The Rev. Dr. Leah D. Schade
Text:
Matthew 3:1-12
God showed
Noah by the rainbow sign,
No more
water, but fire next time.
-
“Mary
Don’t You Weep,” spiritual
“I baptize you with
water. But one who is more powerful than I is coming. He will baptize you
with the Holy Spirit and fire.”
-
John the Baptist
It’s
the Second Sunday of Advent. The Christmas decorations are up and the shopping
has begun. So we’re supposed to be
feeling pretty good right about now. But here are these words from John
the Baptist: “You brood of vipers!”
Who
does he think he is, talking to us like that? We’re in the midst of the holiday
season, and he wants to start calling us snakes? What’s going on
here?
We had a prayer in seminary:
We had a prayer in seminary:
Lord, when we are shaken up, comfort
us.
And when we are comfortable, shake us up.
So hold on -- we are about to be shaken up.
So hold on -- we are about to be shaken up.
This
scene takes place on the Jordan River where people are coming to this strange
prophet to be baptized. These are ordinary people like you and me – office
workers and bankers, people who work for the government, people who’ve served
in the military. Both men and women,
teachers, parents, builders, lawyers and healers. And just like us, they are basically good
people. These are not hardened criminals. So why is John calling them a brood
of vipers?
John didn’t know Martin Luther, but he probably would have agreed with a Latin
phrase that Luther used to describe people like us: simul justus et peccatore. It
means, at the same time saved and sinner, simultaneously justified and
condemned, healed and broken. It’s the paradox of the human condition. We
are at once loved and embraced by the grace of God, yet we hurt each other and damage
our world, both individually and as a global human system.
So when John describes us as a brood of vipers, we know there is some truth to what he is saying. But he gets even more provocative when describing the One who is coming: “I baptize you with water. But one who is more powerful than I is coming. It would be a big deal for me just to tie his shoelaces. You have no idea what you’re in for. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”
So when John describes us as a brood of vipers, we know there is some truth to what he is saying. But he gets even more provocative when describing the One who is coming: “I baptize you with water. But one who is more powerful than I is coming. It would be a big deal for me just to tie his shoelaces. You have no idea what you’re in for. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”
Winnowing
fork? Chaff? Unquenchable fire? What can
all of this mean?
In 1963 author James Baldwin wrote a book entitled The Fire Next Time which takes its title
from a line in the spiritual “Mary Don’t You Weep.” Baldwin’s book consists of two personal and
poignant letters written on the occasion of the centennial of the Emancipation
Proclamation. His words exhorting
Americans – both black and white – to confront the terrible legacy of racism
were an intellectual rallying cry for the Civil Rights Movement. But reading them now, over four decades
later, in light of recent events following the presidential election, his words
have just as much, if not more potency.
Because in many ways it feels as if a fire has burned across the
political, cultural and social landscape of this country. But this is not a holy fire. It is the fire of white supremacy, racial and
religious hatred, androcentrism, and eco-cidal domination.
I’m thinking of a video of White Supremacist Richard Spencer
speaking openly about the supposed superiority of whites and his intention to
return America to white people (as if it ever actually belonged to them). I’m thinking about the hundreds of reported incidents of racial and religious hatred displayed throughout the country over
the past three weeks. I’m thinking of a teacher
friend of mine telling about a white elementary school student telling their dark-skinned
classmate, “Now that Donald Trump is president, he’s going to send your parents
away and you’ll have to live here all by yourself.”
Baldwin’s words in 1963 echo loudly today: "[Whites] are still trapped in a history
that they do not understand, and until they understand it, they cannot be
released from it. They have had to
believe for many years and for innumerable reasons that black men are inferior
to white men."
I receive these words as a white, female Christian preacher and
teacher of preachers, a woman who has benefited from the privilege of my race,
my education, and my religion. From this standpoint, it is
becoming increasingly clear to me that what has happened since the election is
a burning away of the chaff that barely covered the brood of vipers lying
beneath. As the saying goes, “We have
met the enemy, and he is us.”
It is a truth that people of color have known for years, for
decades, for centuries. But this truth
comes as a punch in the gut to those of us who existed in the comfort of our
privilege. The thin veil of decency has
been burned away to reveal the truth about who we are as a nation. The ugly, dangerous, venomous truth has come
to light and shown us in no uncertain terms that we are in need of serious
repentance – metanoia (Matthew 3:2).
After the election I was feeling particularly despondent thinking
of the ways in which so much of the tenuous progress we have so carefully built
in terms of interfaith relations, race relations, environmental protections,
equal rights for women and the LGBTQI community could be rolled back in the
coming years. A friend said to me, “It’s
like an arson came in the night and just burned down the house.” I agreed.
That’s what it feels like.
But as I’ve sat with this image for the past couple weeks, and
contemplated these last few days the image of the holy fire, I’ve realized that there are other images at work
here. For example, controlled fires can
be used to stop wildfires by carefully burning a strip of land and depriving
the wildfire of fuel.
"Watching the Old Go," Mary Anne Morgan, http://www.maryannemorganblog.com/musings/burning-away-the-chaff/ |
And natural fires
that occur in the forest not only allow the saplings to see the light, but also
release seeds that need the heat from the fire in order to grow.
"Fire in the Night," Mary Anne Morgan, http://www.maryannemorganblog.com/musings/burning-away-the-chaff/ |
With these two images in mind, I make the case that as preachers,
indeed, as Christians, our task now is to do two things:
1) We need the
“controlled burn” of Jesus’ prophetic fire to deprive the wildfires of evil of
their fuel.
2) We need to point to the
new growth of saplings and seeds that are sprouting up from the ashes.
The
controlled burn of prophetic speech means speaking boldly in our pulpits and
pews against racial hatred, Islamophobia, misogyny, anti-Semitism, and all the
“isms” that are rearing their fanged heads with impunity. It means taking bold actions as churches to
divest from fossil fuels in order to deprive the wildfires of runaway climate
change of the fuels that are consuming us, even as we consume. Holy fire can fight unholy fire.
Of course, as John warned
us, this will not be a comfortable process. We will experience pain, we
will come to know deep sorrow, and we will come in contact with that
sinful part of our own nature and the sinful nature of others. But that
discomfort will be a sign that the holy fire is burning away the chaff.
As proclaimers of the gospel, we also need to ask: Where is God
creating new growth? What are the seeds
of hope that need to be nurtured, even as we are still mourning in the
ashes? We need to point to that new
growth and lift up stories of resistance and renewal.
Michael Quinton/Minden Pictures/National Geographic http://www.natgeocreative.com/photography/1158747 |
Regarding our planet, I’m thinking of the growing numbers of
cities and countries that are pledging to move to 100% renewable energy in the
coming years – new growth, even in the midst of ashes.
Regarding racial hatred, I’m thinking of the
growing number of safety pins seen on the clothes of those who want to signal
that they are a safe person, even in the midst of raging fires.
Regarding Islamophobia, I’m thinking of the
man in Texas man holding sign in front of mosque: "You belong. Stay
strong. Be blessed. We are one America."
The man’s name is Justin Normand, a 53-year-old man
who owns a sign shop in Dallas. "This was about binding up the wounded.
About showing compassion and empathy for the hurting and fearful among
us," Normand wrote in his Facebook post. "Or, in some Christian
traditions, this was about washing my brother's feet. This was about my
religion, not theirs."
That is a controlled burn. And it shows that new growth and new hope is
springing up in places we would least expect to find it.
This is what we need to be watching for during this
Advent season – new growth after the controlled burn. So be on the lookout for
that holy fire.
It starts with only a
small spark . . . in a manger full of dry hay.
The Rev. Dr.
Leah Schade is the Assistant Professor of Preaching and Worship at Lexington
Theological Seminary (KY) and an ordained Lutheran minister (ELCA), though the
views expressed in this post are her own and do not necessarily reflect the
institutions she serves. She is the author of the book Creation Crisis Preaching:
Ecology, Theology and the Pulpit (Chalice
Press, 2015).