Below, for your consideration and reflection, is the sermon from Bethel's December 5, 2004 Sunday Morning worship service.

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I spent most of the days of my December childhoods, like many of you, I suspect, anxious for Christmas to hurry up and get here. But I did so with at least some fear and trembling. I think what caused the anxiety for me were the annual refrains of the old children’s song, “Santa Claus Is Comin’ to Town.” You know the song: “Oh, you better watch out / you better not cry/ you better not pout, I’m telling you why: Santa Claus is comin’ to town!” There was promise in that song, but there was also warning: “He sees you when you’re sleepin’, / he knows when you’re awake, / He knows if you’ve been bad or good, / so be good for goodness sake.” The message of the song, obviously written by a parent skilled in the art of motivation by fear, was very clear to me: Get excited! But also . . . shape up!

Something of the same dynamic is at work in the season of Advent. It is a season of wonderful promise and soft lights, yet a season augmented with a healthy dose of warning about the One who is coming. It is a time of joy and anticipation, but it is also a season of repentance and self-examination.

Prepare the way of the Lord. Wait for his arrival. This is Advent. Decorate our homes, buy a tree, find the special presents, watch Tsichovsky’s Nutcracker or listen to Handel’s Messiah, hang the greens at church, get ready for the pageant, go caroling. Everything seems to be well-organized and scheduled, and pretty predictable.

Today, however, our festive feelings and holiday cheer come to a screeching halt as we are brought face to face with a man dressed in camel’s hair proclaiming a message from the wilderness. “Repent, for the kingdom of God has come near.” “Bear fruit worthy of repentance.” Hypocrites are not welcome. Curious minds merely wanting to see the spectacle need not come. Prestigious pedigrees are not enough. Individuals bearing good fruit will be baptized. Individuals bearing bad fruit will be burned. You better watch out: on this second Sunday of Advent, John the Baptist has come to town. But I bet there won’t be a place for him outside when the nativity scene gets erected this afternoon. Or, if someone were to suggest John’s inclusion in that tender scene, they’d likely be accused of being a scrooge.

His message is not easy to swallow. It’s one thing to repent, but quite another to hear a group of people called a “brood of vipers” while visualizing people being punished by flames and fire. Most of us prefer not to ponder the possibility of God’s wrath and punishment.

Fire is often associated with hell and damnation. It is not possible to live in the Bible belt without a vivid image of hell, much more vivid than the clean streets of heaven. When we think of God tossing sinners into a fire, we perhaps picture a devil dressed in red with horns sticking up on top of his head. The devil has a pitchfork in his hand, ready to poke and prod the fire and those burning in it. The fire is a symbol designed to scare us, to keep us from sinning.

Christ will come for a final judgment. But will there really be flames, and if so, will they be flames of destruction or flames purifying and transforming sinners, melting and molding us as if from the touch of the potter’s hand?

If you read scripture, you have to wonder just what kind of fire is really God’s kind of fire. When I turn the pages of holy writ, I see that fire is the one reliable sign of God’s presence. God speaks to Moses out of the burning bush; a pillar of fire guides the Israelites through the wilderness. When Moses goes up to Mt. Sinai to receive the 10 commandments from God, it looks from down below as if the whole mountain top itself were being devoured by fire. I don’t mean to minimize the danger. This is not safe fire; it can still burn and kill. But it is God’s own fire, the fire of holy presence. Even when the fire seems bent on consuming us, like Meschach, Shadrack, and Abednego in the fiery furnance, we find that we have company, and that even in the hottest regions of our own personal hells, we do not sweat alone.

I read about a 15^th century painting of John the Baptist in the wilderness. In this painting, the wilderness does not appear dark and scary or burned over. Instead, there is a lot of light. Birds are flying in the air, and a few animals are grazing on the land. John is sitting on the bank of a narrow stream of water. He is dressed in a long, flowing, dark robe. John’s head is propped on one hand, and his face is covered with exhaustion and worry.

Is this really how John the Baptist appeared? Is he doubting his ability to reach the people as he prepares to deliver his sermon on repentance, about laying his axe to the root of the tree of human sinfulness? Or, maybe, this is a scene from his life after the baptisms occurred in the River Jordan. Is he wondering if the people will really change their ways? Did his call for repentance go unheard? Is his voice raspy from yelling? Are his feet wrinkled from wading in the waters?

The painting includes a bright, white lamb, resting beside John. The lamb’s face is turned toward John, looking upon him with a look of pity. The animal is within reach, but John’s face is turned away from the lamb. The lamb’s entire posture is one of peaceful rest while John the Baptist’s expression and body language tell of worry and anxiety and the weight of the world. I imagine the painter included the lamb as a reminder of the lamb of God, and that we have nothing to fear because God’s love and grace will ultimately prevail.

Prepare the way of the Lord. Make his paths straight. The lamb is coming. He is not to be feared. He is to be welcomed. He does not come with a fire of destruction. He comes with a fire of transformation. His fire melts and molds us into faithful disciples. He does not come to fill us with anxiety. He comes to calm our anxious souls. He comes to baptize us with the Holy Spirit and with fire. He comes to gather the wheat into the granary and burn the chaff with unquenchable fire. He comes to ignite a fire within us.

It is never too late to change our hearts. God does not give up on us. Despite where we are or what we are doing, God’s hand is still upon us. No matter who we are or what we have done, God can still change our lives. He can wipe away our sinful desires and selfish ways and replace them with fruit that is worthy of repentance.

Advent is a dangerous time. A time to ponder: how, exactly, does God look upon this sin-weary world and our shameless self-promotion and crass consumerism, our half-hearted attempts to put the Christ in Christmas.

The hard part is being able to tune the ear just enough, so that the sound of the distant thunder of God’s approach can be heard, just enough so that the alarm and danger of Advent are allowed to seep into our souls, so that the soul of each soul here is sought after and begins to seek the divine as we have never done so before.

Advent is a dangerous time. God’s future is coming. But first, here comes John the Baptist, and his message is one of fire.

Will we rise up to greet this one who calls us to repent, to turn our lives in a new direction?

Will we prepare the way of the Lord?