Kevin R. Hackett ssje

Advent II:  9.xii.07
at the monastery

During this coming liturgical year we are going to be making our way through the Gospel according to Matthew, and I have a confession:  Matthew is not my favorite.  No other Gospel demands so much from ordinary people who are trying to follow Jesus faithfully.  No other Gospel proffers more specific proscriptions and practices for life as the people of God.  No other Gospel offer more insight to the challenges of Christian community.

Matthew is a pragmatist:  if something is not working, he say, here is how you fix it.  If you are out of sorts with someone, for instance, here is what you must do.  And if that doesn’t work, here is what you must do next.  And if that doesn’t work, here is what you must do as a last resort—and always (as Sheldon Vanauken says) “under the mercy.”  Matthew recognizes that faithful living is going to necessitate what we brothers have come to call “difficult conversations” with one another.  Matthew knows that we will need to become skillful in speaking the truth in love, which stands in stark contrast to what more often happens in that guise:  something mean to someone, using religious language.  Matthew is a gospel of rigorous praxis (the Greek word from which we derive the word practice).  The praxis, the doing is as important as the being and the believing in for Matthew.

If I am honest, I am more naturally attracted to theory than practice.  The realm of theory keeps certain difficulties, shall we say, comfortably well at bay.  Tame.  Safe.  Practices, on the other hand, present the very real probability—not just the possibility—of failure.  Me, I’m far more prone to self-sufficiency—Matthew will have none of that.  He insists on a rigorous kind of discipleship—one which actively engages the practice mercy.  The disposition towards mercy is not a virtue with which I am naturally endowed, so it is practice that is hard work for me.  Perhaps this is true for you as well.  If it is, there is good news:  we are not in this alone, which is a relief, because none of us is self-sufficient, however much we pretend.  But there is more:  not only do we have the sturdy company of one another, we have the companionship of God, in every imaginable way, place, and time possible, as well as every unimaginable way, place, and time possible.  That’s the bedrock, actually, on which his Gospel is built.

So Matthew is given as our Gospel guide for this year—or at least today, on this Second Sunday of Advent—and on this day, we’re given a sobering glimpse of what’s in store, with a call back to basics, to fundamentals, to first principles—and not surprisingly to a practice.  Matthew’s fondness for practices is what gave rise to the whole “what would Jesus do?” movement, which has now morphed into niche publishing industry, providing guides that address such scintillating queries such as “what would Jesus eat?” and, just in time for your holiday shopping, “what would would Jesus buy?”

So this morning, as we prepare to find the ways in which God is present in this world and in our lives, we’re given the invitation to take stock.  We are given the opportunity to get back on track, to wake up, to come to our senses, to get on with the business of faith-filled living, and being the people that God desires us to be.

So repent.  Repent.  Probably not anyone’s favorite word, and certainly not a popular concept culturally, even in many churches.  Repentance is not popular because it suggests that something has gone wrong (which is tue), that something is not right (which is also true), that perhaps we have failed somehow (which is most certainly absolutely true).  And repentance is the way in which those crooked things and bent desires are made right. 

Repentance is one of the essential words of the Scriptures.  It’s found on the lips of the prophets, it’s found on the lips of John the Baptist, and it’s found on the lips of Jesus himself.  It’s one of those words (like evangelism or sin, which are absolutely indispensible) that is central to what we as Christians believe and do and live, though I’ll grant you, it’s tainted because of the way it’s been misused.  We’re almost programmed to expect words like hellfire and brimstone to follow, and sometimes they do, but we can’t avoid it or do without because it is one of our essential words—and practices. 

I was once asked by one of our guests why we brothers prayed a confession of sin each day at Compline.  The answer was easy—because we need to.  We live together closely in community, and there is not a day that passes that everyone us does not fail to be the man that God desires us to be, and so we practice the confession of sin, and not just once a day at Compline.  We do it most mornings as well when we gather for the Eucharist.  And—even that’s not enough.  It’s our practice to make our private confessions at least once a quarter.  You may know the story in which an observer asked a monk what he and his brothers did in their monastery all day.  He replied, we fall down, we get up.  We fall down, we get up.  We fall down, we get up.  We fall down, we get up.  And so we do.  And as we do, we ask for forgiveness, we repent,  and we endeavor to re-orient ourselves so that we fall less frequently, or at least not so hard the next time.  Repentance has far less to do with hellfire and brimstone than it does with simply getting our lives back on track.  Turning around.  Re-orienting ourselves to what God desires most, which has far more to do mercy than with self-recrimination and punishment and fear.  

God desires mercy more than sacrifice, and if that’s not how you are living your life, from the broadest stroke right down to the smallest detail, stop it!  Stop it right now and get back on course.  That’s what John the Baptist is saying.  Stop it right now and start living like what you say you believe—or what you want to believe.  Get back on track and do what you say you believe to be most deeply true and good.

When we brothers host a baptism here at the monastery, one of the most moving parts of the service is when the person being baptized, along with his or her sponsors are asked to renounce Satan and all the spiritual forces of wickedness that rebel against God (that’s the cosmic perspective), after which they renounce the evil powers of this world which corrupt and destroy the creatures of God (that’s the global and local level), and then they renounce all sinful desires that draw then from the love of God (that’s when it gets up close an personal).  In our practice, the candidate and sponsors face the west, back of the church, and not only say “I renounce them,” they physically push them away.  They push away every impulse that would draw then toward the darkness,
Then—my favorite part—physically turning around, repenting (!), facing the East, re-orienting literally, they turn to Jesus Christ and accept him as Savior, they put their whole trust in his grace and love, they promise to follow and obey him as Lord.  All of which is a way to say, they acknowledge their need for help—they cannot, and we cannot save ourselves.  We did not make ourselves—God did, and we cannot save ourselves—God does.  We expect that when we fail—not if, but when—Jesus’ grace and love will be more than sufficient—which is a good thing because ours is almost certainly not.  And as followers of Jesus, we expect that we have a lot to learn, which means we will need to listen closely what he and his other disciples have to say.  We will need to constantly keep re-orienting our course, constantly turning back toward the East.  We will need to constantly repent.

I’m guessing that most of us here this morning are baptized, but even if you are not, let me ask you, what would it mean for you to repent—really?  What would it mean for you to re-orient your life to what God desires most deeply for you, to what God has from the foundation of the world been dreaming for you?  What would it mean for you to turn from what may be adequate to what is truly good? 

If you find yourself this morning aware of your need for help with some part of your life that is not working, that’s a good thing, because there is help at hand.  If you find yourself this morning aware of how badly you have failed—in a relationship, in some loathsome compulsion, in some debilitating besetting sin, in some petty but persistent failing, whatever—if you find yourself in touch with shame and dis-grace that comes with all that, take heart, because there is abundant dignity and amazing grace available to you today.  If you find yourself aware that you have settled for less than God desires for you, listen up:  the good news, the gospel, offers us the invitation and opportunity to start over, to turn around, to re-orient ourselves, today. 

Repent!  The kingdom—what God desires most, what God dreams for us—the kingdom is near.  Repent! 

  © 2007

If this sermon has been meaningful to you, would you please consider making a donation to support the brothers' life and ministries?
Please click here to make a donation.