The Man In The River
Sermon
Time's Up!
Sermons For Advent, Christmas And Epiphany
One after the other they didn't show up. A whole string of appointments; a morning full of them. They didn't call and cancel, they just didn't show up! Every now and then I would poke my head out of the office door and my secretary would shake her head. Nothing. It was turning into one of those days.
When I get frustrated I eat. I don't recommend it, but I do admit it. So, after the fourth appointment failed to appear, my frustration level peaked. I put on my jacket, headed out the door and made my way the block or so downtown to find myself a little something to munch on.
The sign over the door read, "Asa's Delicatessen: Open 24 Hours." The sign on the door read, "Closed." I pressed my nose against the window, and, sure enough, the place was empty. Not a soul to be seen. I stepped back looking for some explanation and it was then that I noticed that Abram's Sandal Emporium, one door south, was also locked up tight. And on the other side, Jesse's Grain Supply, where they custom grind 23 different kinds of flour, the grinding wheels were silent.
And the streets. Here it was, mid-morning and the streets were almost bare. This was usually prime time for the marketplace, but this morning most of the booths were empty, and the few in use didn't even draw the browsers. Now my frustrations were overcome by my curiosity. Something must be going on down at the temple.
I made my way around the corner to the temple square and stood looking at the teaching steps. They were always a sight, filled with dozens of rabbis, each seated on a step, surrounded by their attentive disciples. This morning there was only a handful of teachers standing in a little huddle at the foot of the steps. The argument they were lost in seemed to involve someone who wasn't there, and as I walked past them up the steps I heard one of them grumble something about the "river."
As I made my way up the steps, through the tunnel, and into the temple courtyard, I guessed that the high priests were doing some special ritual or sacrifice and everyone had come to take part. But the vast courtyard was empty, except for one or two tables selling pigeons and goats, and a small cluster of colorfully robed priests huddled under the colonnade. They seemed at the end of the same discussion the rabbis were holding on the steps. They all nodded in some unheard agreement, then steamed past me on their way to the steps. One of them shouted to a servant that they were going to the "river." By this time so was I.
On my way out of town I did find one little shop open, so I picked up a bit of something for lunch, and a bit more for the evening, just in case. This might take the rest of the morning, or the rest of the day.
When I got to the Jericho road to begin the 20-mile downhill trek, I found the folks I had been missing all morning. The road was packed. What made it most curious was that those going down the road weren't sure what they were going to see, and those coming back up the road only said things like "Wow!" and "Awesome!" which gave us the impression that whatever we were going to see was certainly going to be worth the journey.
The nearer we got to the river the warmer it became. I took off one of my jackets and wrapped it around my waist, leaving my hands free for my walking stick and my lunch. As we came near the river, the sides of the road were cluttered with wagons and chariots people had hurriedly parked and left, giving the whole thing the image of the suburbs on garage sale Saturday. I made my way through the crowds toward the river. Most folks I didn't know. They were from all over Judea, and from the villages up and down the river valley. I did recognize several from Jerusalem. That's when I saw you. Remember, we kind of waved a little wave and nodded. Then I saw him.
My first thought was that he was a mousy sort of guy. I mean he looked mousy, or really, I guess it was ratty. He looked like a wet rat, standing out in the middle of the creek with his clothes and his hair just hanging off him soaking wet. This is what we have come so far to see? He was busy talking to someone, then shouting to another. He would dip someone into the water and then turn to the next. So, this is it then? You and I stood there next to each other, not really sure what to do next. And then he stopped. He walked out to the middle of the river and turned to face the crowd on our side. Right down in front were those colorful robes I had seen in the temple courtyard. They seemed to have gotten the baptizer's attention. One of the priests stepped foward, like he thought it was his turn, and the river rat let it fly. "You bunch of snakes! Who told you to come down here and run from the wrath of God?" He waited like he really expected a reply.
That one priest had one foot on shore and one in the water and didn't know which one he should stand on. It was an odd sight. Those of us watching started to smile, partly because of the priest's balancing act, but more honestly because it was nice to hear someone finally calling a snake a snake. The priest finally took a step back toward dry ground as the baptizer took a step toward him announcing, "Bear fruit worthy of repentance. Just because you come from good stock don't ever get the idea you are safe. You want in God's kingdom? Produce!"
I'm not sure who was in greater shock, the poor priest in the front row trying like everything to get out of that river, or those of us watching, not believing what we were hearing. I lost him right after the "bear fruit" part. It struck a chord in me. The greatest complaint I had about those guys, and the reason I didn't take part much in church activities ... did I say "church activities?" I, uh, meant to say "temple activities" ... the reason I didn't take part in temple activities was that I just couldn't swallow the shallowness of what those guys proclaimed. I believe in God, don't misunderstand, but not the way these guys show God. The way they dress, and act? They seem to think they are God's gift to civilization. They have made our lives miserable often enough. It made us smile to see them brought down a notch.
Then the baptizer took a step back, and turned to the rest of us. By the way, Matthew doesn't tell us about this part. He leaves us smiling. But Luke records more conversation taking place along the creek that morning and it is only fair, I guess, that we remember it, too.
Anyway, he turned to the rest of us. "And for you," he began. Now would be the other side of the coin. It would be something like "Keep up the hard work!" or "It is not so important what you do, as long as you don't hurt anyone." But, instead, it was "And for you. Any of you that has two coats, give one of them to one of those who has no coat." You glanced at the extra coat I had wrapped around my waist and I looked at the one you had folded up under your arm. We stood there surrounded by people who had no coat at all. Surely he isn't serious. This is just an illustration, one of those "Let's pretend" things we use to get a point across. I mean, if we give one coat away what will we wear when we go back up the mountain on the way home tonight? Doesn't he know it gets cold up there? And why was he staring right at us?
I got frustrated. I reached into my bag for something to munch on. "And he who has food, share with him who has no food." My hand froze on the candy bar I had brought for lunch. Now surely you are not referring to us again? What difference is that going to make with all these people. But he was quiet, like he was waiting for me to do something.
At this point we will change back to Matthew's story. He leaves all this part out and lets me smile longer, and since I am the preacher here, I can change gospels like I change channels on television. So, back to Matthew we go.
Besides, the rest is a haze anyway. He went on talking about somebody coming after him, or following him, or something or other, but I guess I quit listening. I edged my way to the rear of the crowd and started walking up the road. I didn't have the nerve to put on the jacket that hung around my waist, somehow it felt too much like a long, purple robe. And I would eat when I reached the privacy of my own house. No, some follower wasn't on my mind during that trip home, and not even now that I remember the story. The only thing on my mind was, and is, "What do I do with that man in the river?"
What do I do with that man in the river?
When I get frustrated I eat. I don't recommend it, but I do admit it. So, after the fourth appointment failed to appear, my frustration level peaked. I put on my jacket, headed out the door and made my way the block or so downtown to find myself a little something to munch on.
The sign over the door read, "Asa's Delicatessen: Open 24 Hours." The sign on the door read, "Closed." I pressed my nose against the window, and, sure enough, the place was empty. Not a soul to be seen. I stepped back looking for some explanation and it was then that I noticed that Abram's Sandal Emporium, one door south, was also locked up tight. And on the other side, Jesse's Grain Supply, where they custom grind 23 different kinds of flour, the grinding wheels were silent.
And the streets. Here it was, mid-morning and the streets were almost bare. This was usually prime time for the marketplace, but this morning most of the booths were empty, and the few in use didn't even draw the browsers. Now my frustrations were overcome by my curiosity. Something must be going on down at the temple.
I made my way around the corner to the temple square and stood looking at the teaching steps. They were always a sight, filled with dozens of rabbis, each seated on a step, surrounded by their attentive disciples. This morning there was only a handful of teachers standing in a little huddle at the foot of the steps. The argument they were lost in seemed to involve someone who wasn't there, and as I walked past them up the steps I heard one of them grumble something about the "river."
As I made my way up the steps, through the tunnel, and into the temple courtyard, I guessed that the high priests were doing some special ritual or sacrifice and everyone had come to take part. But the vast courtyard was empty, except for one or two tables selling pigeons and goats, and a small cluster of colorfully robed priests huddled under the colonnade. They seemed at the end of the same discussion the rabbis were holding on the steps. They all nodded in some unheard agreement, then steamed past me on their way to the steps. One of them shouted to a servant that they were going to the "river." By this time so was I.
On my way out of town I did find one little shop open, so I picked up a bit of something for lunch, and a bit more for the evening, just in case. This might take the rest of the morning, or the rest of the day.
When I got to the Jericho road to begin the 20-mile downhill trek, I found the folks I had been missing all morning. The road was packed. What made it most curious was that those going down the road weren't sure what they were going to see, and those coming back up the road only said things like "Wow!" and "Awesome!" which gave us the impression that whatever we were going to see was certainly going to be worth the journey.
The nearer we got to the river the warmer it became. I took off one of my jackets and wrapped it around my waist, leaving my hands free for my walking stick and my lunch. As we came near the river, the sides of the road were cluttered with wagons and chariots people had hurriedly parked and left, giving the whole thing the image of the suburbs on garage sale Saturday. I made my way through the crowds toward the river. Most folks I didn't know. They were from all over Judea, and from the villages up and down the river valley. I did recognize several from Jerusalem. That's when I saw you. Remember, we kind of waved a little wave and nodded. Then I saw him.
My first thought was that he was a mousy sort of guy. I mean he looked mousy, or really, I guess it was ratty. He looked like a wet rat, standing out in the middle of the creek with his clothes and his hair just hanging off him soaking wet. This is what we have come so far to see? He was busy talking to someone, then shouting to another. He would dip someone into the water and then turn to the next. So, this is it then? You and I stood there next to each other, not really sure what to do next. And then he stopped. He walked out to the middle of the river and turned to face the crowd on our side. Right down in front were those colorful robes I had seen in the temple courtyard. They seemed to have gotten the baptizer's attention. One of the priests stepped foward, like he thought it was his turn, and the river rat let it fly. "You bunch of snakes! Who told you to come down here and run from the wrath of God?" He waited like he really expected a reply.
That one priest had one foot on shore and one in the water and didn't know which one he should stand on. It was an odd sight. Those of us watching started to smile, partly because of the priest's balancing act, but more honestly because it was nice to hear someone finally calling a snake a snake. The priest finally took a step back toward dry ground as the baptizer took a step toward him announcing, "Bear fruit worthy of repentance. Just because you come from good stock don't ever get the idea you are safe. You want in God's kingdom? Produce!"
I'm not sure who was in greater shock, the poor priest in the front row trying like everything to get out of that river, or those of us watching, not believing what we were hearing. I lost him right after the "bear fruit" part. It struck a chord in me. The greatest complaint I had about those guys, and the reason I didn't take part much in church activities ... did I say "church activities?" I, uh, meant to say "temple activities" ... the reason I didn't take part in temple activities was that I just couldn't swallow the shallowness of what those guys proclaimed. I believe in God, don't misunderstand, but not the way these guys show God. The way they dress, and act? They seem to think they are God's gift to civilization. They have made our lives miserable often enough. It made us smile to see them brought down a notch.
Then the baptizer took a step back, and turned to the rest of us. By the way, Matthew doesn't tell us about this part. He leaves us smiling. But Luke records more conversation taking place along the creek that morning and it is only fair, I guess, that we remember it, too.
Anyway, he turned to the rest of us. "And for you," he began. Now would be the other side of the coin. It would be something like "Keep up the hard work!" or "It is not so important what you do, as long as you don't hurt anyone." But, instead, it was "And for you. Any of you that has two coats, give one of them to one of those who has no coat." You glanced at the extra coat I had wrapped around my waist and I looked at the one you had folded up under your arm. We stood there surrounded by people who had no coat at all. Surely he isn't serious. This is just an illustration, one of those "Let's pretend" things we use to get a point across. I mean, if we give one coat away what will we wear when we go back up the mountain on the way home tonight? Doesn't he know it gets cold up there? And why was he staring right at us?
I got frustrated. I reached into my bag for something to munch on. "And he who has food, share with him who has no food." My hand froze on the candy bar I had brought for lunch. Now surely you are not referring to us again? What difference is that going to make with all these people. But he was quiet, like he was waiting for me to do something.
At this point we will change back to Matthew's story. He leaves all this part out and lets me smile longer, and since I am the preacher here, I can change gospels like I change channels on television. So, back to Matthew we go.
Besides, the rest is a haze anyway. He went on talking about somebody coming after him, or following him, or something or other, but I guess I quit listening. I edged my way to the rear of the crowd and started walking up the road. I didn't have the nerve to put on the jacket that hung around my waist, somehow it felt too much like a long, purple robe. And I would eat when I reached the privacy of my own house. No, some follower wasn't on my mind during that trip home, and not even now that I remember the story. The only thing on my mind was, and is, "What do I do with that man in the river?"
What do I do with that man in the river?
