On the second Sunday in Advent this year, we hear Malachi’s prophecy concerning the expectation of a messenger to prepare a way before the Lord as he enters his temple. As we know today, expectations are risky. Malachi echoes this when he cries, Who can abide the day of his coming, and who can stand when he appears?

Malachi’s messenger has a very specific task—to purify Levi’s descendants. This refers to the corruption of the Levitical priesthood in the restoration period following the return of the Babylonian exiles.

Generally speaking, the messenger’s task is to redeem the present-time experience. He is a transitional figure—a punctuation point in the linear flow of time—uniting the uncertainty of future hope with happier memory—happier, at least in hindsight.

The suggestion here is that the flow of time is not linear but circular. In the language of T.S. Eliot – to reach the end is to be reminded of the beginning – and to know it as if for the first time opens the possibility for different choices.

Luke draws on Isaiah’s messenger – a voice crying in the wilderness announcing the way of the Lord through a dramatic terraforming project that reminds us of the modern excavations required for freeway building. Every valley will be filled in, and every mountain and hill will be made low, paths will be straightened, and rough terrain will be smoothed out. Isaiah’s messenger is to proclaim that all flesh shall see the salvation of God, a statement marking an astonishing leap forward in Jewish post-exilic understanding of the extent of God’s embrace –  a central theme for Luke.

Luke incarnates Isaiah’s messenger – the voice of one crying in the wilderness in the figure of John, the baptizer. John bursts onto the scene very much as the prophet messenger -clothed in the power and authority of Elijah to fulfill the expectation of Elijah’s return to announce the Messiah’s immanence.  Like the messengers of Malachi and Isaiah, John is, even more, a transitional figure – a punctuation point on the historical timeline between Old and New Testamentary periods – the last of the Hebrew prophets and the forerunner of the Messiah.

The days and weeks since the recent election have personally felt like a period of enforced withdrawal from my addiction to the 24-hour news cycle. I feel rather pathetic in confessing this, but there is some small comfort in knowing that I am not alone in enduring a sense of being unplugged.

Like all addiction recovery experiences, the immediate problem is how to fill the empty spaces hitherto filled by the daily fix of news subjected to endless opinionated spin. How do I fill the emptiness when reading the NY Times and the Washington Post, along with the daily ritual of sitting down with a drink in hand to view the 6 pm PBS News Hour, have become anxiety-triggering events?

I’ve found some solace in retreating into reading espionage fiction and listening on Spotify to historical podcasts such as The Rest is History, Empire, and The Rest is Classified. I find watching documentaries about World War II comforting because no matter the suffering involved, democracy’s triumph reassures me that all will be well in the end, if not today, then soon. But more than providing nontriggering distraction, I find being exposed to the sweep of various historical perspectives offers a much-needed frame of reference within which to locate the current cycle of national and international events. As they say – history may not repeat itself, but it certainly rhymes.

Yet novels and podcasts offer only temporary respite—a brief interlude before facing up to the increasingly alarming realities of the world around me. They’re an escape—a respite—rather than a long-term refuge.

Luke intentionally situates John’s ministry and Jesus’ arrival on the scene within a historical context in which Tiberius is the Roman Emperor; Pilate is governor of Judea, Herod; Philip, and Lysanias are Tetrarchs – vassal rulers of Galilee, Idumea, and Syria, respectively, and Annas and Caiaphas are the High Priests in Jerusalem.

Though something close to a 1st-century historian, Luke’s purpose goes beyond a desire for historical accuracy. David Lose notes that Luke is keenly interested in the impact his gospel story will have not simply on the world as kosmos — the world, that is, conceived most generally — but also on the world as oikoumene — the world as it is constituted by the political, economic, and religious powers. Luke wants us to be in no doubt that John’s preaching of repentance is a direct challenge to those invested in the political, economic, and religious status quo.

Naming the rulers of oikoumene — the world of political, economic, and religious power, goes to the heart of the theology he is weaving – which, in summary, is that those named and the powers they represent – were and will always remain in opposition to Jesus and those who heed his message that the kingdom of God is here!

Last Sunday, I spoke about change as the only certainty in life. Opportunities arise, and challenges are confronted—some overcome, and others accommodated as we learn to live with what we cannot control. Time passes, memories accrue, and future expectations arise, while in the present, we celebrate successes and weather disappointments.

Jesus’ birth as the Christ Child and his ultimate return as the Cosmic Christ are the two bookends bracketing our resurrection lives in the here and now. Living resurrection lives challenges our avoidance of unpalatable realities – remembering Bonhoeffer’s comment that silence in the face of evil is evil itself.

The call to live as a follower of Jesus is an invitation to become members of a Christian resistance movement. In the Christian resistance, there is no hiding place from the frightening realities of the world. Being part of the Christian resistance asks us to reject self-protective complicity with despair and hard-hearted collusion with evil. In the time of the resurrection – the time between the Incarnation – Jesus’ birth, and Parousia – his ultimate return – we live by the light of faith and