Sermon on Luke 3:1-20; Pastor Edgar Mayer; Wilsonton/Glencoe Parish; 10.12.00; 2nd Advent.
For more sermons and other writings check out pastor's homepage: http://www.geocities.com/mayeredgar.
"Heavenly Father, when your words are at times hurtful, let us not doubt that they are nevertheless good news. Amen."
Tough Words – Good News
A long time ago there was a man that prepared people for the coming of Jesus. John the Baptist preached to everyone: "Turn back to God and be baptised! Then your sins will be forgiven." John put pressure on people to look at themselves and then change. Young and old were asked to meet the challenge: "Turn back to God." "Turn back to God and you will see his saving power."
And the message was not proclaimed meekly. John the Baptist was no softy. He laid into people when they only made half-hearted attempts to be part of his repentance regime. When they thought that they could just turn up and listen to a few of his sermons, then undergo baptism and that would do the trick, he surprised them with rude words: "You bunch of snakes! You bunch of snakes! Who warned you to run from the coming judgement? Do something to show that you really have given up your sins." John was tough! Too tough?
Do we think today that he overdid his cries of repentance? Maybe we do, but the Bible says that John actually spoke good news to the people. Hard words that prick the conscience, that make us honest about ouselves, that shock us with the truth about our lives – those kind of hard words have to knock us down sometimes. Otherwise we hear the cry: "Turn back to God," and actually think that this call does not mean us. Oblivious to reality we may say: "Repentance is for unsaved sinners but not for baptized people like me." Who says that baptized people need no repentance, no renewal? Who says that you and I need not renounce our sin and renew our commitment to God? That's when meek sermons may no longer do the trick but hard words are needed to penetrate one's self-deception.
At first we won't be pleased. Hard words hurt but at the same time hard words are good therapy/good news because they lead us back to God and his coming salvation. John the Baptist was a man from God with a good message even though he was tough.
Let me illustrate what the Bible means with a modern-day example. The event which I am going to relate to you is extreme and I will take longer to tell you the whole story but we will learn from it. A Christian writer narrates: [Just one comment before I begin the story. The writer uses some words which we do not commonly use and therefore may not understand. Don't worry about it because we will understand the gist of it.]
One of my indelible memories goes back to ... when I was a patient at an alcohol rehabilitation center ... Twenty-five chemically dependent men were assembled ... Sean, our leader, directed a patient named Max to sit on "the hot seat" in the center of the U-shaped group. A small diminutive man, Max was a nominal Christian, married with five children, owner and president of his company, wealthy, affable, and gifted with remarkable poise.
"How long have you been drinking like a pig, Max?" Murphy-O'Connor, our leader, had begun his interrogation. Max winced. "That's quite unfair." "We shall see. I want to get into your drinking history. How much booze per day?" Max relit his corncob pipe. "I have two Marys with the men before lunch and twin Martins after the office closes at five. Then ... " "What are Marys and Martins?" Murphy-O'Connor interrupts. "Bloody Marys – Vodka, tomato juice, a dash of lemon and Worcestershire, a splash of Tabasco; and Martinis, Beefeaters gin, extra dry, straight up, ice cold with an olive and lemon twist." "Thank you, Mary Martin. Continue."
... "As I was saying, we [my wife and I] have two martinis before dinner and two more before going to bed." "A total of eight drinks a day, Max?" Murphy-O'Connor inquired. "Absolutely right. Not a drop more, not a drop less." "You're a liar." Unruffled Max replied: "I'll pretend I didn't hear that. I have been in business for twenty-odd years and built my reputation on veracity not mendacity. People know my word is my bond."
"Ever hide a bottle in your house?" asked Benjamin, [a member of the group] ... "Don't be ridiculous. I've got a bar in my living room as big as a horse's ass. Nothing personal, Mr Murphy-O'Connor." Max felt he had regained control. He was smiling again.
"Do you keep any booze in the garage, Max?" "Naturally, I have to replenish the stock. A man in my profession does a lot of entertaining at home." The executive swagger had returned. "How many bottles in the garage?" "I really don't know the actual count. Offhand, I would say two cases of Smirnoff Vodka, a case of Beefeater gin, a few bottles of bourbon and scotch, and a bevy of liquors."
The interrogation continued for another twenty minutes. Max fudged and hedged, minimized, rationalized, and justified his drinking pattern. Finally, hemmed in by relentless cross-examination, he admitted he kept a bottle of vodka in the night stand, a bottle of gin in the suitcase for travel purposes, another in his bathroom cabinet for medicinal purposes, and three more at the office for entertaining clients. He squirmed occasionally but never lost his veneer of confidence.
Max grinned: "Gentlemen, I guess we have all gilded the lily once or twice in our lives," was the way he put it, implying that only men of large mien can afford the luxury of self-deprecating humor. "You're a liar!" another voice boomed.
"No need to get vindictive, Charlie," Max shot back. "Remember the image in John's gospel about the speck in your brother's eye and the two-by-four in your own. And the other one in Matthew aout the pot calling the kettle black." ...
"Get me a phone," said Murphy-O'Connor. A telephone was wheeled into the room. Murphy-O'Connor consulted a memo pad and dialed a number in a distant city. It was Max's hometown. Our receiver was rigged electronically so that the party dialed could be heard loud and clear throughout the living room ... "Hank Shea?" "Yeah, who's this?" "My name is Sean Murphy O'Connor. I am a counselor at an alcohol and drug rehabilitation center ... Do you remember a customer named Max? (Pause) Good. With his family's permission I am researching his drinking history. You tend bar in that tavern every afternoon, so I am wondering if you could tell me approximately how much Max drinks each day?" "I know Max well, but are you sure you have his permission to question me?" "I have a signed affidavit. Shoot." "He's a helluva guy. I really like him. He drops thirty bucks in here every afternoon. Max has his standard six martinis, buys a few drinks, and always leaves me a fin. Good man."
Max leapt to his feet. Raising his right hand defiantly, he unleashed a stream of profanity worthy of a stevedore. He attacked Murphy-O'Connor's ancestry, impugned Charlie's legitimacy and the whole unit's integrity. He clawed at the sofa and spat on the rug.
Then in an incredible coup de mainhe immediately regained his composure. Max reseated himself and remarked matter-of-factly that even Jesus lost his temper in the temple when he saw the Sadducees hawking pigeons and pastries. After an extemporaneous homily to the group on justifiable anger, he stoved his pipe and presumed that the interrogation was over.
"Have you ever been unkind to one of your kids?" Fred asked. "Glad you brought that up, Fred. I have a fantastic rapport with my four boys ... Two of my sons graduated from Harvard, you know, and Max Jr. is in his third year at ... " "I didn't ask you that. At least once in his life every father has been unkind to one of his kids. I'm sixty-two years old and I can vouch for it. Now give us one specific example."
A long pause ensued. Finally, "Well, I was a little thoughtless with my nine-year-old daughter last Christmas Eve." "What happened?" "I don't remember. I just get this heavy feeling whenever I think about it." "Where did it happen? What were the circumstances?" "Wait one minute!" Max's voice rose in anger. "I told you I don't remember. Just can't shake this bad feeling."
Unobtrusively, Murphy-O'Connor dialed Max's hometown once more and spoke with his wife. "Sean Murphy-O'Connor calling, ma'am. We are in the middle of a group therapy session, and your husband just told us that he was unkind to your daughter last Christmas Eve. Can you give me the details, please?" A soft voice filled the room. "Yes, I can tell you the whole thing. It seems like it just happened yesterday. Our daughter Debbie wanted a pair of earth shoes for her Christmas present. On the afternoon of December 24, my husband drove her downtown, gave her sixty dollars, and told her to buy the best shoes in the store. That is exactly what she did. When she climbed back into the pickup truck her father was driving, she kissed him on the cheek and told him he was the best daddy in the whole world. Max was preening himself like a peacock and decided to celebrate on the way home. He stopped at the Cork 'n' Bottle – that's a tavern a few miles from our house – and told Debbie he would be right out. It was a clear and extremely cold day, about twelve degrees below zero, so Max left the motor running and locked both doors from the outside so no one could get in. It was a little after three in the afternoon and ... "
Silence. "Yes?" The sound of heavy breathing crossed the recreation room. Her voice grew faint. She was crying. "My husband met some old Army buddies in the tavern. Swept up in the euphoria over the reunion, he lost track of time, purpose and everything else. He came out of the Cork 'n' Bottle at midnight. He was drunk. The motor had stopped running and the car windows were frozen shut. Debbie was badly frostbitten on both ears and on her fingers. When he got her to the hospital, the doctors had to operate. They amputated the thumb and forefinger on her right hand. She will be deaf for the rest of her life."
Max appeared to be having a coronary. He struggled to his feet making jerky, uncoordinated movements. His glasses flew to the right and his pipe to the left. He collapsed on al fours and sobbed hysterically. Murphy O'Connor stood up and said softly, "Let's split."
Twenty-four recovering alcoholics and addicts climbed the eight-step stairwell. We turned left, gathered along the railing on the upper split level and looked down. No man will ever forget what he saw that day, the twenty-fourth of April at exactly high noon. Max was still in the doggie position. His sobs had soared to shrieks. Murphy O'Connor approached him, pressed his foot against Max's rib cage and pushed. Max rolled over on his back.
"You unspeakable slime." Murphy O'Connor roared. "There's the door on your right and the window on your left. Take whichever is fastest. Get out of here before I throw up. I am not running a rehab for liars." [Quoted from Brennan Manning: The Ragamuffin Gospel, Oregon 1990.]
Let's finish here. That was quite a therapy session and I told you all that happened because I myself could not forget the story. Sean Murphy O'Connor was a tough counselor conducting a cruel group interrogation, unmasking all self-deceptions and in the end kicking the liar Max with his foot. In that respect he was like John the Baptist who called people like Max: "You bunch of snakes." However, both Sean Murphy O'Connor and John the Baptist were nevertheless bringers of good news. Later that same day Max pleaded for and obtained permission to continue treatment. He proceeded to undergo the most striking personality change a fellow alcoholic ever witnessed. He got honest and became more open, sincere, vulnerable, and affectionate than any man in the group. Tough words of repentance had made him real and the truth had set him free.
Brothers and sisters in Christ, the Bible says: "If we claim to be without sin, we deceive ourselves and the truth is not in us" (1 John 1:8). In this time before Christmas, before the birth of our Saviour Jesus Christ, who brings to us saving forgiveness and a new start in life, let us not mind those who prepare us with tough messages: "Turn back to God." "Turn back to God and you will see his salvation." You and I, we don't want to miss out on divine therapy. We don't want to hear what Max had to hear: "I am not running a rehab for liars." Prompted by his messengers we turn to God, open ourselves up, allow him to deal with the sin in our lives, and then receive what he has promised. Promises of forgiveness, healing, new life, a change beyond words. The former alcoholic Max could authenticate that it is true: The tough message: "Turn back to God," is good news. Amen.
