Luke 3:1-20 · John the Baptist Prepares the Way
Sometimes It's Simple
Luke 3:1-20
Sermon
by Charles H. Bayer
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Do you ever feel religion is complicated beyond belief? A very pious chap was once explaining to a friend the difference between his denomination and another with which his had been at swordpoints for centuries. "One group believes you are baptized into Christ, and the other believes you are baptized in Christ," he said. "There have been strife, arguments and battles over the issue for as long as anyone can remember. I would bet my soul that my church is correct, and the other one is wrong! It is a matter of faith!"

Whereupon his friend inquired, "Which does your group believe, that we are baptized into Christ or in Christ?" "For the life of me I can never remember," came the reply.

A modern theologian was once asked what he thought of the doctrine of the trinity. "As little as possible," he responded. When Christian faith got enmeshed in Greek philosophy, it took a thousand years to figure things out. Now in an age when the old philosophic models no longer seem to apply, it is even more complicated. We've still got to use the old forms, but then we must translate them into terms those with a more modern world view can understand. What does it mean to the average factory worker that in the divine economy there is a difference between form and appearance, or that Christ is one substance with the Father? Many contemporary Christians hunger for a simple religion simply put.

It would be nice if we could come up with Christianity in ten easy lessons, or six simple phrases. But there is nothing simple about God's relationship to history, humankind's relationship to eternity, and the relationship among the persons in the Godhead. Any effort to dilute the gospel, to say complicated things in simplistic ways is to do a disservice to the truth. Those looking for easy answers to complex questions too quickly settle for a bibliolatry that latches onto a handful of scriptural snippets and grows narrower with every verse. The old-time religion that was good for Paul and Silas, and ought to be good enough for me, was not and never has been simplistic.

There are, however, two ways to clarify profound things. The first is to tell stories. When Jesus wanted to make a point he told a story about a young man who asked for his inheritance before his father even died, or a Samaritan who came to the rescue, or a shepherd who had lost a sheep, or a farmer who sowed grain. Jesus was doing no more than rabbis, and the sages before them, had done for centuries. We misuse the Old Testament when we try to make it history, when so much of it is the way the Hebrew fathers explained things by telling stories.

"Where did the world come from, father?" "Son, let me tell you a story. In the beginning ...." What a disservice to the text we do when we try to explain just how -- because it is in the Bible -- Noah must have gotten all those critters in that boat, or how Jonah really was swallowed up by a great fish. Storytelling is the way profoundly religious men and women have always communicated the truth to eager common people.

But there is another way to put the eternal in ordinary words. Certain ethical commands don't need overly complex explanations. There are a few things which are right on the face of them, and no convoluted system is necessary to make the truth clear. Some folks are better at this simple truth-telling than others. Today's gospel lesson is about one of those people. We know him as John the Baptist.

Jesus had not yet begun his public ministry, but his cousin had. John had traveled from the cliffs of his community of the pure, the "Essenes," and was preaching by the Jordan River. Whatever we might accuse John of, he was not dull or ponderous. He told it simply, in ordinary sentences, without esoteric or metaphysical frills. If Paul and the author of the fourth gospel early on provided the calculus of Christian thought, and Jesus the algebra, John gave it in simple arithmetic. "Two and two is four!" Everyone could understand what he was talking about. His was the ethic of the obvious. And sometimes, particularly for those of us who are simple minded, that kind of clarity is needed. Not everybody is a philosopher -- or needs to be.

Many of us in the clergy shy away these days from saying anything too clearly or too pointedly. We have been taught, as counselors, to reflect people's feelings so they can see for themselves, and decide. We rarely give advice, and would rather take a beating than be caught telling anyone what they ought to do. But not John.

Now and then I shock myself. Someone comes to me with a problem, and after listening for a long time to what they have to say, I find myself blurting out, "You must stop doing that!" Heavens! I may lose my counselor's license. I may have just violated the Rogerian categorical imperative. I've told someone, without shading it a bit, to cease and desist! I have just given advice! Occasionally my counselee is as shocked by my outburst as I am. But more than occasionally there is a great sigh of relief. They may have gone to a dozen other ministers before ending up in my office, and nobody has even vaguely suggested that their behavior was destructive.

My guilt is somewhat alleviated when I read today's text. The multitudes, each one out of his or her particular experience, asked what they were to do to live up to God's demands. John took them on one at a time. To those who had two coats, he told them to share one with someone who had none. Those who had plenty of food were invited to do the same. Tax collectors were told to take no more than was legal. And soldiers were asked not to rob or extort. Right living wasn't complicated after all. People were to be kind and compassionate to one another, and the more powerful were to live simply, realizing that the less powerful were human beings too.

At this time of the year when we await the birth of the one who is to be called, "King of kings and Lord of lords," that advice isn't a bad place to start. If you are new in the Christian faith and wonder how you can get your mind, and your life, wrapped around all this mystery and doctrine, try beginning by being kind to one another. That may not be the end of the matter, but it may be the best place to begin.

In his own ministry there were times Jesus boiled it down to one syllable words. Few things were more complex than the way the Pharisees had convoluted the law. Jesus cut to the heart of it by saying that to love God and to love other people summed up all the law and the prophets. If people could just live by that, all the other matters of faith would come clear. New Christians, or not so new ones for that matter, who get all tangled up in the complexities of the mystery before they have mastered the simple truths, are like the thousand-legger who got along just fine until he thought about which foot he was supposed to advance next.

As you go through this world, I doubt if how you are to treat other people is all that obscure. At least John the Baptist didn't think so, and told those who came to him straight out what the heart of the matter was all about.

In Kurt Vonnegut's book, God Bless You, Mr. Rosewater, Eliot Rosewater, an eccentric dogooder, was discussing with his wife the birth of twins to a half-witted townsperson named Mary Moody. "I'm baptizing them tomorrow," he says. "I didn't know you -- you did things like that," Sylvia replied. "I couldn't get out of it," said Eliot. "She insisted on it, and nobody else would do it. I told her I wasn't a religious person by any stretch of the imagination. I told her nothing I could do would count in heaven. But she insisted just the same."

"What will you say?" inquired Sylvia. "Oh -- I don't know. I'll go over to her shack, I guess, sprinkle some water on the babies and say, 'Hello babies. Welcome to the earth. It's hot in the summer and cold in the winter. It's round and wet and crowded. At the outside, babies, you've got about a hundred years here. There's only one rule that I know of babies: Darn it, you've got to be kind.' "

Maybe that's the Christian gospel in a nutshell. God has been very kind to us, and to live in God's sight means we must be very kind to each other. If that is not the end of the Christian faith, it may be the beginning.

Sometimes it's simple; as simple as a rough clothed prophet who told people to share with each other, and not to take advantage of or extort from the less powerful; sometimes as simple as the story of song in the air, a star in the sky, a mother's low prayer and a baby's soft cry.

CSS Publishing Company, WHEN IT IS DARK ENOUGH, by Charles H. Bayer