Remaking the World
December 6, 2009
Luke 2:58-80 and Malachi 3:1-6
In our modern era of timelines and schedules of set-plans and established patterns, the dominant meaning of advent seems to be, likewise, temporally related. Advent is simply a time of year. Its four-week period snuggles comfortably into our calendars between the last leaf-falls of autumn and the first chills of winter. Advent is walled in by church tradition on one end and our expectations on the other. We know what advent has been in the past and, thus, we have a very specific framework of what advent should look like this year and every year after. Advent, to put it in simple English, is a noun; and nouns are concrete, comfortable, structured and knowable.
But advent is also a verb. It derives from the same Latin root of the word “veni” meaning “I came.” Perhaps this word sounds familiar. Around 40 years before the birth of Jesus, before the advent of God’s son into the world, Julius Caesar used this word to describe his victories in the Roman civil war: “Veni, vidi vici!” “I came, I saw, I conquered!”
For common people living two thousand years ago on the borderlands of the Roman Empire, the advent of Caesar’s troops at their city’s walls, coming, seeing and conquering, would have left little doubt that “advent” can be a very active verb. As friends and loved ones were led off in chains, as poverty-inducing tribute and taxes were exacted from the peasant populations, people would have been hard-pressed to define “advent” in the way we do more frequently today, associating it with waiting and patience; instead they would likely recognize the earth-shaking, world-changing intrusive advent of the Roman Empire into their lives.
Advent is not meant to be docile, or tame. The advent of Jesus into the world and the advent of John the Baptist in preparation for Jesus’ coming are intended to be powerful, shattering experiences, because their words and their activities are not just focused on changing individual lives, but on reforming and remaking the entire world for the better.
Like many other biblical verses that advocate revolutionary activities and perspectives, we, members of a wealthy nation living mostly in comfort and ease, tend to spiritualize, privatize and marginalize the text.
For instance, in our passage from Malachi today, we hear the rather famous phrase in many Christian circles: “For he is like a refiner’s fire and like fuller’s soap, and he will sit as a refiner and purifier of silver.” And then we stop. And we spiritualize and privatize and marginalize this phrase to make it abstract, internal, and personal—“This is about Jesus refining my own sins away to make me a better person.”
But when we read the rest of the passage we find out just how global its thrust is. Rather than being about personal forgiveness or purification it is a revolutionary passage criticizing the political and religious structures of ancient Israel. It is a passage of bold political criticism aimed at those people who follow false gods, on those who oppress hired laborers, on those who do not provide for widows and orphans, on those who thrust aside the alien.
This text is a systematic-shaking, structural-quaking, world-remaking prophecy. It is about coming, seeing, and conquering a system of inequality and replacing it with one of blamelessness that cares for and protects people who are being trampled upon. It is the advent of a renewed society focused on a peace that encompasses all people, especially the poor, the oppressed, the foreigners and the destitute.
For those of us here who have been part of the Wednesday night programs on what happened between the two testaments, what I am discussing now should make perfect sense. For those of you who weren’t a part of our discussions, hopefully this next brief bit of history will fill in some holes and help you understand why our Biblical passages today are so intent on remaking the world of ancient politics and religion.
We have learned over the past month of how ancient Israel was frequently a pawn, a minor player, in the larger schemes of ancient Empires. First they were conquered by the Babylonians, with many Israelites being taken from their homes carried into exile. When they returned to their land under the Persians, they soon became dominated yet again, first by the Greeks under Alexander the Great, then by the Ptolemaic Empire, then by the Seleucids, followed by the Parthians. During this time of shifting empires the Jewish Temple-state leadership, the Israelites of power, wealth and prestige, walked hand-in-hand with its overlords, while the peasant population sunk into greater poverty by the huge taxes and tributes they were forced to pay.
The governmental-religious system was broken. Malachi was called by God to speak against it in judgment in the hopes of bringing the advent of a renewed and better system. Unfortunately, this call fell on deaf ears, little changed, and by the time of Jesus’ advent several hundred years later, the Israelites living in ancient Palestine were still toiling under the rule of corrupt leadership and foreign domination.
Only this time, the Empire was Rome, by far the most powerful empire the Israelites had yet been subjected to.
“Veni, vidi, vici.” “I came, I saw, I conquered.” Though spoken forty years before the births of John the Baptist and Jesus, Palestine was still living under the power of Caesar’s words.
Think back to movie depictions of Jesus—Ben-Hur, King of Kings, The Greatest Story Ever Told, even Jesus Christ Superstar, or Monty Python’s Life of Brian. What are the images that come to mind? Probably Jesus calmly walking through the desert, talking rationally to groups to people. Beautiful hair. A nice good-looking face. Gorgeous sunny days. Everything seemingly mostly peaceful and in order.
This idyllic scene couldn’t be further from reality. Listen to these three incidents of violent opposition to Roman rule which are historically recorded. All three of which occurred at the time of our passage in Luke today, around 4 BCE. All three were led by men proclaimed to be king by the peasant population of Palestine.
First, only a few miles from Jesus’ hometown of Nazareth the city of Sepphoris, was captured by the Romans and burned and its citizens were forced into slavery.
Second, in northern Judea, a whole district was “a scene of fire and blood” as the Romans put down a local insurrection against their brutal brand of ruling.
And third in Emmaus—the town at the end of the road on which a resurrected Jesus walked alongside two disciples—the city of Emmaus itself, from which the people had already fled anticipating Roman retaliation was “burned to the ground.” After these three violent suppressions, “the Romans then scoured the countryside for rebels, imprisoned many and crucified about two thousand” people.
Tyranny and repression were the orders of the day at the advent of Jesus and John. So now when we hear the words of Zechariah’s prophecy from our passage in Luke with this knowledge in mind, perhaps the phrase God “has raised up a mighty horn of salvation for us…that we would be saved from our enemies and from the hand of all who hate us…that we, being rescued from the hands of our enemies, might serve [God] without fear,” perhaps these words begin to make more sense.
And we need to hear this other side of the advent story, because the prophecy of Zechariah, the birth of John the Baptist, the advent of Jesus into the world lose much of their power without it. Our visions of Jesus at Christmas tend toward cuteness, kindness, and pastorally peaceful scenes. We forget so quickly that the birth of new King means that the old King will be dethroned. Thus the birth of Jesus as savior of the world was also a call for the overturning of Caesar’s brutal regime, so that it would be replaced with the righteousness and justice of the Kingdom of God. The folks of ancient Palestine living under the tyranny of Rome would certainly have recognized this radical, world remaking message, even if we don’t see it so clearly today.
As I mentioned at the beginning of our time here today, what can be most troubling about advent is that year after year it fits into the same standard four-week period of our calendar. It can seem routine, and routines can breed complacency and comfort.
But perhaps advent’s repetition is also its most remarkable feature. Because, if advent is about remaking the world, about coming, seeing and conquering the places of despair and injustice, then every year we are able to participate, if we so choose, in this recreation of the world. No greater power or privilege could ever be granted to humans.
Every year we have the opportunity of recommit ourselves to a kingdom of peace in a world of violence. Every year we can choose to replace the places of injustice and unfairness in the world with those of peace and nourishment. Every year advent beckons us to realize our personal flaws and the failures of our systems of power so that we can recreate, renew, rediscover, and remake them with the justice and peace God expects.
Advent is renewal. Advent is recreation. Advent is God with us, God beside us, God encouraging so that, in the words of Zechariah, “by the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet in the way of peace.” Amen.
