The Gospel of Subversive Love
Reflections from Gaudete Sunday
Dear reader,
The nights are getting longer as winter fast approaches. Our plant and animal kin in the northern hemisphere are slowing down and transitioning to rest, hibernation, and going underground for the season– and yet for many of us, this is the busiest and most stressful time of the year. Students (like myself) are slogging through the end of the semester with whatever gas is left in the tank, and many of us are traveling and answering the demanding call of family holiday traditions, of shopping and gift-giving, while hoping to avoid a trinity of surging viruses. At the time of year when we should heed natural rhythms and do the least, we expect ourselves (and sometimes one another) to do the very most.
I don’t know about you, but I am tired. Tired of unnatural, disordered ways of moving through our lives without being deeply rooted in them. Tired of feeling out of touch with the passage of time because I am so busy juggling demands and meeting one deadline after another. Tired of ignoring what my body is telling me about needing to slow down. Tired of the lack of presence in myself and others. So, you know what I’ve started to do? I’ve started to say no. I’ve become more discerning about what drains me and what fills me up, what erodes me and what brings me joy. With support from others, I am setting new boundaries and creating new habits that are more aligned with my well-being and the life I want to be living.
This has by no means been an easy feat for me, and I imagine the same might be the case for you. And so, I would like to extend this invitation to you, dear reader: if you gave yourself radical permission to live the life you desire, what would that look and feel like? What if we were to interrupt the life-denying forces of capitalism and tradition, which thrive on our unconscious participation, in order to slow down, to breathe into our beings, to take a sacred pause and reassess? What new wonders might we experience? What new modes of being and interbeing? I cannot imagine a more life-giving, redeeming, and joyful subversion.
For those of you who are observing Advent or are familiar with the Western Christian liturgical calendar, you might know that this past Sunday was Gaudete Sunday, or Rose Sunday– the third Sunday of Advent that invites us into a spirit of rejoicing over the coming birth of Christ. As such, I wanted to share the sermon I delivered on Gaudete Sunday last year at St. Mary’s Episcopal Church in Harlem. Here is a link to the lectionary readings from that day– I focus primarily on the Gospel reading from Luke 3:7-18, wherein John the Baptist challenges our traditions, our socioeconomic status quo, with a very clearly subversive message– and the author of Luke declares that this is the good news! Please listen or read on and let me know your reflections.
John the Forerunner, 2022. Made with MidJourney.
Today we celebrate the Third Sunday of Advent which is also called “Rose Sunday” or “Gaudete Sunday” from the Latin meaning rejoice! Today is a day all about joy, as we have heard in our readings: “Cry aloud, inhabitants of Zion, ring out your joy...”, “Rejoice in the Lord always…” So we light the pink candle on the Advent wreath to remind us to be joyful in the Lord, that our hearts might open in gratitude and gentleness.
Now, I admit I find it a little funny that the Gospel reading on a day of such joy begins with John the Baptist admonishing a crowd of people that have come to him to be baptized, calling them a brood of vipers. That’s a pretty spicy opener in my book. And he follows that insult with an interesting question: Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? I wonder why he asks that. Is there a larger crowd before him than normal? Are those seeking baptism suddenly becoming more numerous? Perhaps he is questioning the intention in their hearts in seeking baptism: are they feeling guided by repentance, by God, by anxiety? Or is this becoming a popular rite of passage, something one does to follow in the steps of one’s family or community but which doesn’t necessarily mark a deep personal transformation? John’s words sound like a judgment–and they are–but they are also a promise.
His preaching is harsh, jarring, and challenging–especially so as we approach Christmas–and that is the intended effect. He is John the Forerunner, who proclaims the coming of Jesus and prepares the way for his ministry. By all accounts, John is a wild man. He lives in the wilderness, clothed in camel’s hair and subsisting on locusts and wild honey. John is not a prophet of comfort like Isaiah who comes to soothe a people in exile; he is a prophet on the wild edge, calling people out beyond what is known and comfortable, beyond the status quo, beyond ourselves. He has come to stir us from our slumber.
He is neither polite nor gentle in his speech. He does not promise the people protection from the wrath of God through baptism. He does not assure them that they’ve been doing their best, and that that’s enough. And he doesn’t tell them that they will be saved by their faith. No. John tells them in no uncertain terms that they need to radically shift their lives and their values in service to those more disadvantaged than them.
What are we to do? The crowd asks John three times. And how often do we ask this of God in our own lives when every day, every hour, some calamity weighs on our hearts, when the problems of the world seem too big for us to repair? News of violence, disease, conflict, and injustice on a global scale paralyzes us. When life overwhelms us, when we feel powerless, we cry out, What then shall we do? And how does John respond? He doesn’t tell them to change the world, but to change themselves, to live differently. The people who came before him did not have the power to eradicate poverty–they were likely poor themselves–but they could share what they had with the cold and hungry. The tax collectors could not overhaul the tax code, but they could be honest in their dealings. And the soldiers could not end the Roman occupation, but they could act with integrity and not abuse their power. John focuses his guidance on the people and their relationships with one another. His answers are simple and practical.
For those who want to fix the world, John’s answers won’t satisfy. Poverty still remains, unjust systems still exist, and power is still abused. But Jesus didn’t fix the world either. He showed us a different way of being, a different way of living with and relating to one another, different priorities and values, and then he invited us to follow his example. He showed us what it means and looks like to be human, to be the dwelling place of God.
There are many who see themselves as Christians by virtue of baptism or parentage or faith; by their nationality, or their whiteness, or who they feel superior to. And God knows what’s in all of our hearts, all that we struggle with, all that we aspire to do and become. But how much better would this city, this country, this world be if we followed the very clear directions of Jesus and John the Baptist? “Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees…” John challenges what it means to be a child of Abraham, a child of God. He is telling us that it is not about the roots of the tree–that we aren’t grandfathered into holiness or salvation– but that we earn this by the fruits we bear. In other words, don’t assume that by virtue of some lineage or ritual that you are in right relationship with God. Our covenant with God is a living covenant, and our chosenness depends on how much we are living with love for our neighbor.
My concern for Christians is that the grace of God that Christ tells us about is often taken as a kind of blank check. We’ve been baptized, so we’re all good. Our families have been part of the church for generations, so we’re all good. Christ died for our sins, so we’re all good. I have accepted Jesus Christ as my personal savior, so I’m all good. I’m right with God. John is telling us something else. John is telling us that this view is wrong. He is warning us against the very human tendency of self-justification, of hypocrisy, of not practicing what we preach.
Christianity gets leveraged for all kinds of political ends that are not actually in line with what Christ teaches us. One of the worst cardinal sins in this country is to question the justness of our economic systems. The great American myth of self-sufficiency, of “pulling yourself up by your bootstraps” is at odds with what Christians, what all followers of God, are told to do. You have two shirts? Give one away. You have plenty of food? Give it away. Your last meal, your last two pennies? Share them. Give them away. When Christ sent the disciples out into the world, he told them to take nothing with them. No food whatsoever. One shirt only. That was it. The first followers of Christ got the original message straight from the source. You can’t be rich and claim to serve the poor. There wasn’t a single person that Jesus gave permission to to keep their wealth and material possessions– in other words, to stay comfortable in their privilege.
As we approach Christmas, I challenge and invite you, wherever you are, to think about the least of your brothers and sisters, to hold them in your heart in compassion and see where God calls you in loving service. And by the least, I mean our siblings on the margins of society, all those that we turn away from in discomfort or pass judgment upon. Those who struggle with poverty, addiction, and mental illness, who are without homes or facilities to cleanse themselves. Or maybe those who look or love or believe differently from us. We in Harlem, in New York City, know that countless folks here will be spending Christmas out on the street without adequate protection or shelter from the elements, without a warm meal, without family, and without presents to open under a tree on Christmas morning. Keeping Christ in Christmas can mean many different things, but I think the best way to honor Jesus’ ministry and spirit is to serve, to be generous, and to expand the boundaries of our hearts as we do so.
My hope for all of us, myself included, is that we can heed God’s call into radically loving service. Let us walk together at the wild edge of faith to bear fruits worthy of repentance. Let our hands and feet, our words and deeds, do the work of attending to the suffering in this world, of healing sorrow and despair. Clothe and feed your neighbor. Love your neighbor. Struggle for justice for and with your neighbor. I know so many people in this community do just that and I am grateful and humbled to be here learning from you, inspired by you. There is great joy in answering the invitation to show up, in seizing opportunities to give and to serve. And aren’t we doing just that? Like opening the doors of St. Mary’s to St. Martin’s and St. Luke’s so we can worship together–even though it might be a little uncomfortable to do something new–but how joyful it is that we can be together, that we can know and serve one another, that we can make our worship more beautiful and meaningful together! Who knows what blessings come from this sharing. I pray that God blesses us all and continues to guide us in our service. And as we serve, may we remember to rejoice in the Lord, to ring out our joy, and to give thanks to Almighty God for our innumerable blessings.
Surely Advent is about the anticipation of joy, of rejoicing over the imminent arrival of Christ in the world. It’s about our expectation of the good that is to come. And today, in the midst of that joy, John reminds us that the good news is subversive. It upends our false ideas and tells us what the Godly way of living looks like: radical love and generosity. We are not meant to passively receive Jesus into our lives, but to actively make way for him by burning the chaff within us–the pride, the false self-sufficiency, the apathy, the prejudice–to make room for God. To repent and be transformed. So let us receive the good news and rejoice: Christ is coming to baptize us with fire and the Holy Spirit! And what then will we do? Who then shall we be?