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Sermon for the second Sunday of Advent – December 9, 2007
Insisting he was not changing “a single comma” of his plans to overhaul his country’s constitution which would grant him sole control over nearly every major political institution, as well as giving him the option to stand for re-election as many times as he wants, Venezuela’s president Hugo Chavez issued a concession speech last week after voters there balked at his self described socialist “reforms,” a defeat which was indeed appreciated by much of the world outside of Caracas and Havana.
In an editorial the day before the referendum, the New York Times, not exactly the mouthpiece of conservatism, wrote of “the breathtaking gall of Mr. Chavez latest lunge for power,” noting that his current control over the nation’s government and business “is unheard of in modern democracies.” While at the time polls indicated that the results could go either way, The Times noted that as he has grabbed more power for himself, Chavez has begun to alienate even some of his closest allies. “Now there are hopeful signs that his plan to become president for life may be too blatant for the electorate to swallow,” they write.
As indeed it was. But, just as hope abides, lessons, it seems, remain unlearned. Blame for the defeat, says Chavez, does not rest with him or his egotistical scheme. His mistake, he says, is that he attempted to bring about change before the people were ready for it. “(Millions of) Venezuelans are still not politically mature enough to … wholeheartedly embrace a socialist project,” he said in an interview after the votes were counted. Chavez plans on continuing to push for his project. As he has his own weekly program on state run radio, he will have ample opportunities to do so.
Well, to quote King Juan Carlos of Spain, “Por que no te callas?” “Why don’t you shut up?” Words the king addressed to Chavez at a recent conference; words that are now a YouTube sensation throughout much of the Spanish speaking world; words that anyone holding or aspiring to power should take to heart.
Knowing when to shut up - knowing when to be quiet and get out of the way - is a lesson the would be lifetime president of Venezuela could learn from our nation’s first president. In a book on the nature of leadership, historian Garry Wills says that George Washington’s “refusal to bring about a strong central government by seizing power is his greatest legacy to the nation.” He knew when to go.
Had he desired a dictatorship – which often happens when governing becomes difficult after a revolution – “he might have worn that title,” Wills says. But Washington made clear his determination to live by the newly ratified constitution and his desire to serve only four years. In fact, he had a farewell address prepared to deliver after his first term but was talked into serving another one. Even after his second term there were those who insisted he remain in office, pleading that the country needed him, offering to make him ruler for life. This time Washington was adamant about his refusal, and retired to Mount Vernon, making way for John Adams to come after him, thereby ensuring the survival of the fledgling republic.
Early in the revolution, when the country was struggling to find itself, Washington became the symbol of that struggle, “the unifying icon,” Wills says. Once in office, though, Washington began replacing his own glamour – what politicians call charisma – with the more impersonal symbols of power – the Constitution, the courts, and so on. Gradually he began to receive respect because of his office, not his person.
In those days – in any day, really – that was quite a feat. Revolutions too often end up as dictatorships, little different from the evils they meant to overthrow: Charles I is beheaded and Oliver Cromwell takes up powers ever greater than his; King Louis XVI is replaced by a revolutionary council, terror and chaos ensue and Napoleon declares himself emperor. The Russian Czar is overthrown in the name of the people and Stalin reigns in unchecked tyranny.
One despot is replaced by another; one figure who exercises power for his own sake simply gives way to someone else that does the same thing; hope vanishes. By contrast, Wills says, “Washington wielded power by giving it up.” In other words, he gave himself up to a higher authority – a higher power – in this case the will of the people, as written in the Constitution, as codified in the laws. Of all Washington’s achievements, Wills says, perhaps his greatest was voluntarily leaving office; yielding himself to something greater than himself, something that would last longer than he would; something which continues to guide and unite us as a nation: a binding agreement; a contract, a covenant. He got out of the way and allowed the covenant to continue. When it came right down to it, he knew that it was not all about him; he knew that it was about who would come after him.
That may be the Baptist’s most notable achievement as well, getting out of the way, making room for the new covenant. “Among those born of women,” Jesus said of John, “none is greater than John.” What did he do to deserve this distinction?
Was it where he came from? “In those days John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness of Judea,” Luke says; a place far from the sophisticated city. Yet the wilderness is part of who John is, a holy place, a place where covenants are made, broken and then remade; a place Jesus will visit; a place all of us visit from time to time; frightening yet oddly compelling; like the call of God, it scares us yet pulls us closer. “I will now allure her,” God says of Israel in Hosea, “and bring her into the wilderness, and speak tenderly to her. From there I will…make the valley…a door of hope.” John’s words seem to open that door today, although, at first glance, his message of hope appears to be consumed in fearsome images of unquenchable fire.
Was it his wardrobe or his diet? “Now John wore clothing of camel’s hair with a leather belt around his waist, and his food was locusts and wild honey.” Showing that he has kept up his subscription to “Prophet’s GQ,” John’s outfit is similar to that of Elijah’s, who was described as “a hairy man, with a leather belt around his waist.” Elijah, whose reappearance in Israel will signify the coming of the Messiah, as the Baptist’s announces the coming of the “One more powerful” than him. And John’s diet, while unappealing to us, was, strictly speaking kosher; its simplicity and yuckiness only serve to emphasize hisprotest against self-indulgence.
Was it what he said? “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” For centuries the prophets have been calling Israel back to a right relationship with God, assuring them of delights if they obey and disaster if they don’t. Way back in Deuteronomy, Moses tells the newly covenanted people gathered in the wilderness that if they return to the Lord, “and you and your children obey him with all your heart and with all your soul…then the Lord your God will restore your fortunes and have compassion on you…” If not, well…
The message of repentance – literally in Greek “to change one’s mind” – resonates through Israel’s history. Long a staple of the prophetic tradition, John’s exact words will be heard again in Matthew’s next chapter when he writes, “From that time Jesus began to proclaim, ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.’”
“Repent,” the word used by John and Jesus is in the present tense, denoting continual or repeated action. “Repent,” it’s been said before and it will be said again and again, until that day promised by Isaiah when “the earth will be full of the knowledge of the Lord as the waters cover the sea.” Repentance is not a one way door that slams shut behind us, locking us in the kingdom. It’s an ongoing way of life for those who would prepare the way for the coming of the Lord.
And that’s what makes John the greatest of those born of women. He prepared the way by getting out of the way. He knew when to speak and when to shut up. The desire for power over others, the need for adulation from others, those were not part of his makeup. That’s why all four Gospel begin with his appearance, even Mark and John, the two that do not have any nativity narrative of Jesus.
“One who is more powerful than I is coming after me,” the Baptis tsays. “I am not worthy to carry his sandals.” True to his word, one day, the fourth Gospel says, “John again was standing with two of his disciples, and as he watched Jesus walk by, he exclaimed, ‘Look, here is the Lamb of God!’ The two disciples heard him say this, and they followed Jesus.” No mention is made of John calling a referendum among his followers to try and stop them.
This Advent I suggest we discover ways to move aside – another way of repenting - and let God come to us. To do that, we should look to see what’s in our way.
For the Pharisees, the Sadducees - John’s “brood of vipers” - arrogance and presumption got in their way; the kingdom was already theirs; they were not accountable to any power beyond themselves; they did not have to bear any fruit.
I don’t think an excess of pride stands in the way of our receiving the kingdom. If anything, too many today are plagued by a nagging sense of despair or melancholy, what someone called the “dark twin of hope; the dim, back of the mind suspicion that one may be adrift in an absurd world.” But in its way, despair can be just as egotistical as pride; melancholy just another form of self-centeredness; both keep us trapped in ourselves, preoccupied with our allotment of days, looking to ourselves only to make some sort of sense of our pains and fears, our pleasures and joys; pride and despair, arrogance and helplessness, both block the path of hope.
To get out of our own way is to grow up and abandon the childish notion that the universe revolves around us. As Paul told the Corinthians, “Be babes in evil, but in thinking be mature.” To get out of our own way is to embrace something larger, more enduring, and more powerful than ourselves. Again, St. Paul: “Pursue love and strive for the spiritual gifts.” To get out of our own way is to bear fruits worthy of repentance. That may be the best way of all. We can behave ourselves into a new way of thinking. Columbia University professor Andrew Delbanco, recently named by Time Magazine as America’s best social critic, writes, “If we fail to contribute to some good beyond ourselves, we condemn ourselves to the hell of loneliness.”
The One whom John got out of the way for offers us a way out of that unquenchable fire; the one who told us to feed the hungry, heal the sick, comfort the afflicted; the one who told us that “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up their cross and follow me.”
Once the path is cleared we are free to follow one whose term never expires. Once we turn from the allure of our own ambitions or set aside the weight of our own weariness, he is as free to come to us as we are to go to him. Prepare the way, my friends, and then “vaya con dios.” Go with God.
Amen