Gospel: Matthew 11:2-11
Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?
I can’t help but wonder whether this is a question rooted in desperation or hope, and as I have, I’ve thought about my father and how he sometimes responds to certain questions. Whenever he’s asked something with a choice, about whether something is A or B, and the questioner doesn’t break the inquiry into two distinct questions, the answer is always yes.
“Dad, are you are you driving over tomorrow or Saturday?”
“Yes.”
“What kind of answer is that? When are you coming over?”
“I haven’t decided, but the answer to your question of whether I am driving over tomorrow or Saturday is ‘yes.’”
“Dad, do you want to go see a movie or just grab some dinner?”
“Yes.”
After a bit of sighing the questioners rephrase what they ask. Even as frustrating as those moments are, those times when I want to say, “Well, which is it?” I’ve learned to be more precise in my questions. “Dad, are you driving over tomorrow OR are you driving over on Saturday?” But in the instance of this passage from Matthew and my asking whether John’s question to Jesus is rooted in desperation or hope, the answer really is simply yes.
First, the desperation. By the time Jesus reached the start of his ministry at age 30, Israel had been occupied by the Roman Empire for nearly a century. Nearly one hundred years of imperial governors, high taxation, and the constant presence of military legions in the streets of Jerusalem and the land surrounding it. The status of the Israelites as a conquered people extended back beyond the occupation by the Roman general Pompey, however. Time and again, through many generations, they were enslaved or subjugated. There is, as we all know, the story found in the Old Testament of a time when the entire Jewish people were captive in Egypt. Over hundreds of years they were conquered or captured by the Assyrians, the Babylonians, and the Persians. Each time they were released or returned from exile, only to start the cycle once again.
So when the Gospel of Matthew was written, approximately 50-60 years after the death of Jesus, the people of Israel had been long acquainted with suffering. They were tired. They wanted a release once and for all from captivity and for the arrival of the one who was promised would set them free and bring the kingdom of God to earth. But for a people desperate for freedom, their lives were not grounded in hopelessness. For the people of God, and especially those for whom Jesus spent his ministry preaching and teaching, there was no such thing. They had the words of their prophets to fall back on – words from the Old Testament that echoed and resounded throughout the New.
And there’s the second part of the answer to their question. In these words was their hope.
A few minutes ago we heard in Isaiah, a book started more than 800 years before the birth of Jesus, the words of another prophecy. In what I think is some of the most beautiful poetry of the Bible, we hear of a time when God will return to save His people. For them, that return will mean more than simply release from national bondage. The chains that will be loosed at that time will be the chains of individual affliction – of blindness and deafness, of physical infirmity. I think the burning sand here refers to more than a thirsty land; I think it’s a sign of a thirsty people, a people ravaged by a drought of spirit who will be renewed by the flowing waters of God.
And again, we have the question that I think is the linchpin of this entire passage – and the moment when, in the history of the Jewish people, the page on which were written the words of the prophets of old was turned to reveal a new word. The Word incarnate. The word of Jesus. Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?
Today let’s use that question as one of perception. First, it’s a question that relates to how we view ourselves – our self-image as modern-day prophets and as ministers among God’s people. It’s also a question of how others see us, the view those outside our community have of us here inside.
You’re now going to hear a familiar theme carried over from last week’s sermon, but it’s an important one worth repeating. Advent is a time of waiting for something to happen. Like those to whom Isaiah and John were speaking thousands of years ago, we, too are waiting, for the return of Christ and the changing of the world. But what else are we waiting for? What is it that we’ve been told will happen, and we’re now waiting for? Could it be that what people are waiting for is for us to act? Could it be that instead of waiting for solutions to appear, we instead do something to come up with the solutions ourselves?
During this season we’re called to patiently wait. We’re to be ready, yes, and we should be observant and watchful – but watchfulness isn’t limited strictly to Christ’s arrival at Christmas or his return in the last days. If we live and act by focusing on the example of Jesus, we should even while waiting for him spend our time living like him. And that means using our time to do something now.
The question “are you the one who is to come?” has been answered. Jesus has come, and as we affirm each week in our Eucharistic prayer, we remember his death, we proclaim his resurrection, and we await his coming in glory. But the answer to the question “are we to wait for another?” has also been answered. We’re the others for whom the world is waiting. We’re the ones who can live like Christ, work like Christ, love like Christ. We’re Christ’s hands in the world, and we should put those hands to work.
We may not see the results of our work for weeks or months, or even ever. But we shouldn’t be discouraged by that. There was once a medical missionary, Dr. William Leslie, who in 1912 traveled to the Congo to live among and minister to the Yansi people. After 17 years he gave up and returned to the United States, and when he died in 1938, he thought he’d failed in his task.
But his story isn’t one of simple successes or failures. It’s about planting seeds. What Dr. Leslie didn’t see while he was in the Congo or even while he was alive was that the seeds he’d planted had taken root. When a mission team returned in 2010 to try once again to minister to the people there, they were stunned to find eight churches had taken root and were thriving. There were choirs in each with people writing music and hymns. In one village, they found the Yansi had built a 1,000-seat stone cathedral.
For the Yansi, Dr. Leslie was the one who was to come – and yes, they were to wait for another – another to come and see how the seeds had taken root. Christ has come to plant seeds. It is up to us to nurture the crop and see what we can do with the fruits of the harvest.
Amen.