It is terribly easy to set up our theology as a buffer against the real coming of the Lord and its consequences.
Our text is an advent text, the announcement of the coming of the Lord by John the Baptist. The announcement, it seems, threw people into considerable consternation. So much so that they were led to cry out, “What then shall we do?” And John’s answer is direct and unequivocal: “Bear fruits that befit repentance...He who has two coats, let him share with him who has none; and he who has food, let him do likewise.” (Luke 3:8,11) “Right now the axe is laid to the root of the trees; every tree, therefore, that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire” (Luke 3:9). That’s the way it is when the Lord comes.
In our day, when some seem to be alarmed about the apparent rebirth of nasty things like “the social gospel,” and similar movements, I suppose there might be some nervousness about the manner in which John the Baptist moves so immediately from the coming of the Lord to giving away your coat and sharing your food. We would much rather, I suppose, that he had spent more time in transition, explaining how the coming of the Lord means first of all that we should devote ourselves to the cultivation of our piety, or pointing out that the gospel really has to do only with man's relationship to God.
It is terribly easy to set up our theology as a buffer against the real coming of the Lord and its consequences.
We would like, I expect, if we could make more of a gap between the coming of the Lord and giving away our extra coat, a gap which we could fill with a lot of theological padding and insulation and junk and garbage so that movement from one to the other isn't really so painfully immediate and sequential. It may be true that much needs to be said about the bad theology of the social gospel movement, but it is also true that we too must realize that it is terribly easy to set up our theology as a buffer against the real coming of the Lord and its consequences. Indeed, one wonders if today we have not become past masters at it. And perhaps it is precisely that sort of thing which John is preaching against.
For what does it mean to say that the Lord is coming? Indeed, that he has come and will come? It means that the Lord whom we worship and proclaim is one who comes to us in such a way that we do not need to go to him. Indeed, it must be put even more sharply. It’s not merely that we don’t need to go to him; it’s rather that we can’t go to him – it’s no longer even an option. He is the one who comes to you, in his own way, there is nothing you can do about it, he completely reverses the direction of what usually goes by the name of religion. He comes to you so that there is absolutely nothing you can do but repent and then live like you believed it - bear fruit that befits repentance. No other option is open.
I wonder sometimes if we really get the point of all this – if the real bite of it comes home to us. Even our usual manner of speaking, theologically, it seems to me, militates against a proper understanding. We talk about ourselves as “fallen creatures.” And by that we give the impression that our trouble is that we started out somewhere higher up on the way to God and have “fallen” to some lower place, so that now there is some kind of a gap that has to be made up somehow. Either we have to go to God, or he has to come to us and help us back up.
Our sin consists not in falling down, but precisely in the attempt to climb up into heaven.
And even if we say that he has come to us, going to him must at least be some sort of an option, something for which we must strive, at least for those who really want to, even if we can’t make it without help because the gap is still there. And thus it turns out that it is into this gap that we pour all our theological nonsense – all our investments in piety. We engage ourselves not in bearing fruit befitting repentance, because that’s only secondary after all. First we have to get to God. And our theology becomes an excuse and our piety simply a stalling game.
If I read the bible correctly, that is entirely the wrong picture. Our sin consists not in falling down, but precisely in the attempt to climb up into heaven. It consists in listening to the voice of the tempter, “You shall be as Gods.” And we should realize that we are not above putting even our theology and piety in the service of that temptation. And the point is that Advent is the cure for all that. It proclaims a God who comes to us, precisely to cure us of our attempt to ascend, to cure us of our pretentious piety. It tells us to repent and get down to earth where we belong and be men, not Gods. It tells us that going to God isn’t even an option for us. He has ruled that out. For he is the one who comes to us.
And what then shall we do? Bear fruit, that befits repentance! That’s the only thing there is to do. That is the only way to greet the God of advent. He is coming. Your piety cannot affect that in the least. He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored. Nothing you can do will alter that. He comes to you. You cannot go to him. That is precisely the glory of it, the gospel of it. You need not be a God, just be a man and look at your fellow man. “He who has two coats, let him share with him who has none; and he who has food, let him do likewise.” For the Lord has come to us.
Amen.
