SERMON 12 December 2004 (Advent 3)

 Readings:    Isaiah 35: 1-10        Psalm 146       James 5:7-10        Matthew 11:2-11

In the name of God, who calls us to reality. Amen.  

We live in a time of tension about what it is to be human and our place in the great scheme of things. On the one hand we have extraordinary insights into human psychology, into the composition of the human psyche and all the factors that influence us. We have placed enormous importance on the individual and devoted a great deal of research to understanding who we are, how we become that way and what determines those outcomes. We know, as earlier generations have not known, the effects of trauma, of stress, of particular types of nurture. We know how important each human life is. 

On the other hand, our knowledge of astronomy, of geology and of biology, and the information gathered from our amazing technological advances, have served to underline just how insignificant we are. We humans are a small footprint on the aeons of time, a tiny pinprick on the universe. Measured against the vast sweep of the cosmos, we are inconsequential as a species, as individuals we hardly rate a mention at all. Gone almost before we exist, we are collections of atoms which then go on to be parts of other things.  

These apparently contradictory positions are the backdrop against which the drama of our lives is played out. How do we see ourselves? How do we live in this tension between feeling utterly inconsequential and of inestimable importance? 

Popular culture encourages us to deal with it all by framing the world around ourselves.  We are encouraged to construct our lives around our aspirations, and more particularly, around our material aspirations. There used to be an ad for a financial services company which used the line ‘For the most important person in the world – you’. On Friday I found an astonishing article in the Sydney Morning Herald on the subject of greed. Greed, according to Walter Williams, an economics professor at George Mason University in the United States, does (and I quote) ‘wonderful things’ and ‘produces preferable outcomes most times and under most conditions’.  

To be fair to the author of the article, Matt Wade, he seemed a little bemused by Professor Williams’ take on life, but he pointed generally to a shift in our society’s values away from the promotion of thrift, prudence and moderation and towards the promotion of greed, masquerading as achievement and aspiration. The article also noted that while the amount of money given in tax deductible donations to charities has increased, the engagement of individuals in the wider world has diminished. People may invite the neighbours over for a barbecue or be involved in the local footy club, but they are less concerned with broad issues such as public infrastructure, the environment, public education and even health services.   

But focussing on the self and on the small circle around oneself is not the only way to deal with the tension within which we live. Ultimately it works only if we block out thoughts of our insignificance and regard ourselves as of utmost importance. Another option of course is to lose yourself in existential angst and live, or attempt to live, weighed down by the burden of your complete unimportance.  Such a choice leads to despair and irresponsibility. 

There are other, however, approaches and I would like to suggest that the life of faith gives us a conceptual framework within which we can reconcile this apparent inconsistency between our importance and our insignificance in a way which is healthier both for the individual and, ultimately, for human society.  

Today’s Gospel reading talks about John the Baptist - a man whose significance throughout history stems from his faithful living out of his calling. John the Baptist did what he was created to do: he pointed to the one who was to come, he prepared the way of the Lord. 

There is a Judy Horacek cartoon which consists of one frame. There is a sea of faces, all looking much the same. A speech bubble is coming out of the mouth of one of them. The caption reads, “What if I’m not the main character after all?” The reality of life is that most of us aren’t the main character: John the Baptist was not the main character. His public ministry was spent pointing towards the one who was to come, preparing the way of the Lord. He lived his life in relation to the main character – God – and derived his significance from that relationship. It is worth noting that the message Jesus sends to John in prison is a message that reassures John about who Jesus is. It is a way of saying to John ‘You are right. You have done the right thing – you have prepared the way for me.’  

And that is how we too derive our significance. It does not come from indulging our passions. It does not come from the affirmation that is given to us by other people. It does not come from blotting out of our consciousness the reality of our insignificance. It comes from living in relationship with God. The gulf between significance and insignificance is not the deep chasm it appears to be – it is filled with God. The incarnation of God in Jesus, that tiny human baby born 2000 years ago, is the visible, living example of this connection between the divine and the human, between the significant and the insignificant, between the universal and the particular.  

And so we wait. Not just to celebrate the birth of Jesus as we do every year at this time, but we wait for a sense of our calling. Who are we created to be? What is our task? Some things are clear – we love God and we love our neighbours as ourselves. We seek to understand what this means in practical terms. Perhaps this is the full extent of our calling – the faithful honouring of one another with justice and love, as today’s Collect would have it. But for some there are other callings as well, as John was called to be a prophet.  

To seek our true calling can be a daunting experience. We might know intellectually that we will find our greatest happiness only if we become who we are truly created to be, but it is another matter altogether to face what that might be. What if God’s image of ourselves does not actually fit in with our own? What if God takes us solidly out of our comfort zone? Did John the Baptist truly want to be a prophet? The Old Testament is full of stories of people who responded to God’s call only very reluctantly – Moses and Jeremiah, to name but two. 

This season of Advent, a season of reflection and repentance, challenges us to examine the deep structures of our lives. Are we set on a godly path? What is the purpose of my life and am I living it? These are profound questions and I encourage you to consider them. If we do not attempt to address them, we risk frittering away our lives in meaninglessness, shadows of who we are truly meant to be. 

May you have the courage to ask the question, the wisdom to discern the answer and the faith to follow God’s call.  Amen.