Unlike Matthew and Mark, Luke reports what they didn’t think important enough. Jesus’ Baptism wasn’t private between him and John — Now when all the people were baptized, and when Jesus also had been baptized — Luke doesn’t even bother to narrate the actual baptism, just that it had happened in the past tense. John was a lot like a revival preacher setting up a tent in the country and calling people to come hear the Word of God that had come to him, and then repent of their sins by being baptized in the nearest body of water. Matthew and Mark would have known this too, but only Luke thought it a detail worth mentioning. I believe that Luke wants us to understand Jesus’ Baptism as an act of solidarity with his fellow Jews and Israelites. Baptism as an act of solidarity is essential to the Baptism rite in our current prayer book.

“For me, Christmas starts in earnest on Boxing Day,” Jessica Furseth wrote for The Guardian newspaper in a 2023 article headlined, “Boxing week, that blissful period when nothing happens, is the real gift of Christmas.” For those who aren’t aware, in Britian, Canada, and others in the British Commonwealth, Boxing Day is on December 26th, and is traditionally for gift-giving beyond one’s family, for instance your local proprieter or employees. Boxing Day itself is a holiday in those countries, but Furseth expands it to a week, “the only time of year when we can legitimately forget what day it is…The real joy of Boxing week is a feeling that no one is doing anything ‘important’, creating a break from a relentless push for productivity that dominates pretty much every other time of year.”

Fr. David writes, “On the one hand, this is a very human story that all of us can identify with. What parents or other caregivers of children cannot identify with the shock, anguish, and confusion of Mary and Joseph. Who hasn’t felt the adolescent tension between respect owed to parents, and the assertion of newly discovered independence?….”

It was about 2,500 years ago that the Word of God inspired the prophet to speak the words of vindication that we hear in today's reading from Isaiah. It had been in 586 BC that the Babylonians had burned down Jerusalem, burned down that Temple that King David’s son Solomon had built some 500 years earlier. But in 538, the Persian King Cyrus conquered Babylon, and allowed all the peoples conquered by the Babylonians, including the Jews, to return to their homelands. It was actually during that exile that they took the many scriptures they had collected of their history and edited them into what we Christians call today the Old Testament. When the Jewish people returned to Jerusalem, there was no longer a king, for there was only one King in the Persian Empire. Their authority was not a king, but the Torah, the five books of the Law of Moses.

Fr. David writes, “Once, the true Light became concentrated into a point of energy.

Then it exploded into smaller points, all with a trace of the true Light.

In time, creatures evolved to the point of recognizing that trace of light, but still fail to trust the warmth of that light.

So, the Light began to shine like a lighthouse beam, shooting through the darkness to one man and one woman, then to a tribe of outcasts, liberated by the heat of that Light, and initiated into a covenant with the Source of that Light, and called to share that light with all the tribes of Earth…”

Fr. David writes, “But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid; for see — I am bringing you good news of great joy for all the people: to you is born this day in the city of David a Savior, who is the Messiah, the Lord.” (Luke 2:10-11)

Ask yourselves this night which of these active characters in this familiar story you are. Are you shepherds first filled with fear, then with joy, leaving here and going back to your regular lives praising God but doubting if any of it means something for the rest of your life? Are you Mary, searing all these words and images in your mind, and trying to make sense of it all and fit them into your little life? Are you Jospeh, perhaps a bit concerned about what happens if the shepherds go telling everybody about a Messiah being born? Or, are you the apostles on a mission who first read this Good News according to Luke, who got the message and understood their marching orders?….”

Fr. David writes, “So, if I read Micah literally, God will abandon Israel until she has finished giving birth. I don’t know how the ladies in the audience feel about labor pangs becoming a metaphor for national greatness. In the Talmud, this passage was interpreted as a metaphor for Rome being allowed to “enfold Israel for nine months,” or however long it would take before the Messiah appeared; who would be a descendant of King David, which explains Micah’s reference to “Bethlehem of Ephrathah, the least of the clans of Judah,” but also David’s birthplace.”

So last Sunday I talked about my friend from seminary and her John the Baptist nutcracker. Well he sure seems to earn that rap today — Brood of vipers, who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? And yet, he is surprisingly pastoral, meeting people halfway. And he has the passion of a man who deliberately chose not to follow in his daddy’s footsteps. In this slightly penitential season of Advent, a season of preparation for Jesus’s first and second coming, the Good News we hear from John the Baptist is that God will meet us halfway.

On this second Sunday of Advent in Luke’s year, we get as much of the soft cop side of John the Baptist as there is to get, and we get the hard cop side as well. “Look, I am sending my messenger to prepare the way before me, and suddenly the Lord whom you seek come to his temple…But who can endure the day of his coming…For he is like a refiner's fire, like fullers’ alkali…he will purify the descendants of Levi and refine them like gold and silver.” That sounds painful. But in our Gospel, John is like the prophet Isaiah preparing the exiles of Judah to actually “see the salvation of God.”

When I hit adolescence, I found myself getting depressed, and the more I tried to analyze my way out of it, the deeper the hole in my heart got. No doubt some of it had to do with my increasing adult awareness that all was not well in my family. My father and mother couldn't agree on whether my drug-using brother needed tough love or not. In my 16th year, my father had a nervous breakdown four days before Christmas; and only then was it agreed that my brother had to move out of our home. Perhaps because, as the “baby” of the family, my early childhood was very sheltered, it was much harder to come to grips with the harder things of life. And in that new awareness, all the happy faces and tons of toys and tinkling bells around me didn't reflect how I felt as December 25th loomed larger and larger, and the pressure to feel happy got harder and harder to bear.

  As an adult Episcopalian, Advent was a divine gift. I wasn't obligated to put up the largest possible Christmas tree the day after Thanksgiving. I could wait until the day before Christmas Eve. I didn't have to sing all the Christmas songs until Christmas Day. Unlike much of the world that is exhausted on December 26th, my celebration of the Twelve Days of Christmas is just beginning.  Unlike much of the world that drags their tree to the curb on January 2nd, Laura and I can keep ours up until the visit of the Wise Men on the Feast of the Epiphany on January 6th.  Advent has been the cure for my Christmas blues.

It is from today’s reading in Daniel that Jesus claimed the title “Son of Man” for himself. The most literal translation of the Hebrew is “son of a human,” not son of a male, thus the NRSV’s “human being.” It is a human being that Daniel saw being brought to the “Ancient One,” who we rightly see as God. And it is to that human being that God gives authority over all peoples, nations and languages.

“What I say to you, I say to all, stay focused.” (Mark 13:37)

My Bible verse for today comes at the end of the chapter that today’s Gospel reading begins. We need the end of the chapter to understand what Jesus means at the beginning, “And when you hear of wars and rumors of wars, do not be alarmed; this must happen, but the end is not yet...This is the beginning of the birth pangs…you will be brought before governors and kings because of me, as evidence to them.”

Jesus’s Bible was what we call the Old Testament (Tanakh in Hebrew). Before Paul started writing his letters and the Gospels got written, the Church’s Bible was the Old Testament. Jesus’s God is Yahweh, for which the LORD (all caps) is usually substituted for the name revealed to Moses — I AM. And the Gospel, the Good News of Jesus Christ lurks in the story of God’s relationship with God’s chosen people of the Old Testament, as it does in today’s Old Testament reading.

To be a saint is to be made new or in the process of being made new. To be a saint is to be hallowed, holy, set apart from those on the earth that don’t want to be made new, but want only survival and self-maintenance at all costs. To be a saint is to recognize that to become the person God made us to be, we must pass away, not to nothingness, but to the new person who is the same as the first but infinitely better. T

“What do you want me to do for you?” Twice we have heard Jesus ask that question. Last week, he asked James and John, “What do you want me to do for you?” Basically they answered by asking: When you inherit the kingdom we know that’s coming to you, we want the most direct access to your power. Today, Jesus asks that question again, “What do you want me to do for you?”

My New Testament professor at Virginia Seminary taught that each of the four gospels has a key verse. In his opinion, we’ve heard the key verse of Mark’s Gospel: “For the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.”

In Jesus’s promise that his disciples would inherit a family beyond their imagining was a material reward — now in this present time — responding to the concrete things Peter reminded him they had given up. Family was one’s safety net.