Into the Way

By Rev. Gusti Linnea Newquist


Second Sunday in Advent
Luke 1:68-79

Our own Rebecca Baker came bursting into the Church Parlor last Sunday morning with a whole lot of questions for our Adult Education guest. Ann Helmke had come to speak with us about this congregation’s emerging approach to ministry with the homeless and to offer a powerful Minute for Mission in worship.

Rebecca had been our “Ambassador” in the park earlier that morning, heading into the neighborhood that surrounds our sanctuary with nothing but a cup of coffee and a caring heart. And an invitation to communion. And a trust that God would lead the way . . .

And so it was no surprise that God would lead Rebecca to a man who is living without permanent shelter, as many but by no means all of our neighbors are. She tried to get him to go to Haven for Hope, which is San Antonio’s massive network of shelter and social service providers housed under one roof and a mission project of this congregation. But he resisted.

He had heard various urban legends of one sort or another criticizing Haven for Hope. Rebecca had no response, which was why she came bursting with questions for Ann Helmke. And maybe the answers to those questions would have helped move this man to a place we feel certain can minister to his physical needs. Or maybe the answers would have meant nothing to him. It is possible that this man simply did not want to go to Haven for Hope, for reasons we may never know or understand, no matter how hard we try.

But when he started talking about his despair over the state of the world—and perhaps over the state of his life—well that was something Rebecca could relate to, at least in her own way. Because you do not have to be without permanent shelter to know what it is to suffer. Every one of us knows grief or loss or doubt or anger. And every one of us can meet the grief or loss or doubt or anger of another with a heart of compassion. Which means “to feel with.” Or even “to suffer with.”

Which was what Rebecca did.

Your Ambassador in the Park, who had no answers that would persuade this man to move, could simply say to him, “I don’t know how I’d get through if I didn’t believe in God. It’s almost a choice. It keeps me from despair.”

And as Rebecca came back to our adult education group and shared her story, the reality of how God was leading her “into the way of Christ” with this man became clear. Her caring, compassionate presence was the mission itself!

Her willingness to be vulnerable with this man about her own despair was the mission itself. Her willingness to trust God to use this “communion of compassion” she did truly share with this man—her common union with him in the sharing of their suffering—even if there were no formal Words of Institution or bread or juice—even if it took place hours before our “official” communion service in the park—this communion, in God’s own way, in God’s own time, for this man and also for her (and dare I say for us) was the mission itself.
“I was a minister!” Rebecca declared to us. And you could almost hear Ann Helmke smiling back in that moment saying: “Tag! You’re it.”

“Tag. You’re it!” Those may very well be the most prophetic words uttered in this sanctuary for all time, when Ann Helmke delivered her minute for mission for us last week as we prepared for communion in the park on the First Sunday of Advent.

“Tag! You’re it!” she said to us, as a reminder that we already bear the image of the Christ who is coming on Christmas Day, of the Christ who was already born among us full of grace and truth, of the Christ we anticipate in great expectation in the fullness of time when suffering and sorrow and pain are no more . . . 

“Tag! You’re it!” she said to us, as a reminder that the deep mystical truth of our incarnational theology is that Christ comes again and again and again in our world through the birth and the re-birth of every single one of us on this planet. Including in the beautiful baby Jake who was baptized this morning.

“Tag! You’re it!” Ann Helmke said to us, as a reminder that our tradition claims all things were created through Christ. Which means that, according to our tradition, the very presence of Christ dwells deep within every single one of us, and deep within Jake, just because we exist. Just because we exist!

Which means that every single one of us bears the image of Christ to one another, as we surrender our spirits into the way of simply meeting the honest suffering of one another, without easy answers to fix the pain, but with the compassionate heart of Christ, and the radical choice to trust the Providence of God in spite of all evidence to the contrary. Which is exactly what our “Ambassador” Rebecca did with the man in the park.

Which is what made her a minister to him. And which, I would venture a guess, is what made him a minister to her in return . . .

This mutual ministry of surrendering our spirits into the way of meeting the honest suffering of one another, without easy answers to fix the pain, but with the compassionate heart of Christ, and the radical choice to trust the Providence of God in spite of all evidence to the contrary, is what we mean in the Presbyterian Church when we say we are all ordained to the ministry of Christ in our baptism. Every one of us. Not just those we call “pastors.” We are all sent forth from these baptismal waters to share a communion of compassionate companionship in Christ, watching our spirits dance themselves together, with the Song of Zechariah playing in the background, as the music of the one who will always guide our feet into the way of peace.

Which means that what we just did together in baptizing baby Jake today was nothing short of a full-fledge ordination service, complete with vows and commitments to celebrate the covenant God has always honored with God’s people, even when we are given to despair—especially when we are given to despair! And commissioning Jake to join us in a lifetime of ministry.

We have no idea today how Jake will live out his ordination to ministry, just like Zechariah has no idea how his son—John the Baptist—will live out his ministry in our Scripture lesson from Luke this morning. In fact, if the story of Zechariah and John the Baptist is any example, Jake’s journey may be quite different than the ministry we have in mind for him!

Zechariah was, after all, a temple priest at the height of his career. In the innermost circle of the temple rituals. With fancy robes and incense. And I’m just guessing he had a pretty fancy seminary degree. The son of Zechariah—whose ministry he sings into existence through the song that is our Scripture today—ships out to the desert, clothed only with camel’s hair, eating nothing but locusts and wild honey. You could imagine Zechariah tearing his hair out, wondering how this commissioning song for his son could turn so terribly off key!

But if Zechariah was really paying attention to the song he sang for his son, if we are really paying attention to the song we sing for Jake, and if Jake is paying attention to the song we are singing for him, then we know they are both right. Yes we know the promise of God’s continued coming from the hallowed walls of the temple treasure (Zechariah’s and ours). But it must always lead us into the desert across the street, or any other place where people are desperate for the everflowing river of grace. Because the whole point of what we are doing “in here” is to remind us what God is already doing “out there.” So that our compassion is cultivated. And we are guided into the way of Christ.

That is what happened for Rebecca last week as she became a true minister. That is what happens for every one of us, every week, as we become ever more fully the ministers of God our baptism ordained us to be. That is what will happen for our precious baby Jake as he grows from this baptismal moment, in wisdom and stature, and in divine and human favor . . .

Because the truth of the Song of Zechariah is the truth of our baptism. That God is still with us. And we are still with God. And that you, Jake . . . and you and you and you . . . will be called the prophet of the Most High. For you will prepare the way of our God. And through you God will give light to those who sit in darkness. And through you God will guide our feet into the way of peace. I pray it may be so. For Jake. And for us. Amen.