Second Sunday of Advent, December 6, 2020 – Isaiah 40:1-5, 9-12; 2 Peter 3:8-14; Mark 1:1-8

When I was working for WABC radio, their headquarters were at 1330 Avenue of the Americas, between 53rd and 54th St., and their building occupied the whole length between the two side streets, and halfway down the block. It had a beautiful outside plaza with two big fountains. You walked up two or three stone steps onto the plaza, then a couple more steps up to the entrance of the building. It was one of the most prestigious buildings on a prestigious avenue. Avenue of the Americas is really 6th avenue, but from 42nd St. up to 59th St., because of the tremendous amount of money installed there, they changed the name to the majestic Avenue of the Americas. But, outside that building every day, was this very strange character. I forget the nickname he was given, but he used to wear a Vikings helmet with horns and a leather coat with fur on it and buskins on his feet, and he had a spear. And he would accost the people coming in and out of the building all the time. Now you would think, considering the fact that this was the headquarters of ABC network for the entire United States, and that the building represented the attempt to capitalize on popular culture, to economize it and create money out of it, there must have been a whole flock of lawyers in the building. That they could not figure out how to get one homeless man off the front steps of their building is incredible. However, I think that they chose not to. Because people would avoid this character going in and out of the building, and certainly tried to stay downwind of him. But, I think in some strange way, they saw him as a countercultural symbol. A way of saying, “Yes, all this is about money and profit, but yes, there are other realities in the world.” And so they tolerated, having to go past him every day. I tell you this because both our first reading and our gospel are countercultural. And not understanding that, prevents us from understanding what each of these sacred writers wants to say.

Now Saint Mark, in his gospel, begins with the story of John the Baptist. But he asks his readers to see his story, not only the story of John the Baptist, but the entire story he’s about to tell - the Good News about Jesus Christ. He wants us to see the whole thing through the lens of one particular phrase in the prophet Isaiah. And that phrase is hidden in today’s first reading. I’ll show you what I mean.

When we read the first reading, this is how we read it - this particular line - “Make straight in the wasteland, a highway for our God.” It’s read that way because this is poetry in the original language, and so the translators captured at least the meter of the poetry, in English. “Make straight in the wasteland, a highway for our God.”

But reading it that way hides the meaning that Isaiah intended, because this is how we should read it in English. “Make straight in the wasteland a highway for Our God.” Our God. Why should it be read that way?

This part of the book of Isaiah was written to captives in Babylon. They were immigrants, they were a slave population, and they were living among an alien people who worshipped an alien god. They had been put there because they were conquered by the Assyrians under Nebuchadnezzar. During the almost hundred years that they were in captivity, the political climate of the Mediterranean changed when King Cyrus of Persia conquered the Assyrian empire, and his idea was to send all of these captives from various places back to the places where they belonged so they could begin to rebuild their own economies for the benefit of the kingdom of Persia. But Isaiah sees this political wind shift as God’s doing. Now, the Persians worshipped a god called Marduk, and wherever they went they brought this huge statue of Marduk with them, in order to impress the people they had conquered. They would force the conquered peoples to make a paved highway to bring the statue into the center of the village or the town or whatever it was. And so, Isaiah would say, “Oh no, the highway you’re building, the Persians might think it’s for Marduk, but it’s for Our God, who’s coming to save us.” And so there is this countercultural thing going on in Isaiah’s prophecy. He’s offering comfort and hope to people who have lost their hope and have no comfort.

And St. Mark wants us to see the story he’s about to tell through the lens of that countercultural experience, because his gospel is also countercultural. I checked to make sure. His is the only gospel that begins with the sentence, “The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” We’re so used to calling Jesus “Son of God” that that doesn’t make any impact on us. But you have to understand what Mark is doing. It is around the year 70. The Roman troops have surrounded Jerusalem, and they have set siege to the city, knowing that eventually Jerusalem’s food supply and water supply would run out. They held out for almost two years. When they finally caved in, the Roman army simply came in and burned the city to the ground. And both Jews and Christians, who were not killed, fled for their lives. This was the end result of the so-called Augustinian peace. The Pax Romana. The great triumph of civilization. A Caesar sitting on the throne had done this to the people. And Mark writes right in the middle of the siege. The people are terrified. And he’s saying, “They may call the emperor the son of god, but I’m writing about the real Son of God. Pay attention. I’m about to tell you something that is politically charged.”

And so he begins by presenting someone very much like the guy on 1330 Avenue of the Americas. Someone who is simultaneously repulsive and alluring. He presents John the Baptist. John the Baptist is a great saint to us. We have statues of him all over the place. So we think of him in a very sacred way. But if you think about the description that Mark gives us of John the Baptist, it’s repulsive. Remember that this guy was born a son of one of the priests in the Jerusalem temple. His family was well off, highly respected and represented the main stream of Jewish society. And here is this guy out in the dessert wearing camel’s hair and eating this disgusting diet. He is repulsive, and yet people are drawn to him in huge numbers, and pour out of the city of Jerusalem to go and hear him preach and get baptized by him.
Now, why do people do that? Because, although he’s repulsive, something about him is terribly alluring.
He’s saying something that they cannot ignore even though it convicts them of sin.

After John the Baptist, then Mark is going to present someone who’s extremely attractive. He’s going to present Jesus, who’s attractive in the things he does - the cures, and the feeding, and the parables, and the kindness to the sick. All of that is very alluring, but Jesus is also tremendously countercultural. He says stuff that the authorities in Jerusalem do not want to hear. He says it all the time, to everybody. This is the good news that Mark has come to tell. His countercultural good news. And so we have to expect it to be, at the same time, both repulsive and alluring.

In today’s second reading the writer who names himself Peter, puts a rhetorical question in the middle of the reading. He says, “Since these things are happening, what sort of person ought you to be?” Now we have had countercultural figures all through the life of the church. Take St. Francis of Assisi just as one example. He’s one of our most admired saints. People love Francis of Assisi. Catholics love Francis of Assisi. Non-Catholics love Francis of Assisi. Jews love St. Francis of Assisi. Pagans love St. Francis of Assisi. The greeting card companies love St. Francis of Assisi. But in his own lifetime he was repulsive. He began his following of Christ by standing in the town square and taking off all his clothing and saying to his father, who was a rich merchant, “I disown you. I will have nothing to do with your commerce.” If the bishop of the town hadn’t put his robe over him, Francis would’ve walked out of the town square wearing only his birthday suit. And he forced his followers to go out and beg. They were dirty. They were rag-clothed and they were repulsive. But by the end of Francis’ life, the pope was paying attention to what Francis was saying, and the entire life of the Catholic Church and, therefore, the entire culture of Europe, was changed by that one repulsive man. Because as repulsive as he was, he was also alluring.


In our time, both in the church and outside the church, we have countercultural figures all the time, who are both repulsive and alluring. And you know who they are for you. They are different for each person in our church this morning. But the question that our Advent leaves with us this morning is the question that Peter asks in the second reading. When you’re confronted with these countercultural figures, what sort of person ought you to be?