Chapel Homily: Dec. 5, 2023

Whitworth Chapel experiences can be wonderful. They can also produce moments of stress, at least for me. Case in point: On October 10, seated in-the-round, Pastor Lauren Taylor stood right here and began her homily in recounting marathon races she had run. I was sitting over there, next to Janice, and my heart began to race: "No, no, no, Lauren, don't talk about marathons. Please change the subject." That's because I am responsible for the low water mark in a 39-year marriage with an unthinking comment at the finish line of the Portland Marathon, which Janice had just finished. She trained for months, and she did great. She never stopped or walked the entire 26.2 miles. I, on the other hand, drove the car to 3-mile increments along the way, snapped photos and noshed on mini powdered donuts. The approach to the finish line is about 100 yards of wide city streets—band playing, large crowd, an announcer calling out the name of each finisher as they approached. And so I got there after waving at Janice at the 22-mile mark. Well, as I'm waiting for Janice to appear, here comes this woman, whom they enthusiastically announce as 81 years old, and she is picking 'em up and putting 'em down. She books across the finish line. Not too much later, here comes Janice. What I did not know, and really shouldn't have mattered and makes this even worse, is that the race organizers were holding a concurrent 10k race and using the same finish line. That woman had not run the marathon but 6.2 miles. Heck, maybe she snuck into the race with 1 kilometer to go. And so, Janice finishes, they hand her a rose and drape her with a warming blanket, I come over and say, "You did great. I'm so proud of you . . . but get a load of this: If you had just been a minute faster, you would have seen this 81-year-old woman come booking across the finish line." What a fool. "Hey, Honey, you just got beat by an octogenarian!" Please, no more about marathons. But I can tell you today, that Janice and I were able to build a life and a family together, even so.
 
Well, what does that have to do with today's text? Absolutely nothing. But in public speaking, it's important to have a thread that ties together the entire homily; where one thing seamlessly leads to the next. And so, I'll give that a go . . . You know, I bet if John the Baptist had a wife, and she ran the Jericho Marathon, and an elderly Hittite woman crossed the finish line in front of her, John would have just said, "Great job, Miriam." Speaking of John the Baptist . . . I'll get to him crying in the wilderness in a few minutes. And may this message today be stress-free for you and nothing close to deflating.
 
I'm confident that we all share some common wiring. We're wired in a way that we all have hopes and longings. They might be big things or small things. In the many compartments of our lives, there's something out there that would make life better, make me more complete, correct something in my life that feels either incomplete or imperfect. There's just something missing; there's some experience or relationship or achievement or recognition out there that will make my life more fulfilling. In big and small ways, our longings can cause us to scrutinize our lives, past, present and future. All this is natural and okay.
 
The junior psychologist in me says that there are a handful of specific longings that we all share: To be seen, to be known, to be loved, to be valued, to belong. I think of myself as, by and large, a well-adjusted adult, and should be now that I am old enough to qualify for the senior discount at Denny's. And when I make that list and I think about what I'll never stop longing for, and what I'd confess if you put truth serum in my veins, I check every single one of those boxes—I want to be seen, known, valued, loved, to belong. I'll bet you a year's tuition that you check those boxes, too. We long to know that we matter. I am confident you want each of those things for other people, too—that key people in your lives are seen, known and valued. And on a community scale, we long for a better world. We know that the world is not what it should be. And we want it to be different. Those are sacred aches. Sacred aches.
 
So, here's the good Advent news I have for you with today's text, Scripture where John the Baptist points to Jesus as the Savior for the world: In this Advent season of expectancy and anticipation, Jesus is once and always the fulfillment of our deepest longings. However much we long for things that would fill our souls, our good and loving God longs for us even more. My hope is that you allow that news to travel those 18 inches from here (head) and settle here (heart). 
 
I have my own list of longings: Cure of a malady in my putting stroke that comes with age and frayed nerves in pressure situations called the yips; that our children would move back to Spokane; to return to the joint and muscular flexibility of my youth; for long summer days and an evening on the back patio under a warm, setting sun; for time where an uncluttered mind and soul could drink deeply from a novel or biography; for Thy Kingdom come of peace and goodwill. I long that the Lord would fix the world.
 
So, let's take a moment, turn to a neighbor, and reveal something that you long for, for yourself or for the world.
 
Our text for today is Mark 1:4-5, 7-8, 11: "And so John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness, preaching a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. The whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem went out to him. . . And this was his message: 'After me comes the one more powerful than I, the straps of whose sandals I am not worthy to untie. I baptize you with water, but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.' . . . And a voice came from heaven: 'You are my Son, whom I love; with you I am well pleased.'"
 
From The Message, v. 8: "His baptism, a holy baptism by the Holy Spirit, will change you from the inside out."
 
John the Baptist. After 400 years between prophets, here comes John with a loud and urgent voice preaching both repentance and saving grace. He points to Jesus for the purpose of preparing them for what was to come. John calls people out for who they were and what they had done, and he challenges people to be who they could become in Christ. And he's very clear here—not so that the Kingdom might come. The Kingdom was coming whether they believed it or not.
 
What was John telling us? At least this: That in Jesus, the greatest longings that we might have are fulfilled. When Jesus was born, hope came into this world in an entirely new way. 
 
Now, the word hope, as we use it, can have a middling reputation. "I sure hope so." "On a hope and a prayer." But in Scripture, hope should be read as confident expectation.Because of that hope in Christ, we are in possession of good news. Not good advice; not wishful thinking; not once upon a time; not a fairy tale. In that declaration by God, when the Holy Spirit descended upon Jesus, hope is given for everyone.
 
John was the first to alert people of what was to come: That Jesus was the one who would empty himself of His glory and take on human flesh. That he would open his arms to us. That he wrote himself into our story. That he was Emmanuel, God with us—Jesus in proximity to us.
 
That this Jesus had come to suffer and forgive. He came to rescue and restore. And because he did, there is hope that all of us, image bearers and sinners all in one, can be redeemed.
 
That hope allows us to face life every day, with confident expectation, knowing that God is in control. That hope allows us the freedom to become all that God has called us to be in Christ.
 
So, what might this message from John mean for each of you, and for us as a community, as we consider Advent longings?
 
For each of you: Scripture is full of dramas of recognition—drama after drama after drama where Jesus sees and acknowledges and gives value to people—the Samarian woman at the well; the unpopular tax collector Zaccheus; Bartimaeus, laying outside the city gates, desperately wanting his sight restored; the bleeding woman who touched his garment; the man lowered through the roof so that he might be healed. We can put ourselves in each of those stories, in whatever brokenness we have. That in this Jesus who came to save us and change us from the inside out, you are seen, known, loved, and valued. You and you and you and you.
 
And remember, when it's so natural and understandable to put value in what other people think of us, please remember what Jesus says of you. You are beloved.
 
In the gospel of John, we can see that John the Baptist knew that he himself was not the light, but rather, that his duty was to point to the light. His life was to bear witness to the true light, to give testimony to Jesus. We are not the capital "L" Light ourselves, and thank goodness for that. And so, if you worry and fret about your own little lowercase "l" light and what that flicker might accomplish . . . well, John is saying to simply be a witness to the good news of Jesus Christ. In the courts of law, witnesses don't add or subtract from what they witnessed. They just give their testimony of what they have seen and heard.
 
And so, in that response to Jesus, how might you each draw closer to Him? In this Advent Season, what might better allow for Christ to take up more square footage of the residence of your heart.
 
And for us as a Whitworth community: How might we, together, bear witness to that capital "L" Light? How might we give evidence of righteous longings and be people who live out what the Psalmist wrote: "As the deer pants for water, so my soul longs for thee." 
 
How might we, together, be used by God in this world, which has so much wrong, to be made right, and tend to hearts, which are so broken, to be made whole?
 
This message is never out of date. What John had been looking for was found in Jesus. In Him, we have found what we are looking for and long for. Amen.
 
Benediction: 
 
Go from here knowing, in your bones, that the One longed for has come. Jesus sees you. He knows you. He loves you. Your name is among those dramas of recognition.
 
Now, receive the benediction: "May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit."