Baptizing in the Wilderness
Matthew 3:1-12
December 8, 2019
Rev. Elizabeth Mangham Lott
St. Charles Ave. Baptist Church

In those days John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness of Judea, proclaiming, ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.’* This is the one of whom the prophet Isaiah spoke when he said,
‘The voice of one crying out in the wilderness:
“Prepare the way of the Lord,
   make his paths straight.” ’ 
Now John wore clothing of camel’s hair with a leather belt around his waist, and his food was locusts and wild honey. Then the people of Jerusalem and all Judea were going out to him, and all the region along the Jordan, and they were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins.

But when he saw many Pharisees and Sadducees coming for baptism, he said to them, ‘You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bear fruit worthy of repentance. Do not presume to say to yourselves, “We have Abraham as our ancestor”; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. Even now the axe is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.

‘I baptize you with* water for repentance, but one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to carry his sandals. He will baptize you with* the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing-fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing-floor and will gather his wheat into the granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.’ —Matthew 3.1-12

With all that we have going on right now (The St. Charles Center nearing full funding, holding board meetings, soon to announce and host its first major event; The Fund for Sacred Places guiding us into a season of capital and endowment campaign as we care for this historic structure and continue to imagine it’s sacred use for years to come; newly stained concrete floors in the 1925 building begging for a vision of what new life that space will hold; the ongoing life and work of this congregation at 120 years; my own growing children approaching big birthdays in the new year; the fullness of Advent and Christmas seasons), I find myself preparing for rest in a meaningful, intentional way. It seems a bit far off still, but I am imagining sabbatical.

In 2020, I’ll mark my 7th anniversary, and that brings the promise of an intentional step away after that 7th year is complete. And the most renowned granting source for sabbatical funding has its deadline for 2021 sabbaticals in just three months. So in the midst of all of this life and work at St. Charles and the full richness of all of my life and work at home, I’m imagining our written proposal (it will be ours and not just mine) for a purposeful, thoughtful, deliberate stepping out-of-time for a season. My stepping outside of this place, and your reimagining during that same time, that will better enable us all to continue to minister together purposefully, thoughtfully, and deliberately here.

As I imagine John the Baptizer out in the wilderness doing his work, I am struck this year by the space away from busy life and work that he was holding for the ones who came to hear him. His message would have resonated in the urban center near the Temple, he could have stirred up just as much trouble and maybe had larger crowds if he’d been where the people are. Something about that wilderness location invited his audience and students to imagine the world in a different way. By purposefully, thoughtfully, deliberately heading out into the wilderness, changing their scenery, moving away from the sounds and smells of the town around them, their imaginations opened wider for something, maybe everything, to be different when they returned home.

Advent is a time between time and a space outside of space. There is an intentionality here for us to imagine our lives and our rhythms and our world in a different way. The stories and space of advent, the candles we slowly light, all draw us toward a wilderness baptism into dreaming of something new. Surely that’s one of the reasons John is all the way out there beyond town at the very edge. He’s physically, theologically, politically, and spiritually “at the edge of the inside,” as the beloved Franciscan Richard Rohr puts it, and John is very clear about who he is and what he is doing way out there.

John is part of the 1st century Jewish tradition, but he isn’t practicing the way the folks in Jerusalem are practicing. He is rooted in tradition and he’s a reformer. He has one foot planted with the ancients and another planted in what is waiting to be born. That’s where his story stands in Advent—in between and just beyond. The not yet baby Christ is waiting to be born and John declares this One is coming soon, so be prepared. Get ready. Wash the cobwebs of ordinary life off of your body, mind, and spirit if you want to dream in the Christ. 

John’s posture out there is an invitation for everyone to journey and join the dreaming movement. The journey itself brings an invitation to brave travelers: as you head out into the wilderness, hold onto the ancient teaching that is capital T Truth, and let go of all that other stuff that’s just dressing up and pretending. You won’t need that pretense in the wilderness. Reach into the space you can’t quite see yet and follow how the light is already shining over there. You don’t wear the same shoes in the wilderness as you do in the city because you’re going to be walking some new ground, uncertain ground, exploring ground. Can you hear the layers in this preparation? This is a poetic and prophetic invitation to leave your life behind for a while and exist at the edge of the inside. John’s not just inviting people to be baptized and renew their belief system. He is talking about taking an axe to the old ways and burning them in a fire. He’s inviting people to chase after a hunch, get in on the dance, join the Divine flow, and risk dreaming something new into being, especially if that something is you.

Richard Rohr writes, “To take your position on the spiritual edge of things is to learn how to move safely in and out, back and forth, across and return. It is a prophetic position, not a rebellious or antisocial one. When you live on the edge of anything, with respect and honor (and this is crucial!), you are in a very auspicious and advantageous position. You are free from its central seductions, but also free to hear its core message in very new and creative ways. When you are at the center of something, you usually confuse the essentials with the non- essentials, and get tied down by trivia, loyalty tests, and job security. Not much truth can happen there.

To live on the edge of the inside is different than being an insider, a ‘company man,’ or a dues paying member. Yes, you have learned the rules and you understand and honor the system as far as it goes, but you do not need to protect it, defend it, or promote it. It has served its initial and helpful function. You have learned the rules well enough to know how to ‘break the rules properly’ which is not really to break them at all, but to find their true purpose: ‘not to abolish the law but to complete it’ as Jesus rightly puts it (Matthew 5:17). A doorkeeper must love both the inside and the outside of his or her group, and know how to move between these two loves.”

This is the space John is holding out there in the wild. In being clear about who he is not, John is also very clear about who he is and what he is doing. That is to say that John has a keen sense of knowing about him because the wilderness invited him into that gracious, exploring, dreaming space before he began to invite others. John knows himself now. He knows what matters most and what can be released. He knows what Truth anchors him to the ground like the roots beneath an oak tree and moves from that anchored, steady place. 

Because John knows in his gut what no longer serves and what is deeply essential, then the fanfare and rule propping up and maintaining religious fundamentalism cannot be who John is. The ego and the attention of charismatic leadership is not for him, either, or else he’s be back in town where he could really make a scene. No, John has purposefully, thoughtfully, and deliberately moved to the edge because that’s where the space to dream is. Out there beyond the routine and habits and inertia, John can draw people to Ultimate Source, Living Water, and Holy Light. That’s the poetic, prophetic path that gives John abundant life, and it’s so much life that John is making a ritual out of what folks begin to imagine and dream on this wilderness journey. He makes space to call their dreaming holy and their awakening sacred. John is baptizing people into the ancient-future, already-not yet Way so they can go and invite others to join the Way.

By drawing people from their routines, holding space for them to wake up from their sleepwalking, gathering people together to bless them, redirect them, invite them into something fuller, John was guiding them to reimagine most everything they thought was set in stone. Then after ALL of that, he gave an opportunity to mark that whole waking up process with water. He baptized with water to mark the first step onto the dreaming path of God. He testified to the light by preaching like the prophets: the way of the Lord is possible. Here and now. In the midst of what is crooked and low and bent, God can and will make a way if you will dare to dream and work with God to make it so.

Karoline Lewis writes, “Giving witness to the light is not always comfortable, and is sometimes very painful. But, it exposes what needs to be brought out into the open, and, in the end, insists that the light will indeed shine, overcoming the darkness that has hidden so much for so long. Advent is no brief liturgical observance. Advent can never be passive, never be just waiting, never be just anticipating or expecting. No, Advent’s call, Advent’s vocation, Advent’s embodiment, is witness.

Advent is a way of life. So, we pay attention to these Advent texts, closely, because they remind us of how expecting the birth of Jesus calls us to live and calls us to be -- to witness to our God who moves about this world feeling everything we feel and who promises to come alongside us, especially when saying ‘Behold!’ is the hardest thing we’ve ever done.”

Perhaps, then, the hardest then we’ve ever done is walking away from the comfortable center of what is known and certain and toward the edge of the inside and what is essential and life-giving. Like John, as we get clearer and clearer about what we are not and who we are not, then gathering at the edge will also be an act of walking toward something and not just away. We will walk together toward what gives life, what heals, what restores, what inspires, what transforms, what reframes everything. We will walk together toward the light shining in darkness that is the light of all people. Friends, journey to the wilderness with me. Imagine something new. Dare to be remade. Dream with God of a world as it can be and should be and will be. Then come back to this ordinary, sacred place with me and make our wilderness dreams come true.

Amen.