Monday, December 9, 2019


Days Gone By
By Griff Martin
A Sermon on Isaiah 11:1-10 and Matthew 3:1-12
For The Second Sunday of Advent (Dec 8, 2019)
For the Beloveds of First Austin: a baptist community of faith

Incarnate and Coming Christ, we ask that you once again take the Word and transform it into a living and breathing new reality we can all together experience. Make us aware of your presence here in this space and in these words God, for if we are present to you then nothing else will matter, but if we are not present to you then nothing else will matter. In the name of the Creator, the Christ and the Comforter. Amen.

Do you remember? 

It’s more than just the opening lyrics to Earth, Wind and Fire’s hit song “September” (you can thank me later, because that will now be stuck in your head the rest of the day). This question is one of deep spiritual discipline and formation: do you remember? 

I remember sitting one evening at the ranch with my grandfather; it must have been winter because there was a fire going in the fireplace and we were sitting in front of that fire and simply staring at it and into it, maybe even beyond it. Finally, he broke the silence and said, “Griffyboy,” (his nickname for me, not yours), “what are you thinking about?” And I said, “Nothing. Just watching the fire.” A few more minutes of silence, and then I realized it might be important to ask him the same. I was still learning that good conversation was like tennis – you returned the ball across the net, so I said: “Dida, what are you thinking about?” And he smiled and said, “Oh, just remembering….”  

And I knew then that something about remembering was good for him, although at the time around 8 years old, I found remembering quite dull. 

And now I look at my grandfather, whose memory is not what it once was, and he seems less satisfied, as if his remembering filled and fed him and he misses it now. 

We are in the season of memories: the ornaments you hang on the tree each carry a story, the stockings on the mantle carry decades of history, the family recipes for iced sugar cookies and Hello Dollies and Texas Trash and sausage balls that take you back in time with your first bite, the traditions you are keeping alive, those you wish were sitting at the table this season (we will skip those you wish weren’t sitting at the table this season). 

Do you remember? 

Remembering is tricky business. Our memories are tricky things and we need to know that none of us remember right. One of my favorite descriptions of memory is “self-justifying historian.” We remember in ways that make us feel good, make us right, make us better. For example, studies show us that we often remember voting in elections we did not vote in, remember giving more to charity than we did (although, on behalf of the stewardship committee, let me remind you that you don’t need to remember what you pledged to give the church this year; we can tell you that easily so you can meet and later remember rightly), we remember our children walking and talking at earlier ages than they actually did. 

Thus, we have to be cautious about memories. Social psychologist Anthony Greenwald reminds us that memories are often like history – written by the victors. Thus, his conclusions: when it comes to memory, “we have the same goals as the conquerors of nations: to justify our actions and make us look and feel good about ourselves and what we did or failed to do.” Maybe it’s a good rule for memories: if they only make you look or feel good or if they lead to that dangerous “things were so much better when…”-type thinking, then we need to sit longer in that memory. 

And still, memory is one of the most important gifts we have. Let me illustrate. Close your eyes. When was the first time you had your heart truly broken by someone you loved? Can you remember whose grave was the first one you stood over and just wept knowing life would never be the same? Can you recall a piece of art or something in nature that just took your breath away? Do you remember that feeling in your gut walking into the middle school cafeteria? Do you remember the first time you epically failed? Do you remember the first time you succeeded beyond even your own expectations? Do you remember that thing – that event – that time period you thought would kill you and yet, here you are today? Do you remember your first true kiss? What did your childhood home smell like? Do you remember the first time you felt rejected? Do you remember the first time you felt truly accepted?

Memory is our teacher; it’s everything that has happened to us that form us into exactly who we are in this very moment. And for that, we have two responses: for some of those memories, we smile and wipe away a tear and we say, “thanks be to God” in authentic gratitude and awe. And for others, we grit our teeth and wipe away a tear and we say, “I survived, thanks be to God.” Both are fine, faithful responses. 

Our memories make us who we are today. But sometimes we don’t see this right away. 

For instance, I don’t know if those who were following the crazy prophet down by the river knew how much remembering he was doing and living out of; it would have taken a great deal of contemplation in the midst of the crazy reality show that he was living right in front of them to see it, but it’s there – in those awful clothes of camels’ hair (which note was not the fashion of the day, they reacted to it the same way you and I do…. That’s weird). And his diet of locust and honey (same response, that’s weird). And his message “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is near” (which note, they responded the same way you and I do to fire and brimstone preaching). Add that to his willingness to call out the religious leaders of the day and all this crazy baptism business. This was a reality show worth journeying into the wilderness to see.

I can hear them as they headed out to the wilderness, “have you heard about this new prophet?” They forgot one of our foundational Scriptures, there is nothing new under the sun.

Later they would realize that John’s outfit was Elijah’s – this was a costume. They would remember that his message of repent came straight from Isaiah. They would remember that the prophets of their faith had strong language for the religious and political leaders. And they would remember that the locust and wild honey go back, as well. John the Baptist is a walking memory, which makes him the perfect bridge, with one foot in the Old Testament and one foot in the New. 

The one somehow living in both the past and the future, thus the one truly living in the present. He is the exact image we need for Advent when we, too are called to live with our eyes on the past and the future so that we can live in the moment. 

We are all walking, living memories; human beings headed towards what is next while being formed by what came before. Which is exactly what Isaiah is trying to remind us of in his prophetic words this morning, that which he saw. It is one of my favorite images in all of Scripture: “a shoot shall come up from the stump.” 

It’s the perfect image, almost as perfect as a groom carrying a grandfather’s bullet-shot Bible down the aisle, or someone courageous enough to open and explore the closet of memories in their own heart to find that God has always been with them and that gives them strength to believe it again today. 

“What shall be” begins with “what was.” That which looks dead is often a holy seed for what is to be born… The future begins in the past… God loves to do the possible with that which looks impossible… The new is formed by the old… That which looks dead can spring forth new life.

Do you see it? Do you remember it?

Because it’s happened before. It happens every year when we celebrate the birth of Jesus and we are reminded that God’s place and calling is here among us, to help us create a better world. It happens every Easter Sunday when we go to the empty tomb and we are reminded that God’s love is stronger than anything and all our hope rests there. And it’s happened in your life, as well. Close your eyes again. What is it or when is it that you thought all was lost and the ending was written and all was done, that you were just an old tree stump, and then what is the green shoot that grew out of that and got you here today?

Because you are called to carry that close and to hold that tight; to remember that. 

Because if it happened before, it will happen again. It’s why we celebrate love born and love resurrected. We carry the stories because they remind us that anything is possible, that God is present and ultimately victorious, that love prevails, that we are living in the right story and calling. 

We remember, so that we can faithfully live. May we carry our past close to our hearts as we walk the aisles of life towards the future promised unto us. Amen and Amen.

*artwork: Christmas Star, Painting by Mark Jennings, mark-jennings.pixels.com

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