The Wrath to Come
“You brood of vipers!” John cries out. “Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come!” [i] This, no doubt, strikes us a fine “how do you do?” to a crowd that has gathered from all of Jerusalem and all of Judea to participate in John’s ritual bathing in the River Jordan. The man in the wilderness crying!
It should be noted that the word “wilderness” connotes more than a place beyond a civilized city like Jerusalem – the place believed to be where Abraham was all set to plunge a knife into his only son Isaac; the of the Temple, with its holy of holies, the resting place for the Ark of the Covenant with the tablets of the Ten Commandments; the very place where it was believed God’s, YHWH’s finger, touches the Earth to hold it steady, safe and reliable. Wilderness also describes the broken, fractured, and dangerous state of the world, civilized or not. Even before the Roman occupation, the regions of Israel known as Galilee and Judea were beset with a religious elite placing financial demands on the people; rapacious land owners, the oiko-despots, who bought up all the farms of families so far in debt that they were reduced to tenant farmers, or worse, slaves, producing crops for the profit of others; no possibility of ever retiring their debt. With Rome came more tax collectors, who often were Israelites conscripted to collect the taxes, but were only paid by what they themselves could get away with tacking on to the tax, which were more like tolls on the roads to take goods to market. They were seen as collaborators with the Empire’s greed. And, of course, the military, loyal only to Caesar and no other, who also supplemented their meager pay by demanding protection money, food and clothing from the already burdened am haretz, the people of the land.
To this picture of Judea in the time of John and Jesus one must remember that at the time Luke assembled this account of the Gospel and the Book of Acts, Jerusalem had suffered a terrible holocaust. The Temple and the city lay in ruins, while nearly one million Israelites had been killed, with as many as 500 being crucified daily by the Roman Legions. First Century Israel was indeed a wilderness, broken and unsafe under the Roman Empire’s rule of brutality.
Enter John, son of Zechariah, one of the Temple priests. John is portrayed as one of a long-line of God’s prophets. He issues a call to repent – to turn society’s lives around back to the Way of the Lord as articulated in Torah: a way of life rooted in Love of the God of the Covenant, and love, compassion and care for one’s neighbor. All neighbors, including strangers from other lands looking to Israel as a place to escape famines and brutalities in neighboring regions.
Perhaps the single most important take-away in this story of John preparing the way for the arrival of Jesus is the sheer number of people who come down to the river. And the incredible cross section of society represented. All of Jerusalem, which then as it is today, perhaps the single most cosmopolitan city on Earth. People from all the world, east, west, north and south travelled trade routes that ran through the region, and many stayed to witness the miracle that was God’s people descended from Abraham and Sarah. And as Luke portrays it, there were also tax collectors, who might be Jews or Gentiles, and Roman soldiers, all of whom were Gentiles.
The crowd represents the peculiar character of God’s people called Israel: when things were bad, when life had returned to wilderness status, when the world was truly broken and in need of repair, they did not point fingers at one another, and did not blame others for the broken state of affairs. Instead, the people of God take responsibility for their failure to live lives that reflect the love of God and love of neighbor. It must be our own fault that things are this bad, they would say. We need to repent. We need to turn back to the Way of our God. And so they join in John’s ritual bathing.
So, they turn to John, who greets them roughly, and warns that there will be a reckoning in the Day of God’s Wrath. The axe is set at the root of the tree, says John. Trees that do not bear good fruit will be cut down and thrown in the fire. The people beg John to tell them what they need to do in the meantime.
To the general crowd it begins with baby steps: share food and clothing with all those who are without resources – those who hunger and thirst, and who cannot afford a winter coat. The tax collectors ask what they need to do, and the task is simple: do not jack on surcharges above the tax itself for yourself; just collect the tax. And the Gentile soldiers ask, what can we do: do not extort money from our citizens; don’t make false accusations; be happy with your pay.
That is, the coming presence of the Lord that John announces calls for “changes in the nature of human life, so that justice, compassion, and honesty take the place of their opposites.” [ii] This is what repentance is to look like: justice, compassion and honesty with one another. The people are astonished, and begin to wonder if John is “the One who is to come.” To which he says emphatically, “No! I am not worthy to tie or untie his shoes. But be ready! For he will baptize you with water and fire! His winnowing fork will be in his hand, sifting to gather the wheat into his barns, but the chaff he will burn with “unquenchable fire!” If that does not motivate them to repent and become more loving toward one another, thinks John, nothing can.
Sidenote: Poor John. He has a skewed vision of what the time of Jesus will look like. The wrath of God embodied in Jesus will look more like a good shepherd who has compassion on his flock. He feeds people. He heals people. He welcomes people. He serves people, not asking them to serve him. There’s no winnowing fork in his hand. It’s up to us to choose to be gathered into his Body, or to opt out and become chaff of our own choices – choosing not to seek justice for others, not to be compassionate toward others, not to be honest with others. It’s up to us. Jesus calls us. We are to respond.
Years ago, Maggie Ross, an Anglican Solitary, or anchorite, wrote a book, The Fire of Your Life.While reflecting on loneliness as portrayed in George Balanchine’s ballet, Prodigal Son, a story that only appears in Luke’s Gospel. The Prodigal Son descends into utter despair, loneliness, and a grief that brings him to a moment of repentance – a turning back toward home and his father. His father, who welcomes him home with open arms.
Ross concludes, “The wrath of God is his relentless compassion, pursuing us even when we are at our worst.” To which she adds a prayer, “Lord, give us mercy to bear your mercy.” [iii] This is the very essence of Advent – do we choose to turn, to repentance, to return to a life of justice, compassion, and honesty which is the very heart of God’s relentless pursuit to bring us home, our true home wrapped in the arms of his never-ending love and mercy. Will we choose to become those people who live lives of tikkun olam, those who repair the world? If we so choose, the Wrath to Come will be a day to rejoice and give thanks!
Lord, give us mercy to bear your mercy.
[i] Luke 3:7-18
[ii]
Brueggemann, Gaventa, et.al., Texts for Preaching Year C (Westminster John Knox
Press, Louisville: 1994) p.20
[iii]
Ross, Maggie (Paulist Press, New York: 1983) p.137.
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