THE REV. ROBERTO DESANDOLI
2nd Sunday after Pentecost / National Indigenous Peoples Sunday
1 Kings 19: 1-15a
Psalm 42 & 43
Galatians 3: 23-29
Luke 7: 24-30, 33-35
“What did you expect“
Luke 7: 24-30 (only)
24 When John’s messengers had gone, Jesus[a] began to speak to the crowds about John:[b] “What did you go out into the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the wind? 25 What then did you go out to see? Someone[c] dressed in soft robes? Look, those who put on fine clothing and live in luxury are in royal palaces. 26 What then did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet. 27 This is the one about whom it is written,
‘See, I am sending my
messenger ahead of you,
who
will prepare your way before you.’
28 I tell you, among those born of women no one is greater than John; yet the least in the kingdom of God is greater than he.” 29 (And all the people who heard this, including the tax collectors, acknowledged the justice of God,[d] because they had been baptized with John’s baptism. 30 But by refusing to be baptized by him, the Pharisees and the lawyers rejected God’s purpose for themselves.)
“What did you expect?”
“What did you go out into the wilderness to look at?”
“A reed shaken by the wind?”
“What did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes?”
“What then did you go to see?”
As Jesus asked these questions of the crowd gathered before him, Luke shows us that His words were met with a mixture of nods and scowls.
Nods from those whom Jesus referred to as the “least in the kingdom of God” (and yet, even they were greater than the prophet John the Baptist): these were the tax collectors, the poor, the outcast, those who had accepted the baptism of John.
And scowls; scowls and hard looks from the Pharisees and the lawyers who listened to Jesus’ words with contempt.
In questioning the expectations of those who went out to see John the Baptist in his ministry by the River Jordan, Jesus proved an important point: that when we hear that one of God’s prophets is in our midst, when we hear that one named John is baptising the faithful with water as a forebearer of the one who baptizes with “Holy Spirit and with fire” what should we expect when we get out there and see him for ourselves?
What did you expect?
A reed shaken by the wind – something weak and bending, something easily brushed aside?
Someone dressed in soft robes – one whose appearance and nature is soft on the senses? One who is easy to look at? Easy to listen to? One who is pleasing to our delicate sensibilities?
But truly, you did not expect to see these things, did you? You did not expect to be greeted by a member of the royal court, a gentleman, but rather a prophet.
A prophet who dressed in camel hair and who ate locusts and wild honey, a prophet whose purpose was to herald the arrival of the Son of Man, a prophet who would upset our senses, one who would look, and sound (and yes) smell frightening; one who would upset our understanding of who is in and who is out, a prophet who would baptize the tax collectors and leave the pharisees standing, scowling, on the riverbank.
In the words we have heard in Luke’s Gospel this morning, Jesus reminds us that if we are to go out into the wilderness, seeking the source of the voice we have heard, we ought not to be surprised when we find it, when we find a person who is different from us, when we find someone who interprets Scripture more earnestly than we do, when we find someone who baptizes freely those who will “repent and believe the good news.”
After all: What did you expect?
Though we do not wish to commit the error of writing revisionist history, though we do not want to be so arrogant as to think that our 20/20 hindsight entitles us to easily judge people who came before us, I could not help but see our own Canadian history staring back at me as I read these verses from Luke’s Gospel.
If we, that is, newcomers to the land that eventually came to be called “Canada,” are to find ourselves in this story, who are we to identify as?
Are we John the Baptist? Going out into the wilderness to offer baptisms to those who have not heard the good news? (That is what we used to like to believe anyway)
Are we the “baptized of John?” the ones who trekked out into the wilderness and accepted the baptism of those who were strange to them? Those whose ways were different but who nevertheless witnessed to God’s only Son?
Or are we the Pharisees? Are we those who scowled not only at the rude figure of John the Baptist but also Jesus of Nazareth, the One in whose name John was baptizing?
Like I say, it’s not a perfect fit and we don’t want to force the pieces together, but knowing what we know now about contact between indigenous and non-indigenous Canadians, knowing what we know now about treaties made and broken, about residential schools, about the 60s scoop, about dirty drinking water, and missing and murdered women, knowing what we know now about this difficult history, who do we see ourselves as?
Well, if you are anything like me, you probably don’t see yourself at all in this story. Or, at least, you would prefer not to. If you are like me, you have probably already perfected your handy reason to back out of the conversation: “who me? No, my family came over from Italy in the 1950s, I didn’t have anything to do with that, it must have been someone else”
But what are we saying when we point out our lack of involvement in this difficult history? Are we really trying to say that if we keep cutting away who is not involved we will eventually arrive at the guilty party? Is there anyone in Canada in 2019 who could stand trial for this long and difficult history? And even if there was, is that type of persecution really the Christian thing to do?
At the opposite from this strategy of un-involvement is the strategy to “move things forward”:
Haven’t we talked about this enough?
Let’s not beat a dead horse here!
We all know mistakes were made, we apologized, Harper apologized, Trudeau apologized, let’s all just forget it and move on already!
I confess that I too have spoken words like these in various conversations. Sometimes the stories are too raw, sometimes the guilt is too hot, sometimes the messaging and the campaigning about “reconciliation” cause us to want to run and hide, but again, is this what Christ would have us do? Is this what the Gospel would have us do?
Friends, there are no easy answers to these questions.
-There are no quick fixes to Canada’s history of racism and oppression
-There are no easy answers to how we, as individuals, as colonizers and colonized, find our way in this difficult and painful conversation
-There is no magic bullet to how we move on as a country while being faithful to the need to listen
-There is no shortcut regarding how to be faithful to the Gospel and yet sensitive to the pain of those who have suffered at the hands of others who claimed the same
In all of this, friends, I am keenly aware of the issue of being yet another European-descended Canadian speaking about what we as a church and a country ought to do with regard to our indigenous friends.
As I started to prepare for this National Indigenous People’s Sunday, I thought that perhaps the best thing I could do would be to step out of this pulpit and allow someone else to speak. And while I believe that would be one of several faithful options, I believe that it is still faithful to stand, as the minister of this church, as a representative of the Presbyterian Church in Canada, and to tell the truth as it has been revealed to me though much thought and prayer.
I have been humbled. Over and over again by interactions with indigenous Canadians and indigenous Christians over the years:
Most recently at General Assembly two weeks ago, as the PCC acknowledge the 25-year anniversary of our church’s commitment to reconciliation, we heard from representatives of our First Nations community about their experiences with not only trauma but also healing.
The words of one representative still ring loud in my ears even two weeks later. This man, this indigenous man, this Presbyterian Elder, this residential school survivor, got up to the microphone and he spoke from the heart about his experiences in the schools and in the church. On the topic of losing his native language and being compelled to learn English, he said that “it wasn’t all bad.”
He said “It wasn’t all bad, because, when the people at the residential schools taught me to speak English, they also taught me to say ‘No’.”
[pause]
There is something Gospel-shaped about a testimony like that.
There is something about a painful history between peoples, a painful history between Indigenous Canadians and the church, that results in the ability of one such child to say “No” to what is happening to them.
If I am sure of anything in the conversation about reconciliation it is that God can and will and is using even these painful things for His justice.
When I was a seminary student at the Vancouver School of Theology, there was one class discussion in which I was asked if I would wear the clerical collar when I became ordained.
To be honest, I don’t think that I had thought about it very much, but I answered that “yes I would.”
Another student gave me a different perspective: “not me, that collar represents too much pain, too much abuse, to too many people, it’s not worth whatever could be gained by wearing it.”
This conversation stuck with me for a long time afterwards.
After thinking and praying about it, I decided that I would not change my answer, that I would wear the collar when I became a minister. The reason I have committed to doing this is because it’s not our job as Christians to blame our forbearers for the mistakes of the past. It’s not our job to use our perfect 20/20 hindsight to say that “they” were all wrong and that “we” are all right.
Because if we go forward thinking we have nothing to confess, then we are sure to create tragedies of our own in our generation.
As Christians, we witness to the Gospel of Jesus Christ. A story that says “God so loved the world that He gave His only Son, so that everyone who believes in Him may not perish but may have eternal life”; a story that says God can use broken situations to bring about perfect love; a story that says that even the pain and humiliation and death of the cross is no match for God’s boundless Grace and Mercy. It is true that the collar has some blood on it, and yet, so does the cross; and it is only because the cross stands for both the death of Jesus Christ as well as His Glorious Resurrection that it is a fitting symbol for our Christian faith.
Friends, we have a cross-shaped story in this country with regard to our relationship between nation, church, and indigenous peoples. A story that we are right in the middle of.
Our story is a cross made of good intentions and painful outcomes.
Our story is a cross made of colonization and decolonization.
Our story is a cross made of both tragedy and new life.
Looking closely at this story is often painful and confusing, like listening to the words of God’s prophet as he spells out exactly what we are doing wrong.
Sometimes we may nod along with the prophet and sometimes we may scowl but we are still called to listen and to witness; to confess and to work together.
When Jesus spoke to the crowds who were gathered to hear him speak about John the Baptist, Jesus did not mince words.
Jesus said of John, he is more than a prophet, he is the herald of the Son of Man, of the one who is coming to upset what is known and to bring about an age of repentance and forgiveness of sins.
John, like our Canadian history, is not supposed to be easy to look at.
It’s not supposed to be easy to hear.
John’s job is to be a prophet; to show us the world the way God sees it and to remind us that even in such a broken world as this, Christ still arrives, to go to the cross, to forgive us of our sins, to make us free to confess and to repent and to turn to Him.
This is the Good News of John, the one who baptizes with water, and of Jesus Christ, the one who baptizes with holy spirit and with fire.
If we wish to seek John’s word, we must go out into the wilderness. Out to where our temples and our laws count for nothing, out to where we stand as just another witness, wondering if we will have the faith to repent and be baptized.
As we stand on the bank of the Jordan River, as we behold John in all of his strangeness, in all of his discomforting honesty, in all of his fiery faith, how will we answer Jesus’ question: “well, what did you expect to find?”
“What did you go out into the wilderness to look at?”
“A reed shaken by the wind?”
“What did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes?”
“What then did you go to see?”
“I tell you, among those born of women no one is greater than John; yet the least in the kingdom of God is greater than he.”
Amen.
