Isaiah 5. 8-30; Acts 13. 13-41
I wonder, sometimes, whether we are just too polite of our own good. We are Christians, after all. Some of us are English Christians, if that’s all right with you, if you don’t mind me saying so. And of course we should earn our hearing. Of course we should respect other people. Of course we should listen, understand, clarify, put ourselves in their shoes. Of course we should not seek to offend, we should not antagonise. And in the church we should aim to please, we should act in a way which is worthy of our setting and our calling: we should craft acts of worship which satisfy the demands of taste and culture and depth and artistic merit. We should speak with good judgement and sound learning. It is what we do.
But there are times when this degree of politeness, courtesy, good judgement and inoffensive behaviour can itself be an offence to the gospel. The passages which stand out in the Bible are those where the old order is not gently soothed and smoothed, but overturned. Take Paul in Acts 13: he’s not speaking to Christians but Jews in the Synagogue in Antioch in Pisidia – and he tells it straight. Paul is all about being zealous, and he minces no words. In fact his hearers would be offended if he did, whatever difficult things they might hear. How else would they know he meant what he said? It is not difficult to imagine his hearers squirming as he tells them that the people of Jerusalem misunderstood the prophets – and by extension they were in danger of doing the same thing.
Or take Isaiah chapter 5. This is more like a hostile Prime Minster’s Question time than a religious leader’s address. Isaiah tears into those who in his day oppress the poor, who misrepresent religious faith and practice, who trust in themselves and not in God, who pander to their own needs and pleasures and drag the whole of society down with them. This is a sermon with a snarl, not a homily with a hymn to follow.
Or take John the Baptist, referred to by Paul in Acts 13, and who is remembered on this Third Sunday of Advent as a forerunner of Christ, the one who prepared the way. With great and good standing before him he starts his message by calling them a bunch of snakes. He slams the immorality of his King, attacks the corruption of the religious establishment, tells the ordinary folk that they are just as bad, and gives the occupying Roman forces a hard time too.
There is a time to speak, and a time to stay silent. Isaiah, John, Jesus, Paul, all speak out, and we will fail them if we do not, on occasion. Thank God for those who speak out, who demonstrate, who are zealous and passionate for their cause. Woe betide me if I don’t look at the world through the eyes of a prophet and see the injustices. Woe betide me if I fail to act in a way which will bring such injustice to light, and fail to do something to right such wrongs. Thank God for those who have worked and worked to get something done about climate change, or energy, or the gap between rich and poor. Thank God for those who ask how a billionaire Prime Minister is able to lecture the poor about pay rises, or the lack of them. And then ask yourself whether there are some things which require a protest, require a hard word, require us to stand.
The Christ for whose coming we are preparing came to bring peace, and a sword. His coming should not be the occasion of sentimental cooing over a lovely baby. Whatever the carol says, the baby cried. The baby cries today over Ukraine and Somalia and gross consumption which will kill us with its excess. Christ cries over every injustice and abuse of power, just like the prophets and John said. To prepare for the coming of Christ is to rejoice that a new world will begin, and then to do all that we can to make it happen. And, just sometimes, that might mean saying something challenging over dinner, or sending people away from church worried rather than anaesthetised. Listen to Isaiah. “The Lord of hosts is exalted by justice”. Just sometimes comfort will have to take second place.