Third Sunday of Advent, rcl yr c, 2021
Zephaniah 3:14-20; Canticle 3 (Isaiah 12:2-6); Luke 3:7-18
The fall of megachurch pastor Mark Driscoll was not nearly as sordid as the fall of so many other megachurch pastors and televangelists. So it didn’t make the news in quite the same way as many others.
The story, though, may sound similar. A charismatic preacher and teacher sets up shop, and grows a church; Driscoll did so in Seattle, in a church called Mars Hill, growing from 160 members in 1996, to—at its height in 2013–12 000 in weekly attendance over fifteen different campuses, on top of 260 000 sermon views per week.
And then, somewhat predictably, the whole thing collapsed. An internal investigation concluded that Driscoll had “been guilty of arrogance, responding to conflict with a quick temper and harsh speech, and leading the staff and elders in a domineering manner.” Driscoll, as it has become well known, was a bully. Driscoll resigned, and Mars Hill Church is no more.
The story has been again on the cultural radar for a couple of reasons. A podcast about the whole affair, called “The Rise and Fall of Mars Hill,” has recently come to an end, garnering a wide audience. The other reason it’s on the radar, albeit less on the broader cultural radar, is that over the summer a public letter was released from former elders from Mars Church after hearing some of the same stories coming out of Driscoll’s new church in Arizona: more stories of bullying, and more personal accounts of domineering behaviour.
So the former elders released a letter, saying in part: “We are troubled that he continues to be unrepentant.” Despite the fact that Driscoll has said that he’s already apologised for what he had done at Mars Hill Church.
John the Baptist’s teaching, as we hear it today, is very much about repentance. “Bear fruits worthy of repentance,” he says, without compromise. And this is where the letter from the former elders of Mars Hill Church, writing to their former pastor, comes very close to the spirit of John the Baptist. Because like those elders, who expected Driscoll to do more than simply apologise, but also to have changed his ways and to have ceased being a bully if he were truly to have repented—John says something very similar. “Bear fruits worthy of repentance,” says John.
So when the crowds ask John, “What then should we do?” John says, change your ways. Don’t just say you’re sorry, don’t just use your words, but show it. “Bear fruits worthy of repentance.”
Are you concerned for the poor? Don’t just say that. ”Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.” And to the tax collectors, accustomed to taking more money than was their due, John says, don’t just wring your hands, “Collect no more than the amount prescribed for you.” And to soldiers, accustomed to extortion and blackmail, and maybe feeling a bit guilty about it, John says, ”Do not extort money from anyone by threats or false accusation, and be satisfied with your wages.”
Or, don’t just say it, wring your hands, or feel guilty. Show it, and do something about it, too. “Bear fruits worthy of repentance.”
This sentiment of John the Baptist’s is a deeply Christian one. Jesus will, like John the Baptist, preach a message of repentance. We don’t think that words are enough; we are asked to change our ways.
But there are some ways that we can get this very very wrong. In a recent reflection on Mars Hill Church, David Zahl described the theology there as one of “[y]ou suck, do better.” And while you wouldn’t hear “you suck, do better” from many Anglican pulpits, you will maybe hear something very similar, something like “you’re awesome, nothing wrong at all with you, but still, do better.”
They both take a relatively high understanding of human capability. Whether you suck or whether you’re awesome is not the point; the more troublesome assumption is that our goodness, our being better, is something at our command. And this may lead us down a blind alley. In David Zahl’s words, “It pits people against themselves and short-circuits compassion, opening up a wellspring of resentment, unbelief, and despair. And in perhaps a note of accusation against a ministry like John the Baptist’s, which appears to be less-than-gracious, “You cannot convey a message of grace in a non-gracious or overbearing way.”
“You suck, do better.” Or, “You’re great, but still, do better.” Neither of these are quite true, or good.
It’s almost as if John the Baptist, on his own, isn’t quite enough. It’s almost as if we need someone to come who would be greater than John. It’s almost as if John is pointing to something much greater than repentance on its own.
Well, John the Baptist knows that even bearing fruits worthy of repentance, as important as it is, isn’t quite enough, and he tells the people as much “[T]he people were filled with expectation … [wondering] whether he might be the Messiah, [so] John answered all of them by saying, ‘I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming … He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.’”
John the Baptist is the forerunner. John the Baptist is the one who comes before. John the Baptist’s role is not to save, but to point to the saviour.
And while John the Baptist preaches the truth, reminding us that repentance means more than just saying the right words, that we ought also to change our ways, his preaching isn’t, (although we wouldn’t be much to blame for thinking so!), “do better.” John preaches a repentance that prepares the way for, and points to, the one who would also forgive, and reconcile.
John the Baptist prepares the way for Jesus, the one who doesn’t teach you how to “do better,” but the one who will make you whole and good through what he does for us. “Bear fruits worthy of repentance,” to be sure. But don’t get hung up on this “do better” business.
Look forward, with John the Baptist, to Jesus, and to what he promises: that it is by his goodness, and by his grace, that we would be made whole and made well.