What a difference a single week can make! Things happen that change your outlook on life, your sense of comfort, your feeling of identity, who you are. Everything was moving along nicely and then all of a sudden, the ground under you shakes, emotions flare up, tears flow. Sudden changes will do that – a death, a diagnosis, a miscarriage, a discovery, a phone call, whatever it is. You may remember a week in your life that was like that, and if you can remember one, you are in very good company here in this sanctuary. Because you have something in common with most of us. And you have something in common with Jesus’ own cousin, the famous John the Baptist. His life changed radically in no time.
Remember, just last week we watched this John run the show in the Judean wilderness, on top of his game. Getting a splash of water from the prophet was the hottest thing in the Holy Land in those days, the equivalent to an audience with Pope Francis or a visit with the Dalai Lama in 2019. Robert Redford recently visited the pope. He is actually a year older than Francis, and while he has many spiritual interests, his Irish Catholic heritage was important enough for him to meet the pontiff and thank him for his efforts on behalf of the environment. And Pope Francis said, “Pray for me.” The Sundance Kid said, “I do.” It was like that in the heydays of John’s wilderness preaching – even important people came to him to thank him. Fast-forward to this week’s gospel passage and times have totally changed. Matthew tells us that John is now locked up in prison, his sharp tongue silenced after he had offended Herod and his mistress-wife. Cut off from his supporters, no longer able to reach a wider audience, removed from his chosen location in the Judean wilderness, he was on forced retirement. It was the end of his calling. Or was it? Actually, he was still doing some calling, according to Matthew 11.
He had heard stories about his cousin Jesus, stories that made him think. “Is he the One?” he asked – which is code for “Messiah”. And apparently, he still has enough connections to get his urgent questions out of prison and into the hands of Jesus himself. Maybe he bribed a guard to smuggle messages in and out to his supporters.
Which points us to something that didn’t change about John, even as his life and circumstances took a big hit. One thing is clear, he is not ruled by fear. In fact, the question he manages to get out of the slammer and to Jesus’ attention is not even concerning his own dire fate. He’s not asking, “Can you somehow get me out of here?” “Jesus, can you work your magic, get me a fair trial, ask for leniency on my behalf?” He is not scheming clandestinely with his loyal supporters on an escape plan like El Chapo, the Mexican drug lord. No, it seems he is worried about one thing… he is worried about his country, about the state and fate of the Jewish people. He is actively praying for the dawn of a new age, with hopes wrapped in the appearance of “the one.” In some sense, John the prisoner is still a public servant and a man of God, a shepherd worried about his flock. He is a prisoner of hope.
Which makes me think… in these times of never-ending trials and public hearings that we all endure and either pay attention to or desperately avoid listening to, John has something to teach us about public servants. He is concerned not about himself and his reputation, not about “winning” or his personal freedom, but about his people, his country. Are they going to be alright? Are our people going to be served well? Now in prison, he becomes a changed messenger, no longer running the show, but watching prayerfully from behind the scenes, urging discernment to those who are involved. What also hasn’t changed is the clarity of his vision and his willingness to be patient, which is one of those vastly under-valued virtues. He wants to make sure people wait for the right time and the right person, let God’s vision become clearer, and don’t rush into false hype. “Is he the right one?” he asks. And Jesus sends his disciples back with the following message: “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.” Just like John, Jesus is not talking about himself or about his cousin’s situation, he is talking about the people and their well-being. Especially the suffering among the people. A public servant.
A week ago, Michael Gerson, a former speech writer for President Bush and now a syndicated columnist, published a nice piece about the meaning of advent in the Washington Post. I’m glad that newspapers publish pieces like his in the midst of all the newsy news. Gerson makes a very strong assessment at the beginning of his piece and he comes to it from the angle of a person who has spent years in the power circles of our country. He says that our “political culture is dominated by fear” and that it seems dedicated “not to the pursuit of dreams but to the avoidance of nightmares.” As a result, every election is fought with the zeal of fighting another apocalypse. Being dominated by fear is the psychological definition of being imprisoned, paralyzed, stuck. But How can we get un-stuck?
In Gerson’s words: “This is the time of the Christian year dedicated to expectant longing. God, we are assured, is at mysterious work in the world. Evil and conflict are real but not ultimate. Grace and deliverance are unrealized but certain. Patient waiting is rewarded because the trajectory of history is tilted upward by a powerful hand.” He continues: “None of this is to deny the high stakes of politics and elections. But the assurance at the heart of Advent is the antidote to fear. No matter how desperate the moment, we are told, time is on the side of hope.”
How patient are we with ourselves? How patient are we with others? How patient are we with the state of our country as we see it tumbling into crisis mode, its democratic institutions undergoing a severe stress test? Many people say we can’t be patient anymore. And with patience I don’t mean passiveness. There may be plenty of things we all can do and plenty of things we can ask our democratic representatives to do. But being patient and being hopeful is at the heart of advent’s Christian message. And we are well advised to embrace and practice these beliefs and attitudes, lest we create our own prisons of fear. The prisoner John the Baptist teaches us that freedom is something that comes from inside of you, not from the outside. And no matter how desperate the moment, time is on the side of hope!
Amen.