Well, in last Sunday's Gospel John the Baptist questioned the motives of the the Pharisees and Sadducees who came to be baptized for the repentance of their sins. “You brood of vipers,” accused John, “Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? . . . Do not presume to say to yourselves, 'we have Abraham for our ancestor'; for I tell you, God is able to raise up from these stones children to Abraham.”
Can you imagine a preacher questioning the motives the members of the congregation who came to worship on Sunday?
While still in seminary in New York, I attended a reception for some visiting seminarians from England. Because the government and the Church of England are intertwined, the priests are not paid directly by the people they serve. As we discussed this significant difference in our polity, they asked whether an Episcopal priest would be able say what he or she felt needed to be said in a conflicted situation. The question behind the question was how can you preach the Gospel if what you believe you need to say might offend your parishioners.
Although I think it is possible in a relationship of mutual respect to disagree about something and still worship together, I would not use the pulpit to knowingly offend anyone. Speaking from the pulpit has a power dynamic that is too one-sided.
John the Baptist—in his prophetic mode—didn't worry too much about offending the religious authorities. He probably intended to offend them by proclaiming a Messiah who is more powerful than he was—and certainly more powerful that the religious authorities—the ones he has just called “snakes.” But as a prisoner of Herod, as he is in today's gospel reading, his communication takes on a different tone. No longer thundering, John sends his disciples to question the man he hoped would save Israel.
Jesus answers with words that indeed proclaim the saving reign of God has begun through the actions of his ministry—healing of all kinds and good news being preached TO THE POOR. Then he adds, “And blessed is he who takes no offense at me.” We might imagine how both religious and civil authorities could become upset about his concern for the poor. Probably the authorities would like the poor to remain invisible to them.
Had Jesus stopped there, we would be totally fine with his words. But then, he turns to the people who had listened to John—perhaps ones John had baptized. Now they were listening to Jesus. Does he reassure them? Not a bit. He challenges them. He questions their motives! “And what did you go out into the wilderness to look at?” He implies that they were not being true to the message they had gone out into the wilderness to hear from John—repent and expect the Messiah. He berates them for looking for the wrong kind of Messiah. The “least” will be “great” in the Messiah's reign, he tells them. And if they believed him, they would have anticipated a revolutionary upending of the social order with the coming of the Messiah. It would be no different today.
Neither John nor Jesus drew back from saying what they felt needed to be said. They did not draw back from possibly offending their listeners. And how did that work out for them?
Not in the first century—not now in the twenty-first—we do not like our motives to be questioned. Were Jesus to show up this morning and ask, “What did you come to St. Nicholas' this morning expecting to see?” What would our answer be? Besides saying we expected to see our friends in our church family and to experience well-planned liturgy and excellent music—besides saying that we came to share in the Eucharist as he told us to do—would we say that we came to St. Nicholas' this morning, so we could be changed through repenting and expecting the Messiah? Would we be willing still to trust Jesus were he to tell us the “least” would become the “great” in his reign? Those indeed are hard questions, and they challenge our motives—but they are our Advent questions. We can only pray for the grace of God to face them—and give thanks our salvation does not depend on how well we answer them. Jesus' already has that covered—for while we were yet sinners, he died for us!
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