Sermon for Sunday, December 7, 2025

December 7, 2025

By Kristin Berkey-Abbott



Matthew 3: 1-12


Today's Gospel continues with the Advent theme of watching, waiting, and listening for the call. Today it's John the Baptist who tells us what's to come and what we are waiting for.

Many of John's listeners in today's Gospel probably thought that John was talking about himself when he said, “This is the one of whom the prophet Isaiah spoke when he said, "The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: 'Prepare the way of the Lord; make his paths straight.'"” First century Palestine was full of self-proclaimed Messiahs, and I suspect many of them spoke of themselves in the third person telling (or warning) of the deeds they would do. Many of John’s listeners yearned for a Messiah that would come in a form they'd recognize: that warrior spoken of by ancient prophets and the Psalmist to save them from the Romans or a temple reformer to get rid of corrupt priests and other perverters of the word of God.


Of course, people yearning for that kind of messiah would not be wanting John the Baptist to be their Messiah. He is not that kind of warrior who can save them from the Romans or reform the Temple, although the later part of today’s Gospel, with John addressing Pharisees and Sadducees shows that he does have some appetite for confronting religious officials. People who came to the wilderness to see John the Baptist might have been hoping for a Messiah, but what they saw hearkened back to an earlier age. Even before he gave his message, just by his clothes and diet, John the Baptist would be familiar in his role as a prophet, out of the line of Isaiah or Jeremiah, Amos, Hosea, or Micah.


His message would be right at home coming out of the mouths of those prophets. It’s important to remember that most Biblical prophets are not foretelling the far away future. On the contrary, God sends prophets to the people to remind them of the covenant, to call them back to right and righteous living in their time. Some prophets to do this by painting a picture of what could happen if people do this, the glorious world that is waiting if we would just move to God’s vision of the world. Some prophets do this by warning about what happens when people don’t set themselves right with God, who is just, loving, and powerful.


With his language of axes and winnowing and unquenchable fire, John the Baptist is clearly in the latter camp of prophets. And it works on some level. Consider verses 5 and 6: “People went out to him from Jerusalem and all Judea and the whole region of the Jordan. 6 Confessing their sins, they were baptized by him in the Jordan River.” Geographically, this means that everyone came to see John, city dwellers, people who lived in the desert, and everyone in between—John the Baptist wasn’t just a local phenomenon.


And unlike Old Testament prophets who might have to make a perilous journey to bring God’s message to God’s people, in today’s Gospel, John is on the margins, in the wilderness, and the center comes to him, just as wise men came to the baby Jesus just a chapter earlier in Matthew. And John’s influence is clearly more than the center of civilization. In this short passage, the whole of Judaism comes to him: everyone from religious elite to the common folks.


If John had been a different kind of person, he could have claimed enormous power for himself. Clearly, he’s charismatic. After several thousand years of baptisms, we might forget that John was doing a new thing. While ancient people would have taken part in ritual baths for purification after certain events, like pregnancy or other body processes that involved fluids, the idea of baptism for purification from spiritual impurity seems to be new, introduced by John the Baptist. And people go along with this idea and go into a river—ritual baths, by contrast, were human-created structures, a much tamer, safer experience than what John offers.


Once purified, John the Baptist preaches that the people are ready to meet their Messiah, the one prophesied in today’s Old Testament texts, the bloom that comes from the stump of Jesse. These kinds of prophecies prepare people to expect a warrior Messiah, and John’s language suggests that he, too, would welcome the arrival of this kind of savior, a Savior who would, to use the words of the prophet Isaiah from today’s reading, “strike the earth with the rod of his mouth, and with the breath of his lips he shall kill the wicked.”


This kind of language is part of why people expect the Messiah to be a warrior type. This kind of language doesn’t prepare us to be on the lookout for a baby in a manger or a healer moving from place to place.


In next week’s Gospel, we’ll discover that John the Baptist isn’t quite sure that Jesus is the Messiah. He asks the question asked by many through the ages: “Are you the one we’ve been waiting for?”


In this Advent time of watching and waiting, it’s a good question for us, too. What are we hoping for? What are we yearning for? Although we might wish that others would be winnowed and thrown in the fire, we know we don’t want that for ourselves.


John reminds us that God has always wanted for us to be sprouts that grow up to bear good fruit. It’s a powerful image, one that’s not unique to John the Baptist. Indeed, it’s an image that Jesus will use, and it’s one that we’ve returned to as a congregation. What are the fruits of faithfulness?


John the Baptist emerges from the wilderness, and at first look, he seems to be a prophtet rooted in the Old Testament tradition of prophecy, of calling people to repent from past transgressions and to remember their roots of faithfulness. But John is also pointing to a new direction, with his baptizing in the river Jordan, the river associated with the promised land of old, and the new world that the Messiah will usher in.


Let us take some Advent time to consider the Messiah we are longing to meet, the God who longs to meet us where we are. Is it the baby that looks so harmless, lying in a feeding trough? Do we long for someone fierce like John the Baptist, someone who pulls no punches and tells it like it is? Are we hoping for that gardener that will prune back all the dead wood? Can we separate the charismatic imposters from the true Messiah? John the Baptist warns us to be alert even as we yearn.


Many of us in this congregation are coming to the end of a very hard year, a wilderness time of our lives. Indeed, if we look at events around the planet in the past few years, it’s not hard to see this decade as a wilderness time for the world. Today’s Gospel gives us a new way to frame this wilderness time, as an opportunity to get on the right path. And if we’ve been in this wilderness place for so long that we feel immobile, our Buddhist friends would remind us that the easiest way to get on the right path is to step out to whatever part of that path is closest.


John the Baptist reminds us of the potential of this desert space. For those of us who feel hollowed out, let us remember the vision offered in today’s Gospel—wilderness as a place of preparation, yes, but also of promise. We have not been forgotten. God has not gone off to greener galaxies. Out of a wasteland of locusts and wild honey, new hope arises. Let us prepare the path of our lives and make the way straight. Our redemption is at hand.

The Feast Day of Saint Nicholas

Today, all over Europe, the gift-giving season begins. I had a friend in grad school who celebrated Saint Nicholas Day by having each family member open one present on the night of Dec. 6. It was the first I had heard of the feast day, but I was enchanted.

Still, I don't do much with this feast day--if I had children or gift-giving friends, I might, but most years, I simply pause to remember the historical origins of the saint and the day.

This year, my neighborhood group is having a cookie/treat tasting.  It's not a cookie swap, which requires people to bring several dozen cookies to exchange.  No, we will bring a batch of cookies or treats of some sort and enjoy some time together, with treats to eat if we want.  We're doing it at one of the Lutheridge buildings, which means no host who had to clean their house.  

In different years, I might have spent some time looking at my own Santa objects, but they are all packed away while the house renovation continues.   Happily, I have pictures!

One year, my step-mom in law and my father in law gave me these as Christmas presents:

They're actually cookie presses, and the Santa figures are the handles of the press. I've never used them as a cookie press, but I love them as decorations that are faithful to the European country of origin.

It's always a bit of a surprise to realize that Saint Nicholas was a real person. But indeed he was. In the fourth century, he lived in Myra, then part of Greece, now part of Turkey; eventually, he became Bishop of Myra. He became known for his habit of gift giving and miracle working, although it's hard to know what really happened and what's become folklore. Some of his gift giving is minor, like leaving coins in shoes that were left out for him. Some were more major, like resurrecting three boys killed by a butcher.

My favorite story is the one of the poor man with three children who had no dowry for them. No dowry meant no marriage, and so, they were going to have to become prostitutes. In the dead of night, Nicholas threw a bag of gold into the house. Some legends have that he left a bag of gold for each daughter that night, while some say that he gave the gold on successive nights, while some say that he gave the gold as each girl came to marrying age.

Through the centuries, the image of Saint Nicholas has morphed into Santa Claus, but as with many modern customs, one doesn't have to dig far to find the ancient root.

I don't have as many Santa images in my Christmas decorations. Here's my favorite Santa ornament:

I picked it up in May of 1994 or so. I was visiting my parents, and I went with them on a trip to Pennsylvania where my dad was attending a conference. I picked this ornament up in a gift shop that had baskets of ornaments on sale. I love that it uses twine as joints to hold Santa together.

In the past decade, I've been on the lookout for more modern Saint Nicholas images. A few years ago, one of my friends posted this photo of her Santa display to her Facebook page:

I love the ecumenical nature of this picture of Santa: Santa statues coexisting peacefully with Buddha statues. And then I thought, how perfect for the Feast Day of St. Nicholas!

More recently, I have a new favorite Saint Nicholas image, courtesy of my cousin's wife:

In this image, Santa communicates by way of American Sign Language. As I looked at the background of the photo, I realized Santa sits in a school--the sign on the bulletin board announces free breakfast and lunch.

The photo seems both modern and ancient to me: a saint who can communicate in the language we will hear, the promise that the hungry will be filled.

In our time, when ancient customs seem in danger of being taken over by consumerist frenzy, let us pause for a moment to reflect on gifts of all kinds. Let us remember those who don't have the money that gifts so often require. Let us invite the gifts of communication and generosity into our lives.

Twenty Years of Phyllis Tickle's "The Divine Hours"

As I've been making my way through the first week of Advent devotional time, it occurred to me that I've now been using Phyllis Tickle's The Divine Hours for 20 years.  Back in 2005, having returned from my second trip to Mepkin Abbey, I wanted a prayer manual that was more like I experienced at Mepkin.  I'm not sure how I found The Divine Hours, but it's probably because some of the theological writers I admired were using it, or maybe I read other work of Tickle's and thought The Divine Hours was worth the price.

And I do mean price, as in the cost of the book:  a 3 volume set, each volume $35 before the Amazon discount.  But it's been worth it.

I have been most constant in my use of the books in the mornings.  It's hard for me to remember to return to the practice through the day, but when I do, I notice a difference.  I'm not sure why that difference isn't enough to make me do it consistently.

In late March of 2020, I started using the books as I did an online morning devotional for my church, which I've written about in other blog posts (most notably here at the 7 month mark and here at the 5 year mark).

I was not blogging back in 2005 when I first started using the books, but I remember loving the variety of readings, something that I didn't have in other books that were much briefer devotionals.  Other devotionals had one or two verses, if that.  I also loved the feeling of participating in an ancient ritual.

There have been times when the physical structure of the books weighed on me--literally, in some ways.  The books are fairly big, especially if one is travelling by plane and wants to bring other books too.  And the print is tiny.  But the physical book is reliable, unlike online sites.

I think back to 2005, when I envisioned a new life of some sort:  maybe a different teaching job (always I've been dreaming of a small, liberal arts college) or maybe a different degree (an MFA or an MDiv).  But I felt trapped in place and would only go on to feel increasingly trapped.

I'm grateful to be in this part of my life for many reasons, but not feeling trapped anymore is one of the reasons that makes me feel most grateful.  And I'm grateful to books like The Divine Hours that have been with me along the way.

Jan Richardson's Prayer/Hope for Peace

During a Monday morning prayer group, our leader shared the following prayer by Jan Richardson with us.  Jan Richardson has written many prayers, so I couldn't track the prayer to the original posting of it.  I loved the imagery and language, and it seems appropriate for our moment in history.

That peace will rise like bread we can always hope.
That justice will flow like wine we can always hope.
That the table will make strangers kin we can always hope.
That our hope will rise like bread we can always pray.


By Jan Richardson

Meditation on This Sunday's Gospel

The readings for Sunday, December 7, 2025:

First Reading: Isaiah 11:1-10

Psalm: Psalm 72:1-7, 18-19

Second Reading: Romans 15:4-13

Gospel: Matthew 3:1-12


Today's Gospel continues with the Advent theme of watching, waiting, and listening for the call. Today it's John the Baptist who tells us of what's to come.

Many of John's listeners in today's Gospel probably thought that John was talking about himself; after all, first century Palestine was full of self-proclaimed Messiahs, and I expect many of them spoke of themselves in the third person telling (or warning) of the deeds they would do. Many of John's listeners probably had no idea what he was talking about; humans seem incapable of thinking in terms of metaphor and symbol for very long. Many of them probably expected a Messiah that would come in a form they'd recognize: a warrior to save them from the Romans, a temple reformer to get rid of corrupt priests, or maybe someone who would lead them into the wilderness to set up a new community.

Are we not the same way? How many of us read the Bible literally, expecting specific answers to social or political issues that would have been unheard of thousands of years ago when the Scriptures were written? How many of us would welcome salvation when it comes? We go to church, we sit in our pews, we wait for God to appear. We wonder why we don’t feel the presence of God, as we go home to take a nap and gear up for our secular week ahead. We scurry through the rat race of our lives, substituting other things for God. We worship at the churches of Capitalism, buying things at the mall or on the Internet, which means we have to work overtime to pay for those things. We wonder why we feel unfulfilled. To try to fill that emptiness, we do more of the activities that leave us with gaping holes in our Spirit. We hear that voice, the voice of the Spirit--maybe it cries or maybe it whispers. It scares us, so we continue scrolling through our phone,  we eat some more, we keep looking for the perfect show to stream, or we go to bed early--because we can't deal with the implications.

John warns what happens to those of us who don't listen: "His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor and gather his wheat into the granary, but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire" (verse 12). Some of us don't like this vision of a God with a winnowing fork in hand. How does this mesh with a God of grace and love?

I think of parents who warn their children of the danger of bad choices. I think of all the ways we make bad choices, both as children and as adults.

I return to John's fiery language and the idea of winnowing. I visualize God as a loving parent, wishing we would do what's good for us. God doesn't have to do much winnowing. Our lifestyles are already punishing us. Many of us are already feeling that unquenchable fire.

The good news is that there is time to change our ways. There is still time to "Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight." (verse 3). Advent, traditionally a time for getting ready, is a good time to think ahead. How could we make the next year to be our best spiritual year ever?

Choose just one simple action, whether it be keeping a prayer journal or making gratitude lists or learning to play or sing sacred music. Choose just one action and attend to it faithfully.

In this way, you will be in a much stronger spiritual place a year from now. You will be bearing fruit. God will call, and you will hear. God won't have to go to such great lengths to get your attention. Your deepest yearnings, the ones you didn't even know you had, will be filled, as you move towards God--and God moves towards you.

Recording of Sunday's Sermon for Advent 1

Before we get too far away from last Sunday, the firs Sunday in Advent, let me link to the recording of my sermon for November 30.  You can read the manuscript here.

Despite the forecast of ice in the mountains and that it was the Sunday of Thanksgiving week-end, we had a fairly easy trip to Bristol, Tennessee and back.  And the church strikes me as particularly beautiful during the season of Advent, as most churches do.  It is my third Advent season with this church, and I'm glad to still be here with this community.

World AIDS Day 2025

Here we are, World AIDS Day, in yet another year of our no-longer-new pandemic (COVID 19), a disease that's much easier to contract than AIDS, a disease that like AIDS preys on the more vulnerable in our society.

Maybe all diseases target the more vulnerable.  And our epidemiologist friends would remind us that diseases don't have emotions or calculations.  Diseases infect where they can, and in vulnerable populations, diseases have more opportunity.

AIDS is still a fairly fierce disease, even though we have medications that can keep people alive for decades--that's still a lot of disease management, which isn't a cure.  According to a UN Fact Sheet, 1.3 million people worldwide contracted AIDS in 2024 alone--that's just one year.  Since the beginning of this epidemic, 91.4 million people have been infected, and 44.1 million have died of the disease.

At this moment in time, COVID-19 isn't killing as many of us.  But it is still a disease to be reckoned with, a disease that leaves lots of wreckage in its wake.  Like AIDS, many of us assume that COVID-19 has been tamed or disappeared.  But like AIDS, some of us are more protected than others.

Dec. 1 is also the anniversary of the day in 1955 when Rosa Parks refused to give up her seat on the bus to a white passenger. This act is often given credit for launching the Civil Rights Movement, but what many forget is that various communities had begun planning for the launch, even before they could see or know what it would look like.

In fact, for generations, people had prepared for just such a moment. They had gotten training in nonviolent resistance. They had come together in community in a variety of ways. They were prepared.

Someone asked me once how I had come to be such an optimist. I've always had an optimistic streak, but frankly, my whole world view shifted when I watched Nelson Mandela walk out of prison. I fully expected him to be killed, but again, my worldview shifted when I watched South Africans stand in line for days (days!) to elect him president. And he was ready to be president because he had spent those decades in prison thinking about how he would run the country and making plans.

I have seen enormous social change happen in my lifetime--in the face of such evidence, I must agree with Dr. Martin Luther King, who said the arc of history is long, but it bends towards justice.  

Some years, that arc seems so long and the bending so difficult to discern.  Diseases show us where we need to bend that arc towards justice, where there's still opportunity for progress.

Those of us who work towards social justice and human dignity for all know how long the struggle might be. We are similar to those medieval builders of cathedrals: we may not be around to see the magnificent completion of our vision, but it's important to play our part. In the words of that old Gospel song, we keep our eyes on the prize, our hands on the plow, and hold on.