Just Because
Matthew 3:1-12
Boy! Last week it was judgment day. Now today it’s “you brood of vipers.” Christmas may be the warmest time of the year, but only because Advent burns the chaff with an unquenchable fire.
These days there’s lots of talk in the news about the economy. Is it improving or worsening? Main St. vs. Wall St. The growing divide between the wealthy, who are doing quite well, and everyone else, many of whom are struggling to keep up with the rising cost of just about everything. But there’s another type of economy that’s a frequent topic of discussion in our culture, that being the attention economy. The currency of the attention economy is not dollars and cents but clicks, views, and downloads. In the attention economy you get wealthy not with money but with media, the more the better.
With websites, podcasts, YouTube channels, Instagram and other social media, there have never been more ways to draw attention to yourself. All you need is an internet connection and a microphone. In the old days, you had to do something noteworthy, something unique.
For example, many years ago when I was working in New York City I went for a walk on my lunch hour through Union Square. As I was making my way through the park I heard a metallic clanging behind me. Just as I turned my head to see what it was I saw a figure—I’m not sure if it was a man or a woman—covered head to toe in aluminum cans and riding a unicycle. Their whole body was draped in a kind of medieval armor made of soup and soda cans. The person didn’t say anything and wasn’t carrying a sign advertising, promoting, or protesting anything. It was more of a mobile performance art piece. And it certainly got people’s attention. I overheard a woman near me say with amusement, “Only in New York.”
I’m not so sure about that, however. Because in the wilderness of Judea in the first century, near the banks of the Jordan River, there was quite a singular figure who knew how to draw attention to himself. He didn’t dress as his contemporaries did, in a tunic and outer cloak made from wool, but, like Elijah before him, opted for a garment made of camel’s hair, which was coarse and uncomfortable. His diet differed from that of his peers as well. Rather than bread, olives, figs, and dates, he snacked on locusts and wild honey.
I’m referring, of course, to John the Baptist. Now, I’m guessing that you’re all familiar with him. But I believe that our familiarity with the basic outline of John’s ministry—that he preached about repentance and baptized his followers and spoke of the one who would come after him for whom he would prepare the way—dulls our understanding of just how odd a figure he is. In saying that, I’m referring not only to his fashion choices and eating habits but to where he appears and what he has to say.
First, let’s talk about location. There’s a reason that street preachers choose for their pulpits busy intersections or the subway stations beneath them. That’s where the people are. But John doesn’t set up his soapbox on the corner of Abraham Avenue and Beth-el Boulevard just outside Jerusalem Square Garden. His ministry is not even near the city but out in the barren wilderness, a place largely devoid of people.
“In those days John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness of Judea.” I love the way that Matthew describes John’s arrival as this mysterious event without any sort of details. John just appears one day like a new shoot from a desert plant emerging from the ground. Where did that come from? That wasn’t here yesterday.
Why would John appear in the wilderness? Wouldn’t it make more sense to go to where the people are? Into the cities, the marketplaces, the public squares? If John the Presbyterian were establishing a new worshiping community for the presbytery, he would likely be given data showing that his chance of success would be much higher if he were to set up shop in town rather than out in the wilderness.
Opting for the wilderness of Judea over downtown Jerusalem isn’t a matter of John preferring to do things the hard way. In Israel’s history the wilderness resounds with numerous theological overtones. First, it’s a place of sanctuary, where the people find safety after crossing the Red Sea and escaping from Pharaoh’s army.
It’s also a place of formation, where God forms a covenant with the people, promising to be their God while the people pledge to follow God’s Torah, or instruction.
And the wilderness is also a place of judgment where the people grumble, complain, and then rebel, forming gods in their own image and thereby condemning themselves in the eyes of God.
Therefore, John’s appearance in the wilderness suggests that his message is one of judgment, to be sure, but also of redemption and formation. And all of that is precisely what we hear in the first words that John utters: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.”
John’s message is one of judgment, to be sure, but also of redemption and formation.
Repentance is a word that we’ve all heard but may not fully understand. It’s also a word that carries a lot of baggage for some of us who may have come from churches where we heard it brandished like a weapon, in ways intended to harm rather than heal. If that has been your experience, and even if it has not, I encourage you today to hear John’s call to repentance not as a word of warning (“Get yourself right with God or else!”) but as a sign of God’s unconditional love. For what is repentance, if not an indication that, despite our rebellion, God desires that we come back to him? God doesn’t say, “Forget it! You’ve messed up too many times. I’m done with you.”
Do you remember the Gospel passage in which Jesus is preaching about forgiveness, and the disciples want to quantify it? “How many times do I have to forgive?” Peter asks. “As many as seven times?” I so admire Peter. He asks the questions that all the other disciples are thinking but are too afraid to ask.
“No,” Jesus answers, “not seven times but seventy-seven times.” Now, Jesus is not suggesting that you keep an accounting sheet of forgiveness, so that once you’ve forgiven seventy-seven times your ledger is full and you no longer have to forgive. In Hebrew the number 7 symbolizes wholeness, perfection, and holiness. To forgive is to be made whole and to be holy. In other words, Jesus is saying that you cannot put a number on forgiveness. Like God himself, forgiveness has no end, no limit. And neither does repentance.
Fortunately for us, Jesus practices what he preaches. The standard of forgiveness that he calls his disciples to live up to he also embodies in his own person on the cross. On the cross all of our sins—past, present, and future—are forgiven eternally. And with forgiveness comes repentance.
Please, take note: that is the correct order. Forgiveness first, then repentance.
Please, take note: that is the correct order. Forgiveness first, then repentance. We often get it backwards, thinking that if God is going to forgive us, then we first have to repent. That puts us in the driver’s seat. God can’t act until we do. Oh, we so want to be the ones who call the shots!
But the good news is not “If you repent, God will forgive.” The good news is “Because God forgives, therefore you can repent.” God has taken the initiative. God has made the first move. There are no if’s, no and’s, no but’s about it…just because.
Whenever we reverse the order, whenever we make God’s forgiveness conditional upon our repentance, we have lost the plot and have misunderstood the most basic, the most fundamental principle of the gospel, which is that grace comes to the undeserving. God does not withhold forgiveness until we get our act together. God does not stand far off, watching and waiting to see what we will do. Are we truly sorry? Are we really serious this time? No, the kingdom of heaven has come near.
“Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” Despite John’s reputation as a fire-breathing prophet of the first order, these are among the most uplifting words in all of Scripture. The kingdom of heaven has come near. Already. Right here and now. Jesus does not wait for you to sort your life out. He does not delay in coming until you think you are ready to receive him, that is, after you have cleaned the house, mowed the lawn, and gone grocery shopping so that you are fully prepared when he comes. No, the kingdom of heaven has already come near. Jesus wants to come and meet you just as you are—unshowered and still in your pajamas.
Do you understand what good news that is? If Jesus were to wait until we are ready to receive him—until we’ve forgiven the one who hurt us, until we’ve sought forgiveness from those we’ve wronged, until we’ve broken the patterns that keep us repeating the same self-destructive behaviors—well, Jesus might as well take a number at the DMV; he’s going to be waiting a long, long time.
Jesus wants to come and meet you just as you are—unshowered and still in your pajamas.
But Jesus does not wait because he wants to be with you right now. He wants to know you, your joys, your sorrows, your struggles. Even the parts of yourself that you try to keep hidden due to shame, guilt, or regret, Jesus already knows. That’s why he has come—to relieve you of that burden. To free you from feeling like a fraud. To liberate you from bondage and free you to be a new creation through the power of his Holy Spirit living within you.
Repentance, far from being a threat issued by a wrathful god, is an invitation into relationship with a God who is forgiving almost to a fault. How often does the Old Testament depict the Israelites going astray? Early and often! After they escape from Pharaoh’s army into the wilderness, Moses leaves them for about five minutes to meet with God on the mountain, and by the time he comes down they’ve made idols out of gold. When Israel’s leaders reject God’s command to care for widows, orphans, and strangers, God sends prophet after prophet to call them to repentance.
Despite Israel’s repeated failures, God never abandons them, and God will never abandon you. No matter how many times you go astray, the voice of the Lord calls you to repent, to turn around, and to come back into the loving embrace of the one who would pay any price to redeem you, even the cost of his own life.