I don’t think you’re here for the right reasons. I don’t think you really want to give your offering. You’re hoping I never ask you to volunteer for anything. The ones who do (volunteer) really wish I wouldn’t ask so much. You resent the people who don’t help that much. I don’t really know what you do. I think you’re kind of lazy. I get the impression you’re really greedy. Some of you don’t like raising your kids. I think it bugs you that you have to take care of your parents. I bet it’s hard for you to get up on a Sunday morning and go to church. I give you a 50/50 chance that you even think about going to church while on vacation.
How does it feel when someone questions your motives? Does it make you angry? Are you on the defensive? “How dare you say that to me”? People have no right to say such things, do they? So then, why don’t you tell them? Tell them the truth. Before anyone accuses you of anything, tell them you are here for the right reasons, and that you wish you could give more for your offering, and that you love volunteering so much that you call the church and ask what needs doing, and … well, you get the idea. If a person has such strong confidence in their motives that they angrily defend them when they’re attacked, shouldn’t they be confident enough to put them out there for everyone to see when nobody asks? If you’re so confident that what you do is right, then isn’t it your responsibility to use your life as the model to help those who do wrong?
With some things we already do this. It’s easy to say to a new worker you’re training, “This is the right way. This is the order things need to get done so that the boss is happy.” It’s easy to say to a child, “Watch how I brush my teeth. Follow my example – this is how you throw a football. This is how you bake a cake.” But do you do that with bigger things? Do you walk up to people at church and say, “Watch me? This is how you give an offering generously.” “You and every other parent out there should follow my example because this is how you raise your kids the right way.” “You know, you really ought to do what I’m doing. If I were married to your spouse, I’d treat her much differently.” “Do you want to serve God the right way? I’ll set the pattern for you. Follow me.”
Does that sound arrogant? If so, then was the Apostle Paul arrogant? In Philippians 3, without being asked his opinion, he said to the entire church, “Everyone should follow my example.” In chapter 4, he says, “Live according to the pattern I give you” and “whatever you see in me, put into practice.” In 2 Thessalonians, he writes, “You know … you ought to follow my example,” and in 1 Corinthians, “Follow my example, for I follow the example of Christ.” Was Paul arrogant? It’s hard to say so when he’s the one who called himself the “worst of sinners” on more than one occasion.
Paul wasn’t arrogant. He was confident in knowing the type of life that this world needs to see, the type of life this world doesn’t see very often. Of the roughly 10,000 years this world has been around, God only used 33 of those to come down here himself to show us what godly living is all about. For all those other years, God has chosen to show himself only through the members of his Church; which means that if the world is going to get to know him, they’re only going to do that by watching the lives we’re living. If a world is going to have an opinion of him, that opinion is going to be formed pretty exclusively by how confident we are in our Christian living.
How confident are you? Confident enough to tell others that you know what you’re doing; confident enough to say to everyone who cares and so many who don’t that, when they see you, they will, at the same time, see God’s way of doing things? Is that even possible for the Christian? Paul believes it is. So does John the Baptist.
(7) John said to the crowds coming out to be baptized by him, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath? (8) Produce fruit in keeping with repentance. And do not begin to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our father.’ For I tell you that out of these stones God can raise up children for Abraham. (9) The axe is already at the foot of the trees, and every tree that does not produce good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.” A couple of weeks ago, Sydney, our 19-month-old, who is very good at climbing up chairs, tables and stairs, was given a very nice white sweater. Nice thick material. It fits her perfectly and looks very nice. She wore it to church a few weeks back and, when we got home, started playing with some books or toys like she normally does. When we looked at her again, she had climbed up one of our kitchen chairs, reached a glass that was on the table and poured the cranberry juice that was inside of it all over her nice, white sweater. Would you ever do that? You know better, don’t you?
The reason John called them a “brood of vipers” is because that’s basically what they were doing. Do you know what they were doing? They were coming to be baptized. They were coming to be cleansed, to be completely washed of every sin, called pure and holy and blameless for every bad thing they’d ever done, and given a clean white robe of perfection. But John knew, in their hearts, they had no intention of changing. Like we said last week, the word “repent” literally means to change your mind. They weren’t planning on being any more serious about the sins they were committing. They were pouring cranberry juice all over those holy robes. And their excuse? “Our heredity gives us an exemption from paying attention to what you’re saying. Abraham was our great-great-great-great grandfather,” which sounds kind of silly, but making excuses when it comes to sin is really quite common.
John said, “Produce fruit in keeping with repentance.” In other words, show you value the white sweater of perfection you were given at your baptism. John didn’t say, “Make an excuse as to why it wasn’t really your fault.” “Make a joke about what you’ve done to soften the mood,” “Find someone else who’s done the same thing so it doesn’t seem that bad.” “Resolve to change, and maybe follow up with it.” “Shed a few tears.” “Let out a few sighs.” “Feel badly for a little bit;” all of which are ways of trying to find an exemption and, at the same time, making your white sweater stained again. Repentance isn’t hoping to do better next time. It’s not allowing there to be a next time for one very serious reason.
“The axe is at the food of the tree, and every tree that does not produce fruit will be thrown into the fire.” If you’ve ever chopped down a tree with an axe, you know you typically start with some slow, deliberate motions to line up the shot. Sometimes you tap the tree with the sharp blade to scrape away some of the bark so you have a spot to aim for. If you were to ask the tree if they like it when the axe scrapes away little chunks of their bark, they’d say, “No, that hurts a little bit.” But if you were to ask them again when the axe is repeatedly hacking away, killing them, they might long for the days when it was only their bark that was in pain.
Robert Martinez and his family had to foreclose on their house in California. Their moving day was earlier this week. As the movers were taking boxes from the garage to the moving van, Robert’s five-year-old son walked into the garage just as a cabinet that had been leaning against some boxes was falling. He put his hands against it and tried to stop it. He didn’t. The cabinet fell on him killed him. Think about the pain that family is suffering this weekend. This will sound harsh, but it’s true. That pain is the axe gently scraping away at the bark. It’s a pain you will long for if you don’t repent like John says and stop making excuses for getting your life in order. What feeling do you suppose went through the crowd when John said that? You’re right if you think they were very scared.
(10) “What should we do then?” the crowd asked. (11) John answered, “The man with two tunics should share with him who has none, and the one who has food should do the same.” (12) Tax collectors also came to be baptized. “Teacher,” they asked, “what should we do?” (13) “Don’t collect any more than you are required to,” he told them. (14) Then some soldiers asked him, “And what should we do?” He replied, “Don’t extort money and don’t accuse people falsely – be content with your pay.” Three different groups approached him – the common citizens, tax collectors, and soldiers. Why did he tell the common citizens to share? Because the average person doesn’t. Why did he tell the tax collectors to be fair? Because the average tax collector wasn’t. Why did he tell soldiers to never to abuse, never to blackmail and never to complain about their wages? It wasn’t unusual for soldiers, who, in the line of duty have a great deal of power, to do those things. John was telling them that repentance typically means doing what’s harder for the average person, the thing that fewer people are doing.
You may not be a tax collector or a soldier, but you are something – a teenager, a parent, a business owner, stay-at-home mom, unemployed, filthy rich, dirt poor, a teacher, a pastor. And where you work, where you live, who you hang out with, there are sins that are easier for you to fall into than it is for others who aren’t in your position. John isn’t telling you to give away your tunic. He’s saying that repentance, for every person in every calling, usually means doing the hard thing, the right thing, the thing that fewer people are doing, which is hard for us. Think about how many of the good things we say to one another come from selfish motives.
When someone says, “Honey, I love you,” it’s often said not simply because you wanted to say that, but because they really wanted the other person to say it back. When we say, “I really appreciate what you did for me,” what we’re often saying is “I want you to do that again for me.” When you ask, “How are you doing?” do you wait for an answer or is that the bridge you use to get past a long, drawn-out conversation? Those are relatively minor things, but it shows how easy it is to be less-than-sincere, often without even realizing that’s what we’re doing. John came to help us give our lives an honest evaluation. And he was apparently so good at practicing what he preached that people looked at his life and wondered if he was the one for whom they’d been waiting.
(15) The people were waiting expectantly and were all wondering in their hearts if John might possibly be the Christ. (16) John answered them all, “I baptize you with water. But one more powerful than I will come, the thongs of whose sandals I am not worthy to untie. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire. (17) His winnowing fork is in his hand to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his barn, but he will burn up the chaff with unquenchable fire.’ (18) And with many other words John exhorted (or encouraged) the people and preached the good news to them. Does anything strike you as strange about that last verse? So far, John has called the Pharisees a “brood of vipers,” said the axe is about to bring some serious pain, pointed out everyone’s sins, disappoints them by telling them he’s not the one for whom they’re looking, and then talks about that day Jesus will clear the threshing floor and burn the chaff in unquenchable fire? “And with many other words John [encouraged] the people and preached the good news to them.” Do you feel encouraged at the moment? Do you feel like John is sharing good news with you this morning?
This is a common complaint about Christianity. “All the church does is make me feel bad. I’m a positive person. I prefer to look on the bright side of things. I don’t need the negative bringing me down.” Christians are always talking about sinning and repenting, rules and judgments. ‘People are bad and going to hell. The whole world is evil.’ C’mon, wasn’t it the Apostle Paul who said, “Whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is lovely … think about such things?” Did Paul say that? Of course he did. But do you know which adjective was first on his list? “Whatever is true.” It’s good to think positive thoughts. But there’s one catch. They have to be true. Positive thinking doesn’t mean pretending.
When God sent ugly grasshoppers to eat everything in sight, devastating Israel, the people asked the prophet Joel, “What should we do?” He didn’t say, “Look on the bright side,” or “Stay positive.” “Weep!” “Wail!” “Mourn!” was his advice. Open your eyes. See what God sees and let the painful truth sink in. God has never said that our goal in this life is to avoid pain at all costs. In fact, he so strongly wants us to confront the painful truths about this world, about life, and about ourselves, that he writes pain into our childbearing. He lets nature destroy and mangle our lives. He planted thorns in our soil. He sent a flood to wipe out and rearrange this world. The next time you think there’s not so much wrong with this world, nothing wrong with your life or the message it’s sending, that your ‘innocent little mistakes’ aren’t worth getting all worked up about, think about this: God dying. God in pain. God’s limp body being taken down from a cross … because our ‘innocent, little’ mistakes killed him.
That’s the truth 3000 residents of Jerusalem had to face on the Day of Pentecost, the day John the Baptist meant when he said Jesus would baptize with “the Holy Spirit and with fire;” the day 3000 people who rejected and crucified a pitiful-looking man found out that he isn’t dead, which meant that he was God, the one holding the axe in his hand. That’s the day Peter told them the truth, that this man whom they killed … forgave them of the most wretched crime you can imagine – killing the God who made them. That truth led to the repentance and baptisms of 3000 people and their children. It planted a peace in their hearts they had never before felt, a peace with God that goes beyond all human understanding; based on the truth that this God whose sandals John was unworthy to untie would be seen in the upper room untying his disciples’ sandals and scrubbing their dirty feet; the truth that the God holding the winnowing fork in his hand doesn’t tell you about Judgment Day to scare you, but to assure you that you’re wheat he’s going to keep.