2nd Sunday in Advent

Often when we attend ceremonies, those who are invited to make speeches preface their remarks with long formal acknowledgements of dignitaries both present and absent that go something like this: His Excellency, President of the Republic, in absentia, the Honourable Member of Parliament, in absentia, the Chairperson for the District Development Council, in absentia …. all protocol observed, and then they begin their actual speeches, by which time half their audience is already asleep. I have often wondered why such people bother with such tedious formality, until I realized that this is effectively what Luke is doing at the start of his gospel. Luke begins today’s gospel with his own impressive volley of protocol, starting with the Emperor himself, Caesar Tiberius, then the governor, Pontius Pilate, then the three tetrarchs who reigned in Palestine and finally the high priest. All of these dignitaries were also in absentia when John started his preaching. Perhaps what these types of introductions are meant to do is to impress upon the listener that the event that is taking place is of such importance that it warrants the presence of such highest powers in the land. Yet, as is so often the case with God who prefers to work in places away from the lime-light, the mighty and powerful are missing from the scene.

They are missing from the scene because the scene takes place away from the bright lights of the city, far away from the luxurious and ornate palaces that the afore-mentioned rulers dwell in. The scene takes place in the desert, a place where life, in order to survive, is forced to strip itself of all unnecessary frills. In this scene we are being ushered away from the hustle and bustle of our ordinary everyday lives. Luke sets the scene so we are to understand that the event that will take place will play out on the world stage, even if the attention of the main players on the world stage is diverted elsewhere. The people who did sit up and take note were not the high and mighty. By and large, it was the people of the land, the people known as the anawim, those who had virtually nothing to lose and everything to gain who sat up and took notice of these announcements of John. The reason that the high and mighty were in absentia, conspicuous by their absence was that they were too busy being important. Their absence is surely a lesson to us who are all too wont to take ourselves far too seriously.

It was only very later when the authorities in Jerusalem realized that instead of flocking to the Temple, the people were flocking to the desert to hear John that they sent a delegation to investigate what the fuss was all about. Whatever this delegation went back and told their masters in Jerusalem, we know that John was simply dismissed by them as a raving lunatic. We can imagine Herod, Pilate, and the chief priests having a good laugh about John the Baptist and the anawim, the poor people of the land desperate enough to pin their hopes on his message of a coming Saviour.

While the rulers of the known world were ostentatiously throwing their weight about, with their sycophantic followers obsequiously bowing before their might, the real story was happening hundreds of miles away, with a charismatic preacher in a desert announcing that God was about to intervene in human history in such a dramatic way, it would change the face of the earth forver. In many ways, the story of earthy power and the story of our human history of salvation have run parallel to one another, except for a brief period in the West known as Christendom, where they were seemingly united under one powerful Holy Roman Empire, with rather mixed results. In a sense it is the sharp division between these two worlds that should inspire in us a longing for them to be united, this time in a more fortuitous manner.

In Advent we are invited to join John out in the desert. This means creating oases of silence in our lives, silence that lasts long enough in order to awaken a sense of longing in us. Perhaps our time in the desert of Advent will also enable us to start seeing the hidden work of God that takes place away from the bright lights of fame and power that so often rivet our attention. In a certain sense, we can derive consolation from the fact that the story of our salvation is not tied to the meanderings of earthly power. When all seems hopeless and lost on this level, we can smile inwardly and know that God is still at work. We can identify ourselves with the anawim who let a wellspring of hope rise up within them as they drank in the words of John the Baptist. Let us prepare a way for the Lord this advent by paying attention to the small signs of hope in our lives that let us know that God’s Kingdom is arriving in our midst.

Questions for reflection

1. Am I able to notice when I am taking myself too seriously? What are the signs that I have become too preoccupied with my own importance that I miss the work of God in and around me?
2. What can I do this Advent to enter into the desert and to hear voices that usually pass me by unnoticed?
3. What do I long for most deeply this Advent?