Everyday Prophets

Homily for Sunday, December 8, 2024
Advent II
Luke 3:1-6

Please be seated.

Our reading for this Sunday is about John the Baptist, commonly known as the “prophet who prepares.” And here at Trinity, we find ourselves in the season of Advent. Advent- the preparing for,the waiting for, for something, someone to arrive. In our lectionary, we hear this Gospel the second Sunday of advent. And so, we set aside intentional time to tend to the areas in our life that are out of balance. And we wait as we prepare for God’s gift of God with us.

Luke’s words set us in a particular time and a particular place. We find ourselves with John in the wilderness. We meet John the Baptist in his world, in a world that is about to change. In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius. These are coordinates-set to a time and place, in a location and neighborhood. It was during that year that the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness. It was during that year we hear of God speaking through us, through people like John son of Zechariah. John’s message was one of prophecy, of hope, of renewal.

Max Lucado, a Christian author, is most known for his collections of short stories all tied together in a themed book. Though he has published many, one of them “Maybe He is the Messiah,” is a story of the messengers all around us, the prophets we encounter each day in our workplaces, in the stores, in our pews at Trinity Church.

Ok, so bear with me as we go on an adventure together. I am trying something a little different, I’m going to be reading some stories out loud for us today. This is the first one of two I’ll be reading…

Once there was a man whose life was one of misery. The days were cloudy and the nights were long. Henry didn’t want to be unhappy, but he was. With the passing of the years his life had changed. His children were grown. The neighborhood was different. The city seems harsher.

He was unhappy. He decided to ask his minister what was wrong.

“Am I unhappy for some sin I committed?”

“Yes,” the wise pastor replied, “you have sinned.”

“And what might that sin be?”

“Ignorance,” came the reply. “The sin of ignorance. One of your neighbors is the Messiah in disguise and you have not seen him.”

The old man left the office stunned. “The Messiah is one of my neighbors?” He began to think whom it might be. Tom the Butcher? No, he’s too lazy. Mary, my cousin down the street? No too much pride. Aaron the paperboy? No too indulgent. The man was confounded. Every person he knew had faults. But one was the Messiah. He began to look for him.

He began to notice things he hadn’t seen. The grocer often carried the sacks to the cars for the older ladies.Maybe he is the Messiah. The officer at the corner always had a smile for the kids Could it be? And the young couple who’d moved next door. How nice they are to their cat. Maybe one of them.

With time he saw things in people he’d never seen. And with time his outlook on life began to change. His bounce returned to his step. His eyes took on a friendly sparkly. When others spoke,he listened. After all, he might be listening to the Messiah. When anyone asked for help, he responded, after all this might be the Messiah needing assistance.

The change of attitude was so significant that someone asked him why he was so happy. “I don’t know,” he answered, “All I know is that things changed when I started looking for God.”

One of your neighbors is the Messiah….We need prophets. The people trapped within their own minds, fighting depression, anxiety…they need prophets. The people who are displaced and refuges from war torn countries…they need prophets. Those marginalized in our communities, the immigrants, those with no voice…they need prophets.  Because prophets are truth tellers to a world longing for hope.

We need prophets. We need the nagging they sometimes bring to urge us to be better followers in the Jesus Movement.We need prophets to call us back to God, back to the world around us as we walk in love.  The question-- “Are we willing to be prophets?” Are we willing to let God’s light shine through us?

Sometimes it helps when we see others being prophets. They act as examples of the light in us all. But what about those heavenly voices-what if we could enter the perspective of the angels of the first advent?  Another Max Lucado book, “An Angel’s Story,” tells of a fictional battle between Satan's legions and the angels as the birth of Christ unfolds.

“Gabriel."

Just the sound of my King's voice stirred my heart. I left my post at the entryway and stepped into the throne room. To my left was the desk on which sat the Book of Life. Ahead of me was the throne of Almighty God. I entered the circle of unceasing Light, folded my wings before me to cover my face, and knelt before Him. "Yes, my Lord?"

"You have served the kingdom well. You are a noble messenger. Never have you flinched in duty. Never have you flagged in zeal."

I bowed my head, basking in the words."Whatever You ask, I'll do a thousand times over, my King," I promised.

"Of that I have no doubt, dear messenger." His voice assumed a solemnity I'd never heard Him use."But your greatest work lies ahead of you. Your next assignment is to carry a gift to Earth. Be-hold."

I lifted my eyes to see a necklace-a clear vial on a golden chain-dangling from His extended hand. My Father spoke earnestly, "Though empty, this vial will soon contain My greatest gift.Place it around your neck."

I was about to take it when a raspy voice interrupted me. "And what treasure will You send to Earth this time?"

My back stiffened at the irreverent tone, and my stomach turned at the sudden stench. odor could come from only one being.

I DREW MY SWORD AND TURNED TO DO BATTLE WITH LUCIFER.

The Father's hand on my shoulder stopped me.

"Worry not, Gabriel. He will do no harm."

I stepped back and stared at God's enemy. He was completely covered. A black cassock hung over his skeletal frame,hiding his body and arms and hooding his face. The feet, protruding beneath the robe, were thrice-toed and clawed. The skin on his hands was that of a snake.Talons extended from his fingers. He pulled his cape farther over his face as a shield against the Light, but the brightness still pained him. Seeking relief,he turned toward me. I caught a glimpse of a skullish face within the cowl.

"What are you staring at,Gabriel?" he sneered. "Are you that glad to see me?"

I had no words for this fallen angel.Both what I saw and what I remembered left me speechless. I remembered him before the Rebellion: poised proudly at the vanguard of our force, wings wide,holding forth a radiant sword, he had inspired us to do the same. Who could refuse him? The sight of his velvet hair and coal-black eyes had far outstripped the beauty of any celestial being. Any being, of course, except our Creator. No one compared Lucifer to God ... except Lucifer.

How he came to think he was worthy of the same worship as God, only God knows. All I knew was that I had not seen Satan since the Rebellion. And what I now saw repulsed me. I searched for just a hint of his former splendor but saw none.

"Your news must be urgent,"spat Satan to God, still unable to bear the Light.

[…]

God's voice boomed. "You think you know much, fallen angel, but you know little. Your mind dwells in the valley of self. Your eyes see no further than your needs." The King walked over and reached for the book. He turned it toward Lucifer and commanded,

"Come, Deceiver, read the name of the One who will call your bluff. Read the name of the One who will storm your gates."

Satan rose slowly. Like a wary wolf,he walked a wide circle toward the desk until he stood before the volume and read the word: "Immanuel?" he muttered to himself, then spoke in atone of disbelief. "God with us?" For the first time the hooded head turned squarely toward the face of the Father. "No. Not even You would do that. Not even You would go so far."

"You've never believed Me,Satan."

"But Immanuel? The plan is bizarre! You don't know what it is like on Earth! You don't know how dark I've made it. It's putrid. It's evil. It's ... "

"IT IS MINE," PROCLAIMED THE KING.

"AND I WILL RECLAIM WHAT IS MINE.

I WILL BECOME FLESH.

I WILL FEEL WHAT MY CREATURES FEEL. I WILL SEE WHAT THEY SEE."

"But what of their sin?"

"I will bring mercy."

“What of their death?"

"I will give life."

Satan stood speechless.

God spoke, "I love My children.Love does not take away the beloved's freedom. But love takes away fear. And Immanuel will leave behind a tribe of fearless children. They will not fear you or your hell."

Around and around in a circle Satan paced, clenching and unclenching his wiry fingers. When he finally stopped, he asked a question that even I was thinking. "Why? Why would You do this?"

The Father's voice was deep and soft."Because I love them." The two stood facing each other. Neither spoke. The extremes of the universe were before me. God robed in Light, each thread glowing. Satan canopied in evil, the very fabric of his robe seeming to crawl. Peace contrasting panic. Wisdom confronting foolishness. One able to rescue, the other anxious to condemn.

He motioned toward me, and I responded, kneeling again before Him. Handing me the necklace, He explained,"This vial will contain the essence of Myself; a Seed to be placed in the womb of a young girl. Her name is Mary. She lives among My chosen people. The fruit of the Seed is the Son of God. Take it to her."

"But how will I know her?" I asked.

"Don't worry. You will." I could not comprehend God's plan, but my understanding was not essential. My obedience was. I lowered my head, and He draped the chain around my neck. Amazingly,the vial was no longer empty. It glowed with Light.

"Jesus. Tell her to call My Son Jesus."

The story goes on to describe the angels battle with Satan’s demons on their way to earth, Gabriel visiting Mary and then witnessing the Bethlehem events. The story ends….

All of God was in the infant. Lighten circled His face and radiated from His tiny hands. The very glory I had witnessed in His throne room now burst through His skin. I felt we should sing but did not know what. We had no song. We had no verse. We had never seen the sight of God in a baby. When God had made a star, our words had roared. When He had delivered His servants, our tongues had flown with praise. Before His throne, our songs never ended. But what do you sing to God in a feed trough?

[…….]

Once again, I heard the words I had heard first in the throne room. Only this time, I understood. So this is He.Immanuel. So this is God's gift. A Savior. He shall save His people from their sins. "Worthy is the Lamb," I whispered as I knelt before my God. My heart was full. I turned to Mary as she cradled her child and I spoke. It didn't matter that she couldn't hear me. The stars could. All of nature could. And most of all, my King could.

Amen.