A sermon preached by The Reverend Canon Dr. David Anderson at St. Jude’s Anglican Church, Oakville, on the Second Sunday of Advent, December 15, 2024. (Text: Luke 3:7-18)
I speak to you in the name of God: Father, Son, and Holy Spirit.
I begin today’s sermon just a few verses before the beginning of today’s reading. The first three verses of the Third Chapter of Luke’s Gospel say this.
1 In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, 2 during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness. (Luke 3:1-2)
“And the word of God came to John, the son of Zechariah.”
I will come back to that momentarily. I’m excited that along with our parish’s new priority from our Mission Action Plan for increasing the opportunity for social interactions among parishioners and community members, Amanda Judd, our newish Parish Secretary, has begun the work of creating a new book club for us. I have already read the chosen book on Amanda’s recommendation. It is entitled, Remarkably Bright Creatures, and it was written by Shelby Van Pelt. It is a lovely, enjoyable, and easy read, a great choice to start off with.
Not every book is so accessible. You can’t, for example, just pick up Homer’s old book, Iliad, and read it without some help. The Bible is, of course, also a very old book, with its newest parts being two thousand years old. When you are reading something that old, it helps to learn the context of what you are reading. Permit me unpack some of the historical context that Luke himself provides in the first verses of Chapter 3.
Tiberius Claudius Caesar Augustus was the successor of the greatest of the Roman emperors, Augustus Caesar, truly one of the greater of all the Caesars. He was named emperor on September 14, 14 BCE, and just fourteen years before the events described in our passage. Now, Tiberius shied from accepting the title of “God,” though he heartily encouraged the continued worship of the emperor that had begun with his stepfather Augustus. Whenever the Gospels refer to ‘Caesar,’ they are talking about Tiberius.
Now, Tiberius appointed Pontius Pilate as his lackey (I mean ‘governor’) of Judea, and it was then that Herod (a Jew) was named as king and assigned a subservient role to be in charge of Galilee along with his relatives who were given responsibilities over other places. Pilate watched over Herod who watched over his own people on behalf of the Roman occupying forces.
It is no surprise that Pilate is vilified in the New Testament—we wouldn’t expect anything else from people who were suffering under the heals of the Roman occupation—but later historians say that Pilate was not particularly worse than any typical person in such a role at that time of history. He wasn’t a particular villain, just a typical lackey for the emperor in this outpost of the Roman Empire.
For one hundred years the political settlement held. Sure, there were insurgencies—in fact about sixty different outbreaks of violence from the Jewish community—still, Tiberius, Pilate, Herod and others had proved to be an effective administration for the occupation. They managed, for the most part, to keep the people under the Roman thumb.
But the government was not the only force that kept the Jews underfoot. We learn that they had the support of the senior clergy of the day—the high priests, Annas and Caiaphas—who worked with Herod under Pilate to keep everything smooth up at the temple. There has been a time long time before when the high priests served for life. But the Romans wouldn’t have that. They exercised their power to remove any high priests who were less than cooperative, and they made sure that the religious establishment never dared to challenge Roman power.
The Romans allowed the Jews to practice their religion, as long as it was controlled under the watchful eye of Annas and Caiaphas, as long as no one mixed their religion with politics, as long as no one got restless during the temple rituals, or ever dared to question the notion that while the God of Israel was all well and good, the real power rested with Caesar, ably represented by his lackeys, Pontius Pilate, Herod, and the high priests.
Tiberius, Pilate, Herod, Annas, Caiaphas were all powerful and important men. This is, of course the stuff of history where powerful, important men are always on top. That’s what we read about in the newspaper (if you still read a newspaper). This is what appears in the news. Vladimir Putin, Donald Trump, Bashar al-Assad, Xi Jinping. History is full of the stories of powerful men who control things from the top, at least for a while.
It is in this context that Luke writes the opening words of Luke Chapter 3, indeed reminding us of this context with these words:
In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high-priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness. (vv. 1-2)
“The word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness” (v. 2). Literally, in the Greek it says, “The word of God happened to John.” The word of God—the long-awaited, eagerly listened-for word of God—happened to “John, son of Zechariah in the wilderness.” John’s Gospel makes the claim that the “Word was God” (John 1:1). The Word, God, came to John, son of Zechariah in the wilderness.
I think this is amazing. Historians can tell us all about Tiberius, who Pilate was, as well as all sorts of information about Herod, Annas, Caiaphas, and all of the other important people named at the beginning of this chapter. But who in the world is this Zechariah and who is his son John to whom the Word of God happens? Outside the witness of Holy Scripture, historians don’t know anything about them.
Maybe one reasons why neither any of us, nor any historian has ever heard of John, is that John, son of Zechariah, is not placed like one of the so-called ‘important people.’ John is working out in the “wilderness” (v. 3). Unlike Annas and Caiaphas, John’s ministry is not in the urban centre, in the temple with all of its grandeur. And when we hear one of John’s sermons, in which he calls the members of his congregation “snakes,” and says that they are as dumb and dead as “rocks,” we can see why he wouldn’t be welcome to preach in any of the important places. As a result, John is in the wilderness. No one will welcome this wild man anywhere else. Literally and figuratively, John was in the wilderness, out on the edge, the only place that was even moderately safe for him.
But it is ironic. Here were the trained religious professionals, seminary-educated scholars, the recognized spiritual experts—Annas and Caiaphas—and they are working at the centre of religious life up at the temple, looking for the “word of God.” And meanwhile, out in the wilderness, the Word, God in the flesh, came to the unknown, un-credentialed, untrained, and unauthorized John, son of Zechariah, who was out living off locusts and wild honey in the wilderness. It doesn’t immediately seem like a predictable way to begin a Gospel. It seems like an odd way for God to enter into the world.
Should you pick up a newspaper later today, or watch the news, you won’t hear much about people who live out on the margins. You won’t learn about people like John in places like the Judean wilderness. What you will read and hear about will be the workings of politicians and powerful people who work in places like Washington, London, Moscow, and maybe, sometimes, even Ottawa. If you take a course in history at a university, you won’t learn about people without power. It is always the famous people like Tiberius, Pilate, and Herod who make world history. And yet says Luke, that when it came time for God to make history, God came to none of them, but instead to a person on the margins out in the wilderness.
In the wilderness, John quotes the prophet Isaiah with some beautiful poetry about making a straight highway for God, lifting up the valleys, and bringing down the mountains. Basically, we can translate the meaning: “God is coming and the whole world is going to change.”
“All of humanity will see God’s salvation,” says John (v. 6). And that is wonderful news! Except that you and I keep forgetting that the “salvation of God” is not exactly the salvation we thought we wanted. It is something much more. It is nothing less than salvation for the cosmos, but it is also preceded by a wild man on the margins, a fierce, demanding preacher of righteousness who is John, son of Zechariah.
When it comes down to it, John’s message is simple and direct. “Messiah is coming,” he proclaims. Now the word, ‘Messiah,’ is more of a political than religious designation. It describes a political leader who will come and confront the Romans and who will bring Israel a different future.
And to whom and to where will the Messiah come? He comes out in the wilderness, among ordinary, not-at-all-powerful people. And that is good news for most of us because, let’s face it, most of us are not all that prominently placed either. Don’t get me wrong, Oakville is a nice place to live and work, but it is hardly the centre of power. Our church is certainly beloved by us and is unquestionably a beautiful place, but it is not a national cathedral, a seat of international prestige.
It was to people like many of us to whom John appeared with the message that the long-awaited Messiah was coming to them. And John responded to the natural question they asked. They said, “What must we do?” A poignant question for us gathered here today. He answered them with some specific ethical injunctions, and told them specific things they could do in their own ordinary lives that would make them part of the coming Jesus revolution.
We sometimes give the impression that to be a follower of Jesus is an extra-ordinary, heroic sort of thing. That to be truly following Jesus, to be one of God’s saints, we must do something spectacularly difficult, we must forsake everything and go off and live like a Mother Theresa or some other great examples.
But that notion is odd because Luke’s Gospel goes out of the way to demonstrate that the Messiah entered this world and confronted the problems of this world. And Luke begins the story of the Messiah with the story of John the Baptist. John, preaching in the wilderness to the ordinary people who came out to see him, says that if you want to greet the Messiah, if you really want to be part of this movement, fine! John tells those who ask,
‘Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.’
To the tax-collectors who asked he said,
‘Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.’
And to the soldiers who asked he said,
Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.’
If you want to be part of the Messiah’s movement, then pay attention to what you do with your money and be willing to change the direction in which you are headed and turn into another direction. You really have all that you need in order to follow the Messiah right here, and right now.
To be sure, John’s sermon, and particularly the part included in our reading today, sounds quite harsh. Nevertheless, his message is called “good news” by Luke. It is what we Christians call ‘gospel.’ And it is good news because it is for all of us who live our ordinary lives in ordinary places, engaged in mostly rather ordinary, everyday affairs. Our lives are besieged at times by all sorts of injustices and cares and concerns, but there is good news. Messiah is coming and he is coming to you. He calls you where you are, to follow him as you are, and in the process, to be what only you can be.
This news is good. +
