She was someone you could easily miss. She had lived in the shadows all of her life – clinging to the bottom rung of the socio-economic ladder and at times falling off into homelessness. She’d lived a life marked by abuse – abused by her father and later by a husband. All of her children had been taken away as she had been declared an unfit mother by the courts. She had lived in every flop house hotel (and I use the word “hotel” loosely) in Hagerstown. And she was dying of lung cancer at the age of 54. When I first met Cathy in a run-down and, quite frankly, filthy duplex, I didn’t really know what to expect. She was unkempt and dirty – as were her family members around her. Living conditions so horrible that I made sure this was the last call of my day because when I left the house the smell of cigarettes and filth clung to me and I needed to go home to shower. Yes, it was that bad.

As I began my visits with her and the details of her tragic life emerged, there was one thing I found absolutely amazing. In the midst of this wreckage of a life, Cathy had a rock solid Christian faith. It absolutely amazed me. She wanted to talk about the Bible, read Scripture (she had many passages memorized), and pray. She wanted to talk at a theological and philosophical level about whether or not she could be cremated and how that would work at the resurrection of the righteous on the last day. She called me her “hippy priest.” When I asked why she replied, “Because you are the only pastor I know who respects me as a human being. You don’t talk down to me and make me feel dumb.” One day, she said this: “I know I’ve done terrible things in my life – things that most people cannot forgive.” She pointed to the crucifix on her wall, “But I know one thing for sure: That man there died for me and he took my sins, all those things I did, with him. He knows I’m sorry and he knows I stopped doing those things. He died for me and I believe it!” Rock … solid … faith. She had a rock solid faith – and it never wavered. She had repented of her sins – she had genuine sorrow and contrition. She had tried to make things right. Some relationships had been repaired – some had not. But she knew she was a forgiven sinner. When Cathy died, the couple who had adopted one of her now adult daughters, offered to have Cathy’s ashes scattered on their family plot – and they planned to put a grave marker there for her. As complicated and messy as her life was, the grace of God’s redemption was present and alive. And through this very ordinary woman, the word of the Lord came … to me.

Today, Luke’s gospel gives us a glimpse of John the Baptist. Now since we are in the year of Luke (Year C), I want to frame this gospel in a way that you may not have considered it before. Luke was either a gentile or, more likely, a Hellenized Jew. What that means is that he was well versed in Greco-Roman culture, even as a Jew – and not unlike his companion Paul who also was a Hellenized Jew. These Jews who lived among the Greeks were really bi-cultural – they could move and operate in both circles. Luke’s narrative style is very, very Greek! Tom Davis, who is a friend and Biblical archaeologist, once said, “Read the Gospel of Luke like a great Greek adventure story.” That’s right … just like you’d read the Iliad and the Odyssey, or Jason and the Argonauts. The Gospel of Luke and its second volume the Book of Acts tell about the life, ministry, death and resurrection of Jesus just like a Greco-Roman adventure story. So keep that in mind as we journey through this year.

Luke opens the third chapter with a promise so ordinary you could miss it. “In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness.” Like all good Greek historians, Luke sets this narrative in a specific time and place by naming the world leaders who were in power at the time: Emperor Tiberius, Governor Pontius Pilate, King Herod and his brother Philip the Tetrarch, Lysanias the Tetrarch, the high priests Annas and Caiaphas – you know … all the “A-lister” power brokers of the ancient world. And Luke tells us that amidst these heavy hitters of the political and religious world … comes the word of God to one ordinary guy – John, son of Zechariah. John, an ordinary nobody who is living in the desert and eating locusts and wild honey (yeah, the bugs and honey guy!). To put it into a modern context, it would be like saying, “In the fourth year of the presidency of Barack Obama, when John Roberts was Chief Justice of the Supreme Court, John Boehner was Speaker of the House, and Martin O’Malley was governor, the word of God came to Fred in Feagaville.” You see? It sounds nuts, doesn’t it? What Luke is doing sounds crazy to his first century hearers! He’s telling you this John, son of Zachariah, this nobody ranks among the rich and the powerful … and perhaps even outranks them because the word of God came to this ordinary guy.

But Luke is doing even more … imagine all these rich and powerful leaders: Tiberius, Pontius Pilate, Herod and Philip, Lysinias, Annas and Caiaphas … lined up against … John, son of Zechariah … who has … the word of God on his side. The word of God and one ordinary, bug eating nobody is set over and against all the powers of this world. Luke is telling us that it isn’t about strength and power as we know it in this world. The word of God comes through the insignificant, the weak, the small, the peculiar, the misfits – those who the world holds to be of no account. The unpopular kids, the little league coaches, the stay at home moms, the firefighters, the homeless, the mentally ill, the addicted, the ones who you’d least expect to have God speak to. And that’s the point … our God is a sneaky God! Slipping through the backdoor of history in a sneaky way and revealing the promise of salvation to the unlikely, undeserving, misfits – a promise so ordinary, if you’re not careful, you just might miss it.

Now that may feel strange and some of you may be thinking the word of God can’t possibly come to you. Maybe it’s because of things you’ve done or left undone. I think what made me connect with Cathy was she reminded me of myself. Oh yes, there are things I’ve done in my past that by some people’s estimation are unforgivable: in the immortal words of Oscar Wilde, “Every saint has a past and every sinner a future.” Even clergy have skeletons in our closets. But as Cathy reminded me, we are all standing in need of grace and mercy. We are all forgiven sinners. And in light of that, who are we to declare that the word of God cannot come to us or through us? That man on the cross died for you and for me so that we might receive the word of God with joy.

So as we continue our journey through Advent, keep watch! Keep watch for those ordinary people in ordinary situations where God’s promise of redemption is revealed. Keep watch … don’t miss it … our God is just that sneaky.

All that is gold does not glitter,
Not all those who wander are lost;
The old that is strong does not wither,
Deep roots are not reached by the frost.
From the ashes a fire shall be woken,
A light from the shadows shall spring;
Renewed shall be blade that was broken,
The crownless again shall be king.
J. R. R. Tolkien in The Fellowship of the Ring, The Lord of the Rings

No doubt a few of you recognize these words from J.R.R. Tolkien’s The Fellowship of the Ring. A good friend and fellow priest posted this on his Facebook page yesterday and I admit it captured my imagination as all good fantasies must – just like our gospel text this morning.

Yes, you heard me right – this gospel sounds like a fantasy. Jesus tells his disciples that there will be signs in the heavens, distress upon earth, roaring of seas, people fainting with fear … and then the Son of Man coming in a cloud with power and great glory and this will bring the redemption of his followers. Really?? Be honest … have you seen anything like this before? I sure haven’t! Oh sure, we’ve seen distress and people fainting with fear, roaring of waves (Hurricane Sandy anyone?), and all kinds of trouble and destruction – that’s called the evening news. But this Son of Man coming in clouds with power and glory? Um … sorry … haven’t seen it. It seems like something out of Men in Black, or some kind of science fiction story. It is a fantasy.

Notice I didn’t say it wasn’t true but it is a fantasy – something fantastic, beyond our experience or comprehension, extraordinary, out of this world. It is precisely because it is beyond our experience of the material physical world that it has the power to save us. This image is so far outside us, it pulls us out of our puny, meager, finite lives. Something small enough to live in my head has no power to redeem me – only a promise this big and beyond us has any power at all to redeem us!

Episcopal poet W.H. Auden in his epic Christmas poem For The Time Being wrote this:

The Pilgrim Way has led to the Abyss.
Was it to meet such grinning evidence
We left our richly odoured ignorance?
Was the triumphant answer to be this?
The Pilgrim Way has led to the Abyss.

We who must die demand a miracle.
How could the Eternal do a temporal act,
The Infinite become a finite fact?
Nothing can save us that is possible:
We who must die demand a miracle.

There it is … our Pilgrim Way: this life we can comprehend and know and understand – the one lived on our terms – only leads to one place …to the abyss, to death, a dead end. And absolutely nothing within our lived reality, nothing which is possible in this temporal life can possibly save us … we need a miracle. We need something beyond us to save us.

And that’s the point: when we are on the brink of death from failure, illness, addiction, heartbreak, depression, or whatever – when you are at the edge of the abyss of death you know with every fiber of your being that you are finite, this world and reality are temporary, and you desperately stand in need of a salvation which is beyond you and impossible by this world’s standards. This is what the gospel offers – a promise that there is a great and deeper Truth that we cannot fully comprehend which is beyond us and is enfolding us and is giving our lives purpose, integrity, meaning, and salvation.

Now some will say this is an escapist’s dream to ward off the specter of death. And this is the risk – the ultimate gamble of our Christian life. For the truth claimed by the Gospel isn’t about verifiable scientific measurable facts contained within our experience; but about a greater Reality and Truth beyond our meager and finite lives – a truth which we will not experience until this world passes away and the Reign of God is fully realized.

It is a risk – a great gamble; however, it is one we are drawn into like Lucy through the wardrobe because we have been caught up in a captivating love story of faith we know as the Word of God which we encounter in Scripture. And once we have had a brief taste of the promises of God, we cannot turn back and we will not settle for anything less than participation in this great love story. The Gospel is true, and it is fantastic, otherworldly, and beyond our experience.

It all sounds really too good to be true, doesn’t it? By our own reasoning and experience, the whole gospel sounds too good to be true. We proclaim a God who created the vast cosmos, and sustains it, and created you and me and … even more incredibly, gives a damn about you and me and our meager lives – so much so that he sent his Son into this world among us, to live and die for you and me so that we might live fully and freely for each other and for God.

This is incredible, unbelievable and in the face of the bad news we hear all the time it really does sound too good to be true. Or maybe, just maybe … it is so good it must be true. That was the opinion of J.R.R. Tolkien, the Oxford English professor and devout Roman Catholic who authored the Lord of the Rings. In an essay over 50 years ago, he argued that the gospel story is not only the perfect fairy tale but is actually the root of all fantasy, because it tells the deeply true and ultimately joyful story of humanity – fallen and redeemed – and God’s passionate love affair with us in spite of us and God’s tenacious quest to love us back to life and redeem us.

We hold a paradox in our faith: things are simultaneously unbelievable and true. The whole of Scripture points to this paradoxical reality. Genesis proclaims God created us and cares about us; ridiculous but true. Prophets declare God’s love for us even when we fall away and reject God; unbelievable, but true. Mary’s song, which we will hear in a few weeks, proclaiming a reversal where all who are hungry would be fed; beyond our experience, but true. Colossians declares that we are more than the sum of our past failures and shortcomings, that God has in fact nailed the record that stands against us to the cross; highly doubtful, but true. And at the end of all this Revelation promises that God will wipe every tear from our eyes and create a new heaven and earth and dwell with all of us in peace – sheer fantasy, but true!

The Bible makes amazing, extraordinary claims about a God who is far beyond us yet who also knows us intimately and wants to redeem us, heal us, and love us – claims which sound too good to be true, yet when we hear them we cannot help but believe them on some level and live our lives according to their truth. It is the promise which is more than we can ask for or even imagine – it is a promise big enough to save me and you.