Advent III, 12/15/2019

Sermon on Matthew 11:2-11, by David H. Brooks

It was a terrible place to be in doubt.

A group of friends had gone hiking in the Colorado mountains, but one of them was a novice, with new, unused and unfamiliar equipment and a few too many days spent on the couch instead of on the move.

The hike had gone well at first, with an easy pace and much conversation. But then the trail began to rise steeply, cutting back and forth in switchbacks that did little to ease the strenuous ascent. They hiked in puffing silence for a time, until the trail leveled out and a icy patch—all that was left of an ancient glacier—lay across their path.

The leader reviewed quickly the proper use of an ice axe for stopping if a hiker slipped on the ice, and they began to cross, using their axes as support as they traversed the ice.

But the novice, tired and unsure of his gear, got a few dozen steps onto the ice and stopped—he was very afraid, very tired and very trapped. The vast sky and the slick, steep slide left the poor hiker wobbly, and his axe hung useless on his belt.

Nothing the other hikers could do would coax him to continue another step, and his legs began to shake. His fear grew in his throat as he saw the concern on his friends’ faces; to slip down the ice would mean a fall of 100 feet or more.

Finally, the leader took a length of rope out of his pack, gave one end to another hiker who continued through the ice field to solid ground, and walked back to his trapped friend. He secured the other end of the rope to the trapped hiker and said the following words: “this happened to me, and I know what to do. Just put your hand on my shoulder and follow me.” So, with the one leading, the other following, they walked back together to the place where the ice had started.

Once on solid ground, the novice collapsed to the ground, exhausted but safe.

In much the same way, John the Baptist is perhaps afraid, perhaps tired, but certainly trapped. The time of his ministry is drawing to a close—the walls of Herod Antipas’ prison hold him securely in place, but his doubt is the same as the trapped hiker—what will happen? What can I do now? In prison there is little to do but think, and so we should not be surprised that John ponders on Jesus and what his ministry means. After all, John had foretold one who would come with a sharp ax for felling unfruitful, useless trees; with consuming fire to baptize and burn away what was worthless and reveal what was enduring. Did this Jesus really fit the picture he had drawn for his listeners? The Messiah was to run out the oppressors, to let the captives free, and here was John wasting in a dark and cramped prison. Are you the one who is to come, or are we to look for another?

And John’s predicament is not strange to us. We too, as we have followed Jesus through life, hiking alongside him, have experienced doubts along the way. Have any of you never wondered how you got to this point, to this place? We are a people primed to expect things to go well, to always be pleasant, without challenges or struggles; what does it mean when suffering comes, and we are seemingly past our strength, trapped in prison or precariously stranded? In such moments John’s question becomes ours: are you the one to come, or are we to look for another?

Jesus’ answer to John is strikingly like the action those hikers took that day on the mountain: he turns John back to where he began. John, a prophet himself, would have known well the promises of the prophets of old, and so Jesus points him back to those promises and their current fulfillment: Jesus recalls to John’s mind what has been said, what has been done. The blind have received sight. The lame walk. The diseased are healed. Those who are deaf now hear. The dead are raised. The poor and downtrodden are given hope. What is happening now is connected to what was declared in the past.

So it is with us. In our moments of doubt and fear, of uncertainty and hesitation, our Lord takes us back to the beginning: we are baptized, the promise of God is ours. We all have past moments of struggle where God lead us out of darkness into greater clarity, out of cramped circumstances into wider vistas, from questioning to confidence. But such stories are not simply for each of us alone, solitary treasures kept locked away tight. They are meant to be shared, spread freely among us because you may have the story that leads a demoralized and tired child of God back to a place where he or she can stand secure, or be free of anxiety, or find freedom. This community is one of the

many gifts our Lord gives to us, for in all circumstances of life, whether experienced as a tight prison or a yawning sky, we do not travel alone. We have our Lord, and we have one another. Amen.

The Rev. David H. Brooks
Raleigh, NC USA
E-Mail: Pr.Dave.Brooks@zoho.com

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