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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