LIKE A WRECKING BALL

The Rev. J. Donald Waring Grace Church in New York The Second Sunday of Advent December 8, 2013

In those days John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness of Judea, proclaiming … “Even now the ax 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.” (from Matthew 3:1-12)

John the Baptist reminds me of two different people, the first of whom I’ve told you about before, the second of whom will come as a complete surprise. When I was in high school, the one class that all of us wanted to take was driver’s education. We couldn’t wait to get behind the wheel; being able to drive was an essential milestone on the way toward freedom from parental control. The instructor of the class was also the football coach. As you can well imagine, Coach Milner was neither a gentleman nor a scholar. He was neither eloquent nor subtle. My driving time with him in the actual car during first period of the day consisted of chauffeuring him to his house. He would go in to have breakfast while three of us sat in his driveway. At least, in my innocence, I assumed he was having breakfast in there. Come to think of it, I was also assuming that it was his house.

In those days Coach Milner would appear in the classroom with his distinctive teaching style. His lesson plans amounted to little more than movies – gruesome, horrible, bloody, police footage of actual car wrecks in which real people had been mangled and killed. Day after day, in movie after movie, Coach Milner set the carnage before our eyes. His message was simple: wear your seat belts and drive carefully or this will be you. I had thought that driving a car would be all about rolling down the window, turning up the radio, and going where I wanted to go. Not so. Coach Milner’s abrasive, shocking style told a different story. He got my attention. Since then I’ve always worn my seat belt – even now in the taxi. And in today’s lessons I can even find Scriptural support for Coach Milner’s insistence that we wear seat belts. From the Gospel of Matthew: Now John wore clothing of camel’s hair with a leather belt around his waist (3:4). And from the prophet Isaiah (11:5): Righteousness shall be the belt around his waist, and faithfulness the belt around his loins.

Why does Coach Milner remind me of John the Baptist? Well, let’s look at today’s reading from the Gospel of Matthew. We’ve heard how John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness of Judea, proclaiming, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near. Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees.” John declared himself to be the immediate forerunner to the Messiah. Such news was the one thing that all the Jews wanted to hear. They couldn’t wait for the Messiah’s arrival. It would signal the end of all forms of oppression, most especially Roman control. The problem was, John didn’t think the people were ready to get behind the wheel. Before they could enjoy the freedom of the open road, he insisted that they needed to be converted from their rebellious, reckless streak. So John urged the people to repent, and he did so with all the grace and subtlety of Coach Milner and his films. John employed gruesome, horrible, even bloody images to describe what would happen to those who hadn’t prepared themselves for the Messiah’s day of wrath. John expected Jesus to be an angry judge, a stern disciplinarian bringing punishment, swinging an ax, tossing real people about with a winnowing fork, and stoking an unquenchable fire. So repent; slow down; buckle up; get your act together. Happy Advent, you brood of vipers. Welcome to church.

Those of you who have been around the lectionary cycle of readings even once may have noticed that every year John the Baptist comes riding into Advent like a wrecking ball. This brings me to the second person who reminds me of John. “No,” you’re thinking. “He’s not going to say ‘Miley Cyrus,’ is he?” Actually, I am. If you follow pop culture at all, then you know that the lovely and talented Miley Cyrus sings a song called “Wrecking Ball” that is number-two on the billboard charts this week. The music video is really something to see. As you can well imagine, young Miley is neither modest nor subtle as she wields a sledge hammer, and rides a wrecking ball prop that smashes through cinder block walls, presumably representing the relationship she had with an ex-boyfriend. What is more – and cover the children’s ears now – for most of the video she swings back and forth on the wrecking ball without the benefit of clothing. It’s true: she wears not a stitch above some construction boots, all the while tearfully and passionately singing, “I came in like a wrecking ball.”

John the Baptist also comes in like a wrecking ball. But Matthew takes pains to assure us that John wore clothing. John wore clothing of camel’s hair, with a leather belt around waist. Instead of a sledge hammer he wields an ax and a winnowing fork. Can you picture him: a grisly, ranting, raving guy gleefully riding a wrecking ball in his shocking attire, smashing through the flimsy facades of the Pharisees and Sadducees? Back and forth he goes, year after year. It’s not a pretty sight. I must confess to you that personally and spiritually, John does not thrill me. John annoys me. Most often I want to quiet him down, if not shut him up altogether. But in the wilderness of my being, I know that silencing John’s voice will not prepare me for the Lord’s coming. Shocking though he is, sometimes we need a voice like John’s to get our attention. Sometimes words that no one ever wants to hear are precisely those that can work to save us. Words like:

 Your drinking is out of control.  Your anger is consuming you.  You’re supposed to be the adult; it’s time you grow up.  Do you realize that everything you say is a negative commentary on someone or something?  Your performance on the job is not matching your abilities.

Indeed, sometimes only a word of truth delivered like an ax or a wrecking ball or a Coach Milner film can dislodge us from our sins, and prepare the way for our salvation. It may please you to know, however, that John the Baptist’s threats are not the only mode of inspiring our repentance and growth into the full stature of Christ. So if John doesn’t do it for you (and he doesn’t do it for me), try Isaiah. Like John, Isaiah also foretold the coming of Jesus. Like John, Isaiah also called people to repent and convert and be healed. But Isaiah’s method of getting us there is quite different from John’s. John frightened people into line. John afflicted the comfortable, but Isaiah comforted the afflicted. John told us what to turn from, but Isaiah told us what to turn toward and embrace. In today’s Old Testament reading we’ve heard Isaiah (11:1-10) hold out a glorious vision:

The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid; the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them. The cow and the bear shall graze, and their young shall lie down together; and the lion shall eat straw like the ox. They will not hurt or destroy on all my holy mountain; for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord, as the waters cover the sea.

Isaiah’s vision is that of life at perfect peace with life, of life not feeding off life anymore. This is the peaceable kingdom, the kingdom of heaven that seems to trigger a primal memory we’ve never known, but never forgotten. Isaiah sets the vision from God before us precisely to encourage us, and make us yearn for something more out of our existence than the feeding-frenzy otherwise known as human life.

Isaiah’s vision of the peaceable kingdom reminds me of a story that is told about St. Francis. In the town of Gubbio, just north of Assisi, it seems that the people lived in terror of a huge wolf that would attack anyone who ventured outside the town walls. The people called upon Francis for help, and the saintly man went out to the wolf unarmed. St. Francis called to the beast, “Brother Wolf, in the name of Jesus Christ, I order you not to hurt me or anyone.” To make a long story short, somehow St. Francis was able to make peace with the wolf, as only St. Francis could do. He made the people promise that they would feed the wolf every day for as long as it lived, and he made the wolf promise to submit to the people and live with them in peace. Then he led the animal into the town square and preached a sermon with the wolf curled up at his feet. It is said that the wolf and the people lived together in peace and with affection. And when the wolf finally grew old and died, they buried it as if they were saying farewell to a beloved family dog.

The Wolf of Gubbio is a lovely story that touches our deep longing for Isaiah’s peaceable kingdom. But seriously: it’s not the way the world works. At the end of the day, wolves are wolves are wolves and lions are lions. The story is just a legend, isn’t it? Perhaps so, but what is also true is that when the ancient church at Gubbio was undergoing some recent restoration, the bones of a wolf were found buried within the sacred confines. The wolf will live with the lamb, the leopard shall lie down with the kid; the calf and the lion and the fatling together, and a little child shall lead them.

So it is that God in his mercy sends two prophets of the Advent to preach repentance and prepare the way for our salvation. We hear John the Baptist’s devastating words of truth coming in like a wrecking ball: Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees. And we hear Isaiah’s compelling images of life in the kingdom of heaven: A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots. Both John and Isaiah claim to speak in the name of the Lord, who desires not the death of sinners, but rather that they repent of their wickedness and live. But can John and Isaiah really be heard together? One seems violent, the other peaceful. One is stark, the other is lavish. What do these conflicting messages have to do with each other?

When I was fourteen my family and I lived in leafy, suburban New Jersey where trees are plentiful. Then we moved to the windswept plains of South Dakota, where trees are scarce. One summer day I found an actual sapling – not a weed, but a real ash tree in the making – growing up against the foundation of our new house. Carefully I dug it up and transplanted it to a place in the yard where it might flourish. And flourish it did. With lots of water and bracing against the wind, within a year or two it grew to be nearly as tall as I was. One spring, however, the tree never woke from its winter slumber. It was dead. Soon after we had a landscaper come do some work in the yard, and he made quick work of the lifeless trunk, removing it at ground level and tossing it away. He used not an ax, not a wrecking ball, but a tree saw, and that was the end of the tree I’d nurtured.

Or so I thought. Much later I noticed a green shoot coming out from the stump. Something had still been living beneath the deadness, but that which was dead had to be removed. Once the lifeless trunk had been cut off, the shoot grew and grew until eventually the tree was taller than it had been before. More than ten years after we’d moved away I was back in town for the wedding of a friend. I drove through the old neighborhood and was pleased to see that the tree was among the largest in the yard. Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees, says John. A shoot shall come out from the stump of Jesse, and a branch shall grow out of his roots, promises Isaiah. That which is dead needs to be removed before new life can emerge.

I pray that God will give us the grace to hear and head the words of both John and Isaiah, so that we might die to our sins. Then when Christ comes again in power and great triumph to judge the world, we shall rise to the life immortal, and without shame or fear rejoice to behold his appearing.

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The story of the wolf at Gubbio is told by Jim Forest in The Ladder of the Beatitudes, 1999.