“Prepare the Way of the Lord”
Second Sunday of Advent & La Trobe Sunday 2020
Readings: Is. 40:1-11; Psalm 85; 2 Pet. 3:8-15; Mark 1:1-8
“A voice cries out: ‘In the wilderness prepare the way of the Lord, make straight in the desert a highway for our God.’”
These opening words, from what the scholars term Second-Isaiah or Deutero-Isaiah, were probably penned soon after the fall of Babylon in 539 BC. Finally, after years of separation, there was the hope of a return for those who had been deported from Jerusalem by the Emperor Nebuchadnezzar. The impossible was about to take place. The deep treacherous valleys were to be be lifted up. The impassable mountains and mighty hills were to be made low. A straight desert highway was to be miraculously formed, to speed the return to Jerusalem of those in exile in far-away Babylon, present-day Iraq.
To the first-century Christians, this was a metaphor for their plight, a scripture for their time. Saint Mark the Evangelist chose to invoke these words from salvation history at the opening of his gospel: “The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.” There is no Virgin birth, or sacred genealogy, or Word made flesh as an opening for Mark. Like Elijah returned, like a new Isaiah, John the Baptist is paving the way for the Christ. This is no less than a spiritual return from Babylon that is taking place. In the wilderness John is baptising those who seek God, he is calling for repentance and forgiveness of sins for a people who have strayed from God’s ways.
Our Founder here at St Peter’s, Governor Charles Joseph La Trobe, who laid the foundation stone of this church in 1846, would have been deeply familiar with these words, Old Testament and New. He had a proud Huguenot heritage, a people who knew exile them-selves. He was educated at a Moravian Church boarding school, and his father, Christian Ignatius, was renowned as “not only the finest Moravian preacher of the Century, but was recognised as one of the greatest Protestant preachers in England” (see Dianne Reilly Drury, La Trobe: The Making of a Governor, p.19). The chorus performing “He shall feed his flock like a shepherd” from Handel’s Messiah would no doubt have inspired him in the concert hall or cathedral. And in Advent each year, as he sat in these very pews here at St Peter’s, he would have reflected on these scriptures, as he took Sabbath rest from his arduous work of leadership in this new colony.
On arrival in the four-year-old settlement of Melbourne in 1839, La Trobe wrote to a friend: “I have called our present position Exile, and so it is, to all intent and purposes … Society here is, of course as you may suppose, in its infancy. The arts and sciences are unborn. Nature itself seems to be only in her swaddling clothes” (Drury, p.145). He set about the work as then Superintendent of the Port Phillip District of New South Wales, with veritable missionary zeal; a voice crying out in the wilderness even.
After a stormy landing, on 30th September 1839, the Superintendent and his family were rowed up the Yarra River, to be greeted by a good proportion of the then 3,000 inhabitants of Melbourne, in an auctioneer’s rooms, the only building big enough to house the crowd. After La Trobe’s commission from Queen Victoria was read out, he gave the famous speech, that was as much sermon as political address: “I pray to God, to whom I look for strength and power, that … I may be enabled, through His grace, to know my duty, and to do my duty, diligently, temperately and fearlessly … we shall secure for the country enduring prosperity and happiness … by the acquisition and maintenance of sound religious and moral institutions, without which no country can become truly great” (Drury, p. 146).
The material concerns of a new colony, an impatient desire for independence from New South Wales, the competing challenges of the protection of the Aboriginal people against squatters demands, not to mention the complexities of the discovery of gold, meant that after his 15 years in office, La Trobe left a disheartened man, his majestic vision unfulfilled in so many ways. Nearly a decade later - around the time that he became a parishioner at St Michael the Archangel, Litlington, East Sussex – La Trobe was fighting the Colonial Office for the pension he was due. He wrote: “Ten to one, the only fate which awaits us is that of the hedger’s glove; employed as long as circumstances or convenience suits, to protect the hand against the too close contact with the thorny asperities of distant colonial rule, only, when worn out, or the call for such employment may have passed away, to be thrown aside to moulder on the bank” (Drury, p. 239).
It is so often the fate of leadership, especially pioneering or prophetic leadership, and most especially in a time of change, that the eventual flourishing of seeds sown will never be seen. John the Baptist saw the heavens open and the Spirit descend like a dove on the Christ, but soon afterwards he was thrown into Herod’s dungeons and beheaded. But by the mysterious and eternal grace of God, and through the blood-sweat and tears of John’s work, the impossible raising of valleys and levelling of mountains did take place; the way of the Lord was indeed prepared; and the highway of Christ, crucified, resurrected and ascended, became St Mark’s inheritance, Governor La Trobe’s inheritance, and indeed ours.
As we rebuild our church community, after two harsh lock-downs, and with the ever-present underlying threat of a third wave, we have our own highway in the desert to build. I encourage you to draw strength from Isaiah, from John the Baptist, from La Trobe, and from all those who have gone before us. And above all, may we reach out our hands each week, each day, in humility, to receive the greatest gift that sees us through even the darkest of times: the real presence of Christ, that has the power to transform our lives, our church, our community, our world.
The Lord be with you.