Isaiah
40:1-11
2
Peter 3:8-15a
Mark 1:1-8
What’s
it like, walking down the street at the moment? Well we see a lot of claims
being made. We see glittering shop windows: life could be glamorous and
exciting like this; feelings of guilt are subtly evoked if we don’t buy this or
that expensive thing for our loved one. But
what will you do about the debts that you’ll still be paying off next
Christmas?
Advertisements
on the underground: Be careful when you’ve had a drink. Download our laundry
app to give yourself more time to party. For a heartburn free Christmas, take
these pills. Or (the next poster down) these rival pills. (None seems to
suggest the obvious solution, which is not to eat so much.) Happiness, it
seems, means consumption and excess, escaping into a fantasy land of midwinter
cheer. But what if you don’t feel cheerful?
There
are bigger statements, too. The number of homeless people in our city is
increasing all the time, and food banks can’t keep up with the need. But that’s
largely invisible. The skyline of London is great towers of gleaming glass and
steel and shining lights. These are making a huge public claim about wealth and
power and the priorities of our society. We’re the world’s sixth largest economy,
apparently. But who benefits?
When
we walk down the street, it seems we are continually presented with
interpretations of the world, claims about what really matters and is of value.
At
the time of Jesus, too, there were plenty of public claims and interpretations
of the world. The Romans were fond of inscriptions reminding you of the
importance and benevolence of the Emperor, and all the great things that he had
done for you. But they were also reminders of who was in charge, who ordered
and directed your life. And the Roman army was everywhere if you needed
reminding of what that actually meant.
Such
claims were often phrased as announcements of “good news”. Here’s an example of
one: “The birthday of the god Augustus [Caesar] was the beginning of the good news
for the world that came by reason of him.”[1]
That’s certainly making a claim.
Now,
look again at the first verse of Mark’s Gospel. “The beginning of the good news
of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” Mark opens his gospel in the style of a Roman
inscription proclaiming “good news”. He takes the claims of the Roman Empire,
with all its might and power, and says, No. Not true. The good news for the
world is not Caesar, but Jesus.
The
good news of Jesus is very different to that of Caesar. It is not based on
power and violence, but on love. It is not proclaimed on great public buildings
and monuments, not in the centres of power and wealth. It is good news for the
poor, for those on the margins, for those who have been left behind by the
power structures of the world.
John
the Baptist appeared to prepare his way. Not in a city, but in the wilderness, not
in robes but dressed like a tramp, scavenging to survive. But the people came
to him, from the whole Judean countryside and from Jerusalem. And they
confessed their sins.
There
was something authentic and compelling about John. People knew that what they
needed was here. A baptism of repentance, for forgiveness. True good news, that
Caesar had never offered. In the presence of John’s authentic proclamation,
people felt and knew the deep dislocation in their lives, their estrangement
from God and from one another, something that Rome could never fix. But
repentance could.
Repentance
means turning around, taking a new direction. Humanity has been heading in the
wrong direction, going its own way, the way of violence and envy, the way of
exalting myself over against other people. The whole way the world was, which
Rome called “good news” but the Bible called “sin”. But God calls us to his
way, the way of the Lord that his messenger prepares, which is the way of love
and justice and peace.
This
is the way of freedom. But it is also the way of the wilderness. God’s people
had been freed from slavery before, in Egypt, in Babylon, but freedom always
meant departing into the wilderness, leaving behind the certainty and security
that was actually part of what enslaved them.
The
way of the Lord leads us away from the centres of human power to the edge, to
the margins, where power and privilege and wealth are stripped away and there
is nothing to sustain us but the Lord himself. And the Lord himself is what we
truly need, he alone is our freedom.
This
is the heart of the good news of Jesus. But that means challenging and turning
away from the false claims that are so constantly made on us. The Gospel
exposes the false claims about what matters – wealth and power, success,
ambition, envy. In their place, the way of the Lord, the way of true freedom,
is that of love, service, humility. Raising up the poor and the downcast,
bringing the margins into the centre, healing the sick, embracing the unloved.
The
Gospel also means challenging the claims that are so persistent in our hearts.
What really matters? Repentance means examining ourselves, exposing our envy,
our disordered desires, our inner violence against others and ourselves, our
attachment to the certainty and security that enslave us. As with those who
first heard John the Baptist, our response to the good news must first begin
with the confession of our sins. We do so, not to wallow in guilt, but to
discover the freedom of forgiveness.
And
that can mean discovering, too, all the ways in which we are wrong about God.
The disordered desires and claims of our hearts can project a lot of dark stuff
onto the word “God”. A word which for so many people evokes a distant,
demanding, disapproving figure. We think that our security is found in casting
out and condemning others, so we suppose that is what God is like. I have heard
so many people, including Christians, say things like “I’m not good enough”, “I
let God down”, “I don’t think God likes me”. How is that good news?
We
need to have Christmas every year, to remind ourselves of the real good news
about God, which is Jesus. No distant or disapproving figure, but one who
actually wants to be with us, in all that life is really like. The name “Jesus”
does not mean “he who condemns”. It means “the Lord saves”.
The
Word was made flesh and dwelt among us. What does that mean? It means that God
sees all the lost and lonely people, the sad, the disconnected, the hurting and
vulnerable, those who are weeping in sorrow and pain, those who are beating
themselves up because they think they’re not good enough. And that is where God wants to be. Down here
with us. For us, on our side. Our friend. Because he loves us. Of which his
coming among us in Jesus is proof. And that’s real good news.
[1] The “Priene Calendar Inscription” – see https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Priene_calendar_inscription
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