Words made flesh: Joining Jesus in the life of skénoó - a sermon for the First Sunday after Christmas

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Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral on Sunday, Dec. 27, 2015.

In the name of love

What more in the name of love

“And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.”

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It’s been nearly 40 years since Paul Hewson, David Evans, Adam Clayton and Larry Mullen got together for the first time in Larry’s kitchen in Dublin, Ireland.

40 years since four teenagers who individually had limited musical proficiency and seemed like they were nothing special first realized that together they might be something special.

40 years since the beginnings of what would become U2.

Since that day in 1976, U2 has become the longest-continuously running and most successful band in rock n roll history. And in those nearly 40 years and close to 2,000 concerts only once have they not taken the stage together – November 26, 1993 in Sydney, Australia when Adam Clayton was too hung over to take the stage. Afterward, the band sat him down, lovingly and angrily got in his face about how he was self-medicating his depression with alcohol, helped him get into rehab and he hasn’t had a drink and they have never performed apart from each other ever since.

How have they stayed together? How has U2 survived the forces that have torn other incredibly successful bands apart. How are they as they end their 15th concert tour, arguably stronger and more creative than they have ever been.

Lead singer Bono will tell you it’s because drummer “Larry Mullen cannot tell a lie. And his brutal honesty is something we need in this band.” They will talk about a shared commitment never to be satisfied with their success but to risk and experiment and remake themselves continually in the hope of getting even better.

And then Bono tells this story:.

Bono (left) and Adam Clayton

“It was 1987, somewhere in the South. We’d been campaigning for Dr. King – for his birthday to be a national holiday. And in Arizona, they’re saying no. We’ve been campaigning very, very hard for Dr. King. Some people don’t like it. Some people get very annoyed. Some people want to kill the singer (“the singer” is how Bono refers himself). Some people are taken very seriously by the FBI, and they tell the singer he shouldn’t play the gig, because tonight, his life is at risk, and he must not go onstage.

“The singer laughs. You know, of course we’re playing the gig, of course we go onstage. And I’m standing there, singing “Pride in the Name of Love,” and I’ve got to the third verse (which is the verse about Dr. King being shot and killed), and I close my eyes, and I know I’m excited about meeting my maker, but maybe not tonight. I don’t really want to meet my maker tonight. I close my eyes, and when I look up, I see Adam Clayton standing in front of me, holding his bass like only Adam Clayton can hold his bass.

“And you know, there’s people … who tell you they’d take a bullet for you, but Adam Clayton would’ve taken a bullet for me – and I guess that’s what it’s like to be in a truly great rock and roll band.”

This morning we hear another song -- the song of the Gospel according to John:

In he beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The Word was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being.

And the Word became flesh and dwelt among us.

In a world of statistics and prose, the prologue to John’s Gospel is a love song. It’s not the historical context of Luke, full of “when Quirinius was the governor of Syria” or the mechanical “now the birth of Jesus the Messiah took place in this way” of Matthew.

John sings a song of the cosmos.

In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. The Word was in the beginning with God. All things came into being through him, and without him not one thing came into being.

All politics might be local but God is cosmic. The observable universe is at least 91 billion light years in diameter and is nearly 14 billion years old and God is God of all of it. We are a speck on a speck on a speck on a speck on a speck on a speck on a speck,

and yet..

The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.

Think about that for a second. Think about the size of the universe. It’s 93 million miles even to get to our sun and cosmically that’s like walking across the street to Tim Horton’s to get some donut holes. And God is the God of all of it.

And yet …

The Word became flesh and dwelt among us.

And the word John uses for dwelt is an important word.

It doesn’t mean just drop in for a visit.

It doesn’t even mean just move into the neighborhood.

The Greek word for dwelt John uses here is ἐσκήνωσεν (skénoó) and it means to spread your tent over someone. It means not just staying with someone but enfolding them, standing between them and danger. Saying there is nothing out there you will ever face alone because “I will always be standing right next to you and in front. Always right next to you and in front.”[1]

It’s Adam Clayton standing in front of Bono ready to take a bullet for him during the third verse of Pride.

It’s the band loving Adam enough to get in his face about his depression and alcoholism even though conversations like that can break up the best of families.

It is a commitment to brutal honesty and never to put personal achievement over what we can do together.

When John sings that the Word became flesh and dwelt, and skénoó with us, John is proclaiming the deep and soul-exploding truth that even though we are a speck on a speck on a speck on a speck on a speck on a speck on a speck in this vast 91 billion light years wide universe among who knows how many other universes, the God that created and continues to create it all chose and still chooses to go all in with us, to stand right next to us and in front, and to never, never, never, ever leave.

In the name of love
What more in the name of love.

That is the gift of Christmas. God’s gift of the divine self. Not just dropping in for a visit but dwelling with us, skénoó –ing with us, covering us, loving us enough to take a bullet for us and loving us too much not to speak the truth to our face. It is God standing with us and saying “sink or swim, succeed or fail, win or lose, pride or shame, I am with you today, tomorrow, forever.”

And God has two more words for us in this pledge of love. In this pledge of dwelling. In this pledge of skénoó .

The Word made flesh gazes up at us from the manger this morning and says two words:

“Join me.”

This Christmas gift is not meant for us to keep to ourselves. In fact, that would be the deepest blasphemy. This gift of Godself, of the divine presence who broods over the world like a mother over her children reminds us that this is the image in which we all were created and this mission is our deepest joy as well.

That just as God stands with us in our deepest pain and most frantic anxiety. Just as God meets us where we are most isolated, most closeted and most rejected, we are invited to do the same for this world into which Christ was born.

To go into the heart of the most agonizing pain and paralyzing fear.

To go to the places that are the furthest out and the most rejected. To the people that the world views as completely inconsequential and not mattering at all.

To go to the places that as far as the world is concerned are as useless as a speck on a speck on a speck on a speck on a speck and not just drop off a care package with a few things to make life a little more bearable.

Not just drop in for a visit and an encouraging pat on the back.

But to dwell there, to skénoó there. To not only with our lips but with our lives enfold those who dwell there, stand between them and danger. Say that there is nothing out there you will ever face alone because “I will always be standing right next to you and in front. Always right next to you and in front.”

What does that look like?

What does it look like not just to hand out pastries and eggs to those among us who are hungry but truly to skénoó together?

What does it look like not just to keep this space open for those among us who have no place to go but truly to skénoó together?

What does it look like not just to say “Black Lives Matter” but across the lines of race and class truly to skénoó together?

What does it look like not just to denounce Islamophobia and homophobia and transphobia and misogyny and so on and so on and so on but truly to skénoó together?

I don’t have a simple answer for us today. But I do know that if we are to be the church of the one who became flesh in Jesus, we get to find out. I do know that if we are to listen to the cry from the manger this morning to join the Word made flesh in becoming flesh in new ways and new places ourselves, we get to find out.

I do know that like the Word becoming flesh, this mission will lead us out of our comfort zones into places of unfamiliarity, vulnerability and risk. That like the Word made flesh, this mission invites us to dismantle “us serving them” models of ministry in favor of building Beloved Communities together. That like the Word made flesh we must be willing to sacrifice power and privilege, resources and respectability, safety and security to stand with one another in truth and solidarity and love.

What does it look like to live the skénoó life of God? I don’t have a simple answer but I know it is giving up a life of safety for a life of self-sacrificing love. It is recognizing that in the words of Dr. King until we have found something we will die for we are not fit to live. It is realizing that in Christ true greatness lies not in how much we accomplish or how much we acquire or how faithfully we preserve but in how deeply and fully we are willing to give up ourselves - even our very lives - for one another.

Bono said, “You know, there’s people … who tell you they’d take a bullet for you, but Adam Clayton would’ve taken a bullet for me – and I guess that’s what it’s like to be in a truly great rock and roll band.”

That’s what it’s like to be a really great church, too.

The Word became flesh and skénoó among us, showing us what true greatness looks like.

The Word became flesh and skénoó among us, and we have seen her glory, full of grace and truth. And from her fullness we have all received grace upon grace.

The Word became flesh and skénoó among us … and lying in a manger, the Word made flesh in Jesus invites us to do the same. Amen.

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[1] Will McAvoy to Sloan Sabbith in Season 1, Episode 6 of “The Newsroom” by Aaron Sorkin. (http://www.imdb.com/title/tt2299127/)

"What are you waiting for?" - a sermon for Christmas Eve Night

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Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral on Christmas Eve Night, 2015.

And God said to Godself: “What are you waiting for?”

You know, we should do this more often.

Seriously, it shouldn’t just be once a year that we come together in the middle of the night, when the rest of the world is asleep.

I tell my teenage boys that “nothing good happens after midnight” – because I’d rather they be home safe in bed so I’m not up worrying. I really have to stop saying that to them.

Because the truth is wonderful things happen in the middle of the night.

The deepest conversations.

The most profound revelations.

The most passionate love.

The middle of the night is when prose turns to poetry and statistics turn to song.

The middle of the night is when we are haunted by ghosts of the past, and enticed by hopes of the future.

The best questions come in the middle of the night.

The best questions come in the middle of the night.

And this night is no exception.

For us fully to appreciate what happens this holy night, we need to know the backstory. We need to know that the child born this night in Bethlehem has been a long, long time in coming.

We need to know that this birth comes after millennia upon millennia of God loving us from afar, dancing when we returned that love and agonizing when we rejected it.

We need to know that this birth comes after millennia upon millennia of God watching us turn against God, betray God’s trust, and turn against one another.

We need to know that this birth comes after millennia upon millennia of God staying distant and safe, letting prophets and sages deliver God’s messages of love. Until one night, deep in one night, as the world sleeps below, God has the deepest conversation, the most profound revelation of the most passionate love.

And God asks the divine self a single question:

“What are you waiting for?”

I have to believe that is the question God asks the Divine self before the incarnation, before the angel comes to Mary, before this holy night is pierced by the baby Jesus’ first cry.

“What are you waiting for?”

It’s a question all of us come to at some point in our lives – and often more than once.

What are we waiting for?

What are we afraid of?

Why are we holding back?

We always have reasons. There are always reasons to wait. Reasons not to do the bold thing. Not to do the courageous thing. Not to make the grand act of love.

It will hurt.

It could cost too much.

Think of what I have to lose?

I wonder if God wasn’t thinking the same thing. Being born, becoming human is such a risk. Loving so deeply to give yourself body and soul to someone is such a risk. What if they reject me? What if it hurts?

What if? What if? What if?

And the truth is, when God becomes human in Jesus, all these things do happen and yet still – and indeed because of all these things -- it is the deepest truth, the most profound event, the most passionate love in human history.

God asks Godself “What are you waiting for?” And God is not the only one. The question is ever on our hearts as well.

“What are you waiting for?”

It comes to us in the middle of the night. And when it does, our powers of rationalization are literally paralyzing.

We convince ourselves that playing it safe is the best practice. That long-term sustainability is more important than truth-telling and that discretion truly is the better part of valor.

We sell our souls not in grand gestures for glorious prizes, not at the Crossroads for the soul to play the blues. No, we sell our souls a little bit at a time…

Each time we say it is smarter to hedge our bets and keep our distance.

Each time we hide in the safety of the crowd.

Each time we shrink away from having the conversation that lays our heart bare.

We sell our souls a little bit each time we hold ourselves back for some better opportunity down the road, and in so doing miss the opportunities for true greatness the present moment has in her hands.

Well, Christmas is God having enough of that.

Christmas is God refusing to stay safe, keep her distance, and miss that opportunity.

Christmas is God going all in and standing in solidarity with our fragile humanity.

Christmas is God not fixing all the brokenness in the world, not magically solving every problem but saying “I’m going to be with you deep in the midst of it, this night, every night, forever. “

Christmas is God saying “What am I waiting for? Now is the time for love. Now is the time for truth. Now is the time to go all in. This love can’t wait any longer. This love can’t be lived from far away any longer. I’ve got to get down there. I’ve got to be with them. I don’t care about the danger. I don’t care about the risk. I love them too much to be away from them one second longer.

“Now is the time.”

I think about how many times I have thought playing it safe was the smart thing to do. And then I look at the Gospel, and I realize that playing it safe was not in Jesus’ playbook. Playing it safe is not in God's playbook.

If playing it safe was God's operating system, we would not be here this night. There would be no Christmas -- and there would certainly be no church. Christmas happened because God turned to the divine self and said, “What am I waiting for? What am I afraid of? Why have I waited so long to go all in? ”

And Christmas begs the same question of us. For all that conventional wisdom tells us to play it safe and hold back and make sure we live to fight another day, Christmas tells us that tonight is that night. That now is the time.

Christmas asks us “What are we waiting for?”

It’s not like there is any shortage of brokenness in this world for us to throw ourselves at in love and healing and it’s not like we are not up to the task. My God, we are the body of Christ! We are made in God’s image and loved beyond measure. Through Christ, we are capable of infinitely more than we can ask or imagine. And yet, we convince ourselves that we’re not. We convince ourselves that we cannot make a difference. We forget that we are people of this holy night, the night that Christ was born.

This holy night reminds us that the way we love is not from a safe distance but dwelling intimately with one another, no matter the danger, no matter the risk. In the heart of the danger. In the heart of the risk.

This holy night tells us that the way we love is not fixing all the brokenness in the world, not magically solving every problem but saying “We’re going to be together deep in the midst of it, this night, every night, forever.”

This holy night invites us to look at all the places we are holding back, all the places we are afraid, all the places we are waiting until we know how to do it exactly right, until there will be no cost or ramifications, until the odds will be in our favor -- to look at all those places and to remember that the proudest histories of those who dared to follow Jesus are histories of those who looked at themselves and said, just as God does this night, “What am I waiting for?”

Christmas is not about giving a small gift.

Christmas is not about a simple act of generosity.

Christmas is not about playing nice for a day and then going back to business as usual.

Christmas is about us looking at ourselves in the mirror, and like God in the incarnation saying “What are we waiting for?”

There is a world out there, a world of oppression and division, of hopelessness and hunger. And there is a world in here, too – a world inside each one of us – a world of dread and fear, a world where we hide our true selves from one another for fear of judgment and suffer in silence rather than risk rejection. And this night we are given the gift of life and the gift of opportunity to love all of it – the world out there, and the world inside each one of us -- into a different place, a better place, a place of freedom and forgiveness and joy.

Why are we holding back?

What are we waiting for?

Wonderful things happen in the middle of the night.

The deepest conversations.

The most profound revelations.

The most passionate love.

The best questions come in the middle of the night.

And this night is no exception.

We have the gift of the greatest love the world has ever known. This night is born a Bethlehem a child who is Christ the Lord. His song is on our lips and his love is on our hearts and there is a world out there and many worlds in here waiting for us to meet him and bring him near.

Wonderful things can happen in the middle of the night.

What are we waiting for?

"The church must be the headlight. Not the Taillight" -- A sermon for the Third Sunday of Advent

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Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral at 8 am on Sunday, December 13, 2015

Stir up your power, O Lord, and with great might come among us.

The church must be the headlight. Not the taillight.

John Lewis knows a lot about trouble.

The son of sharecroppers from Troy, Alabama, as a teenager, John Lewis listened to Martin Luther King on the radio and decided to dedicate his life to making trouble. And thank God he did. Because trouble is what made John Lewis great.

He organized lunch counter sit-ins in Nashville. He was a Freedom Rider and chair of the Student Nonviolent Coordinating Committee, one of the architects of the March on Washington and led protesters across the Edmund Pettus Bridge in Selma.

He was arrested more than 40 times and beaten, sometimes severely, more often than that. All before the end of his 25th year. All before he had served even one day of his nearly 40 years representing Georgia’s 5th District in Congress.

Earlier this year, Representative Lewis was speaking to a group of pastors and other church people about the church today. About how the church has become pacified and self-concerned, respectable and removed.

And as he paced restlessly across the stage, he recalled the hero of his youth and reminded the audience that this was the church that King faced, too. That much of Dr. King’s energy was spent trying to wake up a church that believed God smiled on their docility. A church that had domesticated Jesus into a passive champion of the status quo, preaching a love that was about staying quiet and out of the way.

The church had to be woken up then, Lewis said. And the church must be woken up now. As he noted the young people taking to the streets and risking arrest to fight for human rights across our nation, Representative Lewis said: “I believe it’s time for the church to get in trouble as well.”

“I believe the American church is too quiet,” he said. “and it’s time to speak up and speak out. To find a way to get in the way. To get into trouble, good trouble, and necessary trouble.”

The church is fueled by the Holy Spirit, Lewis said. And we become great when we let the Holy Spirit do her work. We become great when we let the Holy Spirit stir up her power and with great might come among us and when we are not afraid to step out in that Spirit with grace, faith and love.

And not just step out but lead.

That’s right, we must not just fall in behind in the relative safety of the crowd, walking steps that have been made safe by others’ sacrifice and risk. As the church of Jesus Christ, we must make those sacrifices and take those risks ourselves, blazing the trail into a world where the ground has not been prepared for us. Where despite John the Baptist’s pleadings the mountains were not made low and the valleys lifted up, the pathways were not made straight and the rough places smooth before the Word became flesh in Jesus of Nazareth.

“If we want to build a loving community,” Lewis said. “We cannot shy away from the responsibility to lead.”

“The church must be the headlight not the taillight,”

The church must be the headlight not the taillight.

I think John Lewis and John the Baptist would have gotten along just fine.

John the Baptist also knew a lot about trouble. Long before his head ended up on a platter, John the Baptist was getting into trouble, good trouble, and necessary trouble.

This morning, he is surrounded by people who are coming out to hear him. They are fans. And John has a peculiar greeting for this crowd of potential followers. He calls them a “brood of vipers.” He asks them, “Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come.” He tells them to “Bear fruit worthy of repentance.”

Now, I would say as a church growth strategy, this leaves a lot to be desired, except John the Baptist wasn’t interested in growing numbers. John the Baptist was interested in making disciples. John the Baptist was interested in preparing people to follow Jesus, the one who was coming to baptize not with water but with the Holy Spirit who stirs up her power and with great might comes among us and leads us into trouble, good trouble and necessary trouble.

This is not “How to win friends and influence people.” This is shock therapy. This is the toughest of love. This is John the Baptist saying, “Wake up people! A great light is coming into the world, a light that the darkness cannot overcome. A light of the best, deepest, most life-changing, soul-sating love the universe has ever known. A love that is for me. A love that is for you. A love that is everything we’ve ever dreamed of, a love that is our heart and soul’s desire but that demands our heart and soul in return.”

John is saying “Wake up, people! A great light is coming into the world. And there is a choice to make.

“Are you going to live this love?

“Are you going to be this light?

And you gotta make the choice. You cannot just rest on who you have been in the past, stay in your comfort zone and think that is enough. God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham.”

It is the Advent of the Christ. And Jesus is coming. And he will baptize with the Holy Spirit and fire. And it is the baptism we as the church have chosen. And if we are, in the language of our baptismal service, going to turn to Jesus Christ and except him as our Savior. If we are to put our whole trust in Christ’s grace and love. If we are to follow and obey Christ as Lord, John the Baptist is clear this morning that we have a choice to make.

A choice between safety and risk.

A choice between standing on the sidelines and leading the charge.

A choice between following the world and following the Christ.

A choice between being a headlight and being a taillight.

John Lewis and John the Baptist have the same message: Now is time. Time for the church to wake up. To speak up and speak out. To find a way to get in the way. To bear fruit worthy of repentance. To get into trouble, good trouble, and necessary trouble knowing trouble is always what makes the church great.

John Lewis and John the Baptist have the same message: Now is the time. The church must be the headlight. Not the taillight.

And so when politicians and pundits tell us we should greet refugees with slammed doors rather than open arms, now is the time for us to stand up and say “No! That is not the love of Christ.” And so we join with our sisters and brothers at Central Reform Congregation to adopt and welcome two refugee families into our city not just to nod toward compassion but as a first step to a broader partnership of radical hospitality for all.

The church must be the headlight. Not the taillight.

When Donald Trump and his supporters spew hate against people following the ancient faith of Islam, now is the time for us to stand up and say “No! That is not the love of Christ.” And so this morning, you can take one of these postcards and write a message of love to our Muslim sisters and brothers at the Islamic Foundation of St. Louis as a first step in our commitment to beginning a deepening relationship of love that will stand against the demonization of these beloved children of God.

The church must be the headlight. Not the taillight.

But that’s just the beginning.

When the people cry to John the Baptist: “What then should we do?” How do we shine our halogens ahead blazing the path, and not just bring up the rear of history’s parade? Here is what John says.

He says to the crowd: "Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.:”

He says to the tax collectors, “Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you."

He says to the soldiers, "Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages."

Three different groups of people – the crowd, tax collectors and soldiers – people at every level of collaboration with a dehumanizing, oppressive, occupying Roman State – ask John how do we accept this baptism, how do we become this headlight … and the answer John the Baptist gives to every single one of them is economic and it is personal.

Yes, it is absolutely about making a stand and saying the words, but it is also about choosing a way of life – individually and collectively – that is concerned not with building up wealth and power for ourselves but creating a beloved community of equity and justice for all.

What then can we do?

We can be a headlight not a taillight.

We can not only with our lips but with our lives reclaim the historic role of the church as chief lobbyists for the poor and the marginalized, not negotiating accommodations but demanding transformation and even dismantling of economic systems intentionally constructed so that some have a whole lot and others do not have enough; where greed is rewarded and wanting is justification enough for having.

What then can we do?

We can be a headlight not a taillight.

With our own life as a Cathedral, by how and where we invest our money, by our insistence that this space doesn’t belong to some but belongs to all, by giving away one of our coats every time we see we have two, we can give St. Louis a glimpse of our best future, of what Jesus’ vision of the beloved community can be right here, right now.

And so as our city prepares to build a football stadium while Black parents in North St. Louis City and County struggle to graduate their children from the failing schools White parents like me can escape from. In the face of this economic injustice will the church, will this church be a headlight or a taillight?

As we continue to pour millions and even billions in investment and tax breaks into the city’s central corridor while north St. Louis City and County are given crumbs off the table … will the church, will this church be a headlight or a taillight.

As income inequality spikes to levels not seen in a century, as north St. Louis becomes a broader and wider food desert, as the region continues to dump people struggling with homelessness on downtown St. Louis and considers that a viable solution to a moral crisis, as people of color throughout this country continue to get left off the major wealth escalators of property ownership and access to reasonable credit, as we continue to deny a minimum wage that even approaches a living wage…

Will the church, will Christ Church Cathedral, will we care more about our own survival or will we continue to say we care more about the life of all God’s children. Will the church, will Christ Church Cathedral, will we care more about keeping people comfortable or will we continue our call to shape disciples of a Jesus whose love has very little to do with comfort?

Will we speak up and speak out? Will we find a way to get in the way?

Will we get into trouble, good trouble, and necessary trouble?

Will we bear fruit worthy of repentance?

In this moment of history, with so much of it happening right here around us, will the church, will Christ Church Cathedral, will we be a headlight or a taillight?

This Advent, we are reminded once again that a great light is coming into the world. It is God’s love for us, and the Good News is this incredible love meets us where we are, and accepts us just as we are – nutty and brilliant; messed up and beautiful; clueless and creative. But God’s love for us is too deep and passionate to leave us as God finds us. God’s love is too great not to give us the chance and in fact beg us to choose to share in that greatness ourselves. To know the joy of John the Baptist. To know the joy of John Lewis. To know the joy of Jesus giving self for the life of the world.

The American church has been too quiet, and now is the time to speak up and speak out. Now is the time to find a way to get in the way. Now is the time to get into trouble, good trouble, and necessary trouble and my hope is we are just getting started.

The church is fueled by the Holy Spirit. And now is the time to let the Holy Spirit do her work. Now is the time for us to mean every word of the collect of this Third Sunday of Advent and bid the Holy Spirit stir up her power and with great might come among us and not be afraid let her lead us out into the world with grace, faith and love.

Now is the time. The axe is lying at the root of the trees.

Now is the time to bear fruit worthy of repentance.

Now is the time to live the surpassing love of God in Christ.

Now is the time for the church to be the headlight, not the taillight.

AMEN.

"Hearing John the Baptist in a world that forgives nothing" - a sermon for the Second Sunday of Advent

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Preached by the Very Rev. Mike Kinman at Christ Church Cathedral at 8 am on Sunday, December 6, 2015

“He went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.”

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“We live in a world that permits everything and forgives nothing.”

My friend Becca Stevens said that to me once, and it’s stuck with me every since. Turns out she was quoting a Roman Catholic Archbishop, Cardinal Francis George of Chicago.

“We live in a world that permits everything and forgives nothing.”

It’s true, I think, on both counts. Our society is becoming more and more permissive – and we can argue whether or not that is a good thing. Frankly, it’s probably a lot of both. But it’s the second piece of that quote that truly resonates with me.

We live in a world that forgives nothing.

We live in a world that is increasingly merciless. Where we get hammered for every mistake or wrong word or sin of omission or commission. We certainly see it in the political sphere where a slip of the tongue can end a career and where candidates are not allowed to evolve in their opinions or, God forbid, even change their minds lest they be called flip floppers and panderers, a symptom of a near-total breakdown in trust.

But it’s not just there. Increasingly most everyone I know is more and more afraid not so much to make a mistake but to have their mistakes discovered. The mantra of our society seems to be “Do whatever you want … just don’t get caught.... Because if you get caught, we will bury you!”

And so we live in a country where half of married women and 60% of married men will have an extramarital affair in their lifetimes … and yet we are brutally unforgiving when one comes to light – particularly to women.

We live in a country where 64% of men view pornography online at least monthly and pornography makes up about a third of all global internet traffic, yet instead of asking how we can help with an addiction, we cast out as a perverted pariah any man who is discovered with it on his computer.

There are similar statistics for other destructive behaviors. And our mercilessness has devastating effects. Because we live in a world that forgives nothing and that makes almost no allowance for human fragility, our own sin and brokenness is consistently driven into closets and underground in fear.

And that not only sends us into death spirals of shame, it cuts us off from resources and communities that can help us. It keeps in the darkness what only the light can heal.

It is into this merciless world that John the Baptist cries this second Sunday of Advent. And his cry is at once terrifying and liberating. He is proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.

What John is inviting the people to. What John is inviting us into as an act of preparation for Christ in our lives flies in the face of this world that permits everything and forgives nothing. Because what he is inviting us into is a radical change in how we approach our own sinfulness.

John is inviting us to come out of the closet as sinners.

Baptism is a communal public act. So when John proclaims a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, John is inviting us to publicly own our sins and admit our mistakes, to proclaim publicly all those places where we have fallen and continue to fall short, to stand up and say to the world. “Hey everybody – we screwed up.”

But it’s more than that. It’s more than just “Hey everybody – we screwed up.” It’s “Hey everybody – we screwed up and we don’t want to do this anymore. And so we need help.” And yes, the first step is acknowledging we have a problem.

Repentance is about radical change of life. It is about recognizing that of course we fall short, of course we make mistakes. And that when we keep that sin hidden in the darkness it only grows in power.

But when we bring those mistakes, when we bring our sin and brokenness out of the darkness into the light, it doesn’t need to hold us hostage anymore and its power fades. And we don’t need to be imprisoned by the fear of an unforgiving and merciless world discovering our shortcomings and instead we can accept each other’s help and healing. We can form relationships of support and accountability to live new and different lives. We can say commit to something different together with one loud voice saying “We will, with God’s help.”

That is what a baptism of repentance is. It is coming together in Christ’s name and just being dead honest with each other about where we have screwed up and where we are screwing up, affirming that doing wrong doesn’t make us bad, unworthy and unlovable people, and supporting each other in leading a new life.

And that means it is also about forgiveness. It is about trusting that we are made in God’s image and that each of us is beautiful and good and that we need never, never, ever fear losing that, never fear losing our goodness, fear losing the incredible love God has for us. And that yes, we mess up in ways large and small. We make the same mistakes over and over again … and then we also find brand new and incredibly creative mistakes to make. We make mistakes because we are human and though we are in the image of God, we simply do not have the perfection of God.

And in these mistakes, in our sins, if we can own them and together commit to a new life, we can trust that we actually are forgiven. That in this merciless world that permits everything and forgives nothing, there actually is mercy and forgiveness out there for each and all of us.

And that we don’t need to be ashamed.

And we don’t need to hide.

And we actually can be free.

John’s invitation indeed is both liberating and terrifying. It’s liberating because we all long to be free of the burden of carrying our sin in silence. We all long to be free of praying that nobody find out what we have been trying so hard to conceal. We all long to be rid of the voice that says “Oh, if only they knew, you wouldn’t be loved … you wouldn’t even be liked.”

We long to trust in the truth of forgiveness – but our experience of the world is so powerful, we are terrified to try. We are terrified that if we reveal even a little we will be cast out forever. We are terrified that even though God might be forgiving our fellow human beings seem far less likely to be.

We are terrified because we have been burned before and we don’t want to be burned again.

John’s voice crying in the wilderness is one that will take great courage for us to follow. It will take us having the courage to believe in the midst of a world that permits everything and forgives nothing that we can be honest about who we are. That we can take off the masks and tear down the facades. That we can confess our sins and find instead of the wagging finger of judgment the loving embrace of Christ, helping us to overcome our sin and together to lead a new and better life.

Becoming this community of forgiveness will not happen in a grand gesture. It will not happen with us all suddenly pouring down to the riverside for some giant mass conversion. It will happen one encounter at a time as we speak the truth to one another with trembling voice. As we risk to trust one another to hold us in compassion and mercy instead of condemnation and judgment. As we inspire each other with the courage of our own truth telling and give each other permission to do the same.

This second Sunday of Advent, John the Baptist invites us to come out of the closet as sinners. To say with one voice “Yes – we screwed up and we keep on doing it.” To trust that despite all the evidence of our lives to the contrary that there is love and forgiveness out there for us all. Amen.