Luke 3:1-20 · John the Baptist Prepares the Way
Made New By Getting Lost
Luke 3:1-20
Sermon
by Richard A. Wing
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For those of you who have come here feeling lost, I have good news for you. For those of you who have come here willing to get lost, I have even better news. The good news is "fear not." The God we worship specializes in finding lost people. The God we worship gives life the moment we lose ours for the sake of heavenly causes.

Our text has two words that become backdrops for the entire season of Advent. Those words are "wilderness" and "about face." John comes out of the wilderness, the necessary passage on our pilgrimage toward God. Wilderness signifies being lost. We fear such moments, but God invites us to embrace those moments.

Michael Podesta was visiting our congregation recently along with his calligraphy work which inspires us in all seasons. One of his works has these words:

If as Herod, we fill our lives with things and again with things; if we consider ourselves so unimportant that we must fill every moment of our lives with action; when will we have time to make the long slow journey across the desert wilderness as did the Magi? Or sit and watch the stars as did the shepherds? Or brood over the coming of the child as did Mary? For each one of us there is a desert wilderness to travel; a star to discover; and a being within ourselves to bring to life.

In coming to our congregation, Michael Podesta followed the wilderness path to our doorstep. Michael came here just two weeks after his teenage daughter was killed in a tragic car accident. When we heard this news, we told him we would understand if he needed to cancel his visit. He said we might not understand his need to come. He came here fresh from the wilderness of intense pain. He left us, blessed. There were moments when he told others what had happened. He was greeted by parents who shared the same tears. Parents who had loved and lost children of all ages embraced his life, and helped him to begin the long trek out of the wilderness toward the healing that will never be complete.

Hear this deep and often terrible truth: your being lost or getting lost in the desert wilderness is a clear sign of God's nearness. Turn around! God is near!

I. We get lost.

We get lost oftentimes on streets that were once familiar. I remember a man who told me about going back to his hometown where he knew no one. He said that it was a very different journey to go to one's hometown and stay in a hotel. The streets were familiar, but the faces were not.

When I go to my hometown in California, the growth has been so great since my leaving in 1961 that I get lost on streets that were once country roads but now have condominiums. I have joked for a long time about getting lost in my hometown. That town is especially different for me this Advent season. My father no longer lives there. I have never known that town without my father being alive to show me around those country roads with condos. This Advent is different.

We get lost with too many open doors. I learned long ago that children at play are most secure when there are boundaries and clearly marked limits to where they can go. They play in that designated space with confidence and with joy. If you place the same children in an open field and tell them they can play everywhere, you will find them huddling in the middle and playing in a small area. We get lost with too many options as children and as adults.

Hans Sach wrote a book titled Masks of Love and Life. In this novel there are two brothers. The younger one is afraid at night as they go to bed and always wants the bedroom door closed. The older brother doesn't care and is always upset when the younger one whimpers after going to bed that he wants the door closed. One night the older brother bolts out of the bed with rage. "Someday I'm going to lock you in a room with open doors," he says. And in that moment he describes our dilemma: we all quest after more options and don't know what to do when we get them. We are locked in by too many choices.

When I go to a computer store, they always tell me what I can do with a computer, including turning the heat on and off and doing my checking account on it. What they never seem to hear is this: all I want to do is write and have a good filing system for all I write. I will turn the heat on with my hand!

We get lost with too many open doors; too many options given. We get lost with bad directions. Robert Fulghum spoke once of playing hide-and-seek. He says that some people get confused. The idea is to hide and get found, not to hide and never be found. He reflects:

As I write this, there is a kid under a pile of leaves in the yard just under my window. He has been there for a long time and everybody else is found and they are about to give up on him at the base. I consider finking on him or setting the leaves on fire to drive him out, but that's a bit radical. So I yelled, "Get found, kid" out the window and scared him so bad he wet his pants and started crying. It's hard to know how to be helpful sometimes.

Sometimes adults hide too well. Many of us know someone who has died of cancer and never said a word to anyone. Friends share how brave he was and how he never complained. But after the memorial service, the family members come to their ministers in secret. They tell us how angry they are that the one they lost did not trust their strength, that he did not say good-bye. Adults often hide too well without knowing the importance of being found.

We get lost with our hands full. Thomas Moore has written an excellent book on spirituality titled Meditations: On the Monk Who Dwells in Daily Life. In the book he says:

Early Christian monks went out to live in the desert in order to find emptiness. Modern life is becoming so full that we need our own ways of going to the desert to be relieved of our plenty. Our heads are crammed with information, our lives busy with activities, our cities stuffed with automobiles, our imaginations bloated on pictures and images, our relationships heavy with advice, our jobs burdened with endless new skills, our homes cluttered with gadgets and conveniences. We honor productivity to such an extent that the unproductive person or days seem a failure. Monks are experts at doing nothing and tending the culture of that emptiness.

Moore concludes by saying, "At the sight of nothing, the soul rejoices!"

I find that when I entertain this need to people, they absolutely shudder and protest, saying, "There is no time whatsoever for silence, emptiness, and reflection." There is no way around the need for the contemplative. How amazing it is to watch people embrace all of the noise that makes their life a mess, and still embrace the noise and expect different results from the chaos.

There was a little boy who was told he needed to pray in silence every day. He wrote a note to his minister saying, "I try to pray, Reverend. And I have this special place in my room where I keep the Bible open. But when I try to concentrate on Jesus, Michael Jordan keeps coming to mind."

I saw a T-shirt recently which read, "You are only young once, but you can be immature forever." And so can we spiritually.

Advent is the beginning of a time to grow up. The first step is getting lost in solitude and emptiness -- the very places where God finds us.

II. We are found.

We are found when we stop distancing ourselves from pain. You will hear too many times from this pulpit that chaos is always created in the life of the one you seek to heal, convert, or fix. Parker Palmer identified a deeper distancing in which we cause great pain to one who suffers. He said:

Distancing ourselves from each other's pain is the hidden agenda behind most of our efforts to fix each other with advice. If you take my advice, and do it right, you will get well and I will be off the hook. But if you do not follow my advice, or do not follow it properly, I am off the hook nonetheless: I have done the best I could, and your continued suffering is clearly your fault. By trying to fix you with advice, rather than simply suffering with you, I hold myself away from your pain.

We are found when we are open to holy disorder. Nancy Baker, editor of our church paper, is among the most well-read persons I know. She recalled a novel I spent time with by Morris West, titled The Clowns of God. In one place the main character lifts up how we all want order in our lives. He says that God comes in disorder, chaos, emptiness, and vulnerability.

This is why the coming of Jesus is a healing and saving event. He is not what we should have created for ourselves. His is truly the sign of peace, because He is the sign of contradiction. His career is a brief tragic failure. He dies in dishonor, but then, most strangely, he lives. He is not only yesterday. He is today and tomorrow. He is as available to the humblest as to the highest.

We are found when we get a new perspective on the same thing. This is the holiest of gifts we receive in worship. That is what we do here: give new perspective to problems that have existed from the beginning.

Glenn Adsett was a minister in China. He was under house arrest in the late 1940s, waiting to receive word concerning what the communists were going to do with him, his wife, and two children. They said, "You can only take 200 pounds with you." The family went home and began arguing about what to take. The conversation got heated around typewriters, vases, and toys. Finally they worked it all out and packed 200 pounds on the nose. The army men came for them and asked if they were ready. "Yes, we are," they replied. "Did you weigh everything?" They answered affirmatively. Then the soldiers asked, "Did you weigh the kids?"

Suddenly there was an about-face: in that moment the typewriter and vase and books looked like trash in the shadow of their children's combined 200 pounds.

John the Baptist came from the emptiness of the desert and said, "Repent -- about-face." That word was not one of judgment, but grace. The God we worship makes straight the paths of our lives and finds us in the midst of paradox, contradiction, chaos, disorder and emptiness. So, in Advent, turn around. Get lost, that God might find you.

Fred Craddock reminds us of the way to get to Bethlehem. People of old got there by way of the wilderness. Today you can get to Bethlehem without going through the wilderness, but when you get to Bethlehem, Fred warns, you will not find Jesus.

May God grant us courage for the wilderness journey toward Bethlehem, that we might take the difficult, empty path. May God grant that we not be looking elsewhere as God comes to find us and give us the gifts of wonder, love, and grace. Amen.

CSS Publishing Company, Deep Joy For A Shallow World, by Richard A. Wing