The Third Sunday of Advent, 3B, December 14, 2014; The Rev. Pamela L. Werntz

O God of hope, may we have the wisdom, the strength, and the courage to seek always and everywhere after truth – come when it may and cost what it will.

One of the benefits of sharing sanctuary and programs, families and friendships, with a synagogue is that we are regularly called out of theological complacency when it comes to our Christian scripture and Church tradition’s references to Jews – or Levites, priests from Jerusalem, high priests, Sadducees, scribes, or Pharisees. I changed the word Jews in our Gospel lesson to Judeans by way of putting a speed bump in our path, not because Judeans is necessarily the best translation of Judaios here, but because I want us all to slow down a little bit when we listen to this reading. John the Evangelist (that is, John, the Gospel writer) begins his version of the story of Jesus with tension between “the Jews” and Jesus in a way that the other three Gospel writers do not. For John the Evangelist, the tension started before Jesus even appeared on the scene. It’s not exactly clear to scholars who John means when he writes Judaios. He’s certainly not talking about all Jews or all Judeans even at the time, since Jesus and his followers were all Jewish. He may be contrasting Judeans and Galileans, but most likely he’s writing about some of Jerusalem’s religious authorities.[1] He clearly has an ax to grind that the other Gospel writers do not have. The Gospel of John uses the term Judaios some sixty-four times compared with six in the Gospel of Mark, five in Matthew, and three in Luke.[2] It seems that John, who was writing in the late first century, is caught up in a late-first-century conflict, which he is applying retroactively to the first part of the first century. I wonder if John is using the word the way some of us refer to “the police,”  “the military,” or “the government,” when we are angry or despairing in the midst of struggle. I don’t know John’s intent, but I do know that we cannot let it slide.

For me, a most interesting detail in our Gospel portion for today is in verse 28 at the end of our reading: “this took place in Bethany across the Jordan where John was baptizing.” This little bit causes such consternation among Biblical scholars who want to prove things. The problem is, archeologists cannot locate a place that might have been called Bethany along the Jordan River; and the Bethany they can find, just outside of Jerusalem, is not near the Jordan River. The Gospel of John has never been particularly helpful for folks who want to pin it all down. But generally, names of places in John are factual, even if they also assume a measure of symbolic significance.[3] Bethany (Beth Ani) is usually translated, “House of the Afflicted” or “House of the Poor” – a way station for people who are suffering – a kind of hospice location where desperate people could be received and cared for. Jewish New Testament scholar, Adele Reinhartz translates Bethany as “House of Response.” I love that. Wherever it was, our story is John the Baptist was there providing some assistance, according to John the Evangelist, preparing the way of the Lord. If affliction makes one ritually impure, then healing and a ritual cleansing is what is needed to restore one to community, and in those days, there was no better place than the Jordan River. It’s why, by the way, I will pour a little bit of water that I collected from the Jordan River into the baptismal font for anyone I baptize. It’s not magic of course, but it is incredibly powerful. Restoring folks to community is another way of preparing the way of the Lord. Bethany – Beth Ani — reminds me of Emmanuel Church and the place of response, respite and care that this place provides for hundreds and hundreds of people week in and week out – restoring folks to community, preparing the way of the Lord. Today is the Sunday in Advent called Gaudete Sunday.

Our liturgical color for the third Sunday is rose – it’s why we have a rose colored candle in our Advent wreath and rose in our vestments. It is a Sunday to fill our imaginations with joyful anticipation of what God might be up to in creating new heavens and a new earth. It is a Sunday to rejoice in the sure hope in God, in spite of everything that seems wrong, in spite of oppression and violence, in spite of hunger and illness and imprisonment, even in spite of destruction and death. The canticle appointed for today in the lectionary is Mary’s song — the Magnificat – the joyful song of an unmarried and poor woman who has learned that she is scandalously pregnant. It may seem irresponsible, even idiotic for her to be so joyfully confident that her very being is like a glass that makes God easier to see. When we sing Mary’s song in the first person – we assert that it is true for each one of us as well. My soul magnifies the Lord. Your soul magnifies the Lord. Each one of us carries in us – in our souls — the ability to make God easier to see. That is a reason to rejoice and be glad. I’ve spent considerable time this week wondering how to rejoice always in spite of everything that seems wrong, in spite of oppression and violence, in spite of hunger and illness and imprisonment, in spite of destruction and death. Rejoicing certainly doesn’t mean letting up on our insistence and our actions to end all forms of oppression and violence. It’s a hard choice, I think – not to give in to despair. It’s hard to choose to rejoice. And so I went looking for evidence – for reasons to rejoice.

I recalled distinguished economist, Charles Kenny’s recent book Getting Better, in which he offers compelling data about the dramatic global rise of health and well-being, the reduction of death by war and other forms of violence, the rapid growth of literacy and the improved distribution of resources like food and medicine. The world is much less dangerous than it was thirty years ago. That doesn’t lessen the sorrow of people who are victims of oppression and violence, but we can rejoice, give thanks, and take encouragement from the significant improvements in life around the world. I looked at the last week in my own little part of the world as rector of Emmanuel Church, because it’s easy for me to get overwhelmed with the sorrows and challenges that seem insurmountable at 15 Newbury Street.

I sat down with my calendar and scanned my email to look for cause to rejoice. Here are some magnifications of the Lord from this past week. On Thursday, presiding over a memorial service for our beloved Camille Malamud, who died suddenly a week ago, we listened as her husband, Bill, described the smile that crossed her face as she breathed her last breath. Her smile could be interpreted in so many ways, and all of them are good. I received a note from Kelly Stuart, which read, “we feel so fortunate to have had our girls baptized at Emmanuel…we look forward to becoming more integrated in the Emmanuel community.” Another note arrived from someone who came to me for the sacrament of reconciliation read, “being listened to and offered insightful guidance really disrupts my more entrenched patterns of destructive thinking.”

Also last week, we received the news that our Parish Operations Manager, Tamra Tucker, and vestry member, Helen McKinney, have both been invited by Bishop Gates into the ordination process (Tamra for the priesthood and Helen for the diaconate) – two more in a distinguished line of people prepared and raised up for ordination from Emmanuel Church as a gift to the wider church for the future. Reasons to rejoice. Then there’s one more cause for rejoicing that I want to mention.

For the past few months, Emmanuel has been dreaming and teaming with St. Bartholomew’s Church in Cambridge, and The Cathedral Crossing congregation, in collaboration with the Taizé Community at Trinity Church in Boston, the MIT Episcopal-Lutheran Chaplaincy and the BU Episcopal Chaplaincy together proposing to create at least three residential houses for intentional communities, each linked with an affiliated congregation and each committed to service and mission. It’s a very unusual collection of collaborators with the bold vision of establishing a network of households that cultivates a transformed sense of belonging in its members while rooting them in their congregations and neighborhoods. We imagine that the members of these households will be adults in transition who are undergoing periods of significant change and who are drawn to neo-monastic, communal housing arrangements where faith can suffuse the entirety of their daily lives – living together, praying together, sharing resources, and engaging in a covenanted rule of life, which includes outreach and service to congregation and community. Our proposal takes as its scriptural inspiration, Isaiah 58:12, “You shall be called the repairer of the breach, the restorer of streets to live in.”

Last week, in a second stage review by an enthusiastic Diocesan Mission Hub Grant Committee, we were encouraged to increase our financial request and expand our vision! While there are at least a few more months between now and any decision about awarding a grant to enable us to begin this work, the positive reception from the grant committee and the positive relationships that are forming between our congregations are cause for great rejoicing. So having done my own homework of finding evidence of the magnification of the Lord, I’d like to assign you the same. In the week ahead, look for reasons to rejoice. Look for evidence of Love’s power to redeem. Look for ways to serve others in community. As Dorothy Day once said, “We have all known the long loneliness. We have learned that the only solution is love, and that love comes with community.” Gaudete!

← Back to sermons page