth; and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.”
One of the wonderful things about Advent is that, in our scripture readings we have a flurry of Old
Testament prophecies pointing toward the coming of Jesus the Messiah. The passage I just read is
from the prophet Isaiah, and it’s repeated here by St. Luke to show its fulfillment in the person of
John the Baptist. For it’s he who came to prepare the way for Jesus’ ministry.
Last week we heard Jeremiah predict the coming of the Righteous Branch of David who would bring
justice. And this morning we also have Malachi, who may well have been the most recent of the Old
Testament prophets, saying words that sort of echo those of Isaiah. Malachi writes, “I am sending
my messenger to prepare the way before me, and the Lord whom you seek will suddenly come to his
temple.”
Now, there’s something very important to realize about the prophets. And that’s that, more often
than not, they came to bring correction to God’s people. Depending on your perspective it may be
either alarming or comforting to know that rebellion against God’s ways, even by those who claim his
name, is by no means a new thing. So, every so often God has had to send messengers to
straighten out exactly what are His expectations for His people. In fact, the name Malachi means “my
messenger.” And Malachi continues by describing the one who will precede the coming of the Lord.
He writes, “Who can endure the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears? For he is
like a refiner’s fire and like fuller’s soap; he will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver, and he will purify
the descendants of Levi and refine them like gold and silver, until they present offerings to the Lord
in righteousness.” In the vernacular, he’s saying that this messenger, this forerunner, this new
prophet, will open the doors to the broom closet so lives can be cleaned up. This is much more than
the tidying up we did here yesterday in preparation for the Lord’s coming. This is a wholesale
housecleaning so that God’s people can once again present their offerings in a state of goodness,
and even purity. That’s why the baptism of John the Baptist is said to be a baptism of repentance.
Now this is where things can get a little dicey for us as believers. Because when we hear words like
purity and righteousness, our reflex is to start thinking about the stuff that we need to do to clean
house. In other words, we start focusing on our own works.
A week or so ago I saw a poignant blog link related to this whole thing. The author, Rod
Rosenbladt, wrote about one of those things we as Christians, and especially we as clergy, don’t like
to talk about. We of course like to talk about those people who see the light and invite Jesus into
their lives, and take their active place at the table of the Lord and in the Body of Christ.
But what about those who become frustrated and then entirely discouraged trying to live the
Christian life, and simply drop out? They’re who Rosenbladt calls ‘alumni’ of Christianity. With great
sadness they feel they’ve graduated from the whole thing, and it didn’t work for them. I suspect
many of us have come closer to that brink than we care to admit. It goes something like this: We
want to be better and more satisfied people, and we find that we’re unable to do it on our own, so we
turn to the Lord. We’re welcomed into the church, where we receive lots of messages of what
exactly we should now look like, and gradually begin to realize that we can’t live up to these
expectations.
Perhaps we hear about the power of prayer, and we pray hard, but we don’t receive the exact
answer we’ve been programmed to expect. Or we’re told that now, at last, we’ll have the power to
live sinless lives, but we find that we not only continue to struggle with sin, but we very frequently
lose that struggle. That life of victory we were led to expect turns into a morass of doubt and
demoralization. So then the very people with the highest need for encouragement end up as
discouraged ‘alumni’ of Christianity, and often feel too ashamed even to talk about it.
Do you know anyone like this? I have to admit, one of the reasons Michele and I ended up joining
the Episcopal Church was that we felt a bit demoralized by the endless expectations for a Christian
that were laid on us in the church we’d been attending. We would go to church on Sunday and feel
nothing but burdened afterward. It felt like a big, dark “should” hanging over us.
So what does all of this have to do with the words of the prophets we’ve been talking about? Well,
quite a lot, I think. And much of this is captured by St. Paul as he writes about the law and grace in
his Letter to the Romans. In Romans 3 he writes: “Therefore no one will be declared righteous in his
sight by observing the law; rather, through the law we become conscious of sin. But now a
righteousness from God, apart from law, has been made known, to which the Law and the Prophets
testify.”
The prophets very rightly identified the problem. The people who were supposed to be God’s people
were in rebellion. They needed to be reminded of what God’s standards are. The prophets warned
of the consequences of continually ignoring God’s standards. But most importantly, they pointed to
our need for a Savior. Their forward gaze came to rest upon the person of the Christ, the Righteous
Branch, who would through his sacrifice bring His own righteousness to the people. Isaiah says, “All
flesh shall see the salvation of God.” And Paul says, “But now a righteousness from God, apart
from law, has been made known, to which the Law and the Prophets testify.” So neither salvation
nor righteousness are a result of what we do, but instead a result of what God does.
For us as believers, there is a sequence that’s clear in Scripture. First, when we become aware of
our sin, we repent. That is, we decide to turn away from the way we’ve been doing things. Second,
we receive the freely given gifts of forgiveness and salvation made possible by Jesus’ death and
resurrection. This is called grace. And third, as we live in Him and He lives in us, we gradually
(sometimes very gradually) become more Christ-like ourselves.
And it’s right here that a crucial distinction must be made. We don’t just skip from step one to step
three and start all over again trying to be good. That’s not how it works.
Instead, we remember each day, each hour, the no-strings-attached gift of Christ’s incomparable
love, and accept as far as our grateful hearts can bear the reality that there’s nothing we can do to
earn it; He’s already given it to us. Are you hearing me clearly? He’s already given it to us! It’s in
our hands.
This side of heaven we’ll always struggle with sin. So we confess, sincerely repent, and once again
glory in the gift of grace. We don’t let the Accuser convince us that, just because we still struggle
with sin, either we’re disqualified or there’s something defective about God’s grace. I like the way
Rod Rosenbladt says it. He asks, “Is the blood of Christ enough — all by itself — to save a still-
sinful-Christian? Or isn’t it? Can Christ’s righteousness imputed save a still-sinful Christian? And
can it save him all by itself? Or not? I think the way we answer this question determines whether we
have anything at all to say to the ‘sad alumni’ of Christianity. What the ‘sad alumni’ need to hear
(perhaps for the first time) is that Christian ‘failures’ are going to walk into heaven, be welcomed into
heaven, leap into heaven like a calf leaping out of its stall, laughing and laughing as if it’s all too
good to be true.”
If this is shocking, chalk it up to the scandal of grace. It’s the same kind of scandal found in Jesus’
parable that says that the workers who started the job at 5 pm get the same pay at the end of the
day as those who started at sunrise. It makes no humans sense. Grace is absurdly lavish.
When we struggle, our struggles should never, ever be taken as a failure of grace. They merely
point to two things: first, the incomprehensible love of God that would forgive even a wretch like me
for the asking, and second, our need to stay close to our Savior as He continues His work in and
around us until the day of our death. So if you’re one of those who’s battered by relentless great
expectations, either yours or others, please take heart. You’re in good company. It’s been said that
the church is not a museum of saints, but a hospital for sinners. One only needs read the
biographies and autobiographies of the saints to realize that there runs a very fine line between the
two. We’re saved by grace alone, and His grace is sufficient.
We recited a few minutes ago the song in Luke’s Gospel sung by Zechariah, John the Baptist’s
father, on the occasion of John’s christening. While the Old Testament prophets focused largely on
a ministry of fiery conviction and repentance by this forerunner of Christ, through the Holy Spirit
Zechariah saw clearly the most important role to be played by his son. He sang, “You, my child,
shall be called the prophet of the Most High, for you will go before the Lord to prepare his way, to
give his people knowledge of salvation by the forgiveness of their sins. In the tender compassion of
our God the dawn from on high shall break upon us, to shine on those who dwell in darkness and
the shadow of death, and to guide our feet into the way of peace.”
As we continue our approach to the holy day of our Savior’s birth, let us not forget that that day is
not one of burden or great responsibility, but a daybreak celebration of new freedom for the human
race. For in fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy, “All flesh shall see the salvation of God.” In the name of
the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
Great Expectations
Second Sunday in Advent, 2009
Second Sunday in Advent, 2009
December 06, 2009
The Rev. Daniel Tuton
The Rev. Daniel Tuton
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