There’s an essay by C. S. Lewis that I have, ever since I first read it as a teenager, always remembered at some of the more frustrating moments of my life, moments especially of interpersonal aggravation.

The essay’s called “The Trouble with ‘X’…,” and in it Lewis invites readers to call to mind all the frustrating people present in their lives—spouses, relatives, co-workers and so on, inviting them to think about their “laziness, or touchiness, or muddle-headedness, or bossiness, or ill temper,” about all those terrible traits in them that are so aggravating. We should be candid and honest, Lewis says, about all these inflexible flaws in other people. We shouldn’t pretend they’re not there; we shouldn’t sugarcoat it; we shouldn’t make excuses. Rather, we should see things for what they are and just accept the plain natural fact that the people in our lives are sometimes aggravating, and that they will continue to be so.

But then “comes the point,” Lewis writes, the point that “[w]hen you have seen this you have, for the first time,” he said, “had a glimpse of what it must be like for God,” to see you. God sees all those aggravating people just like you do, Lewis says. But he also sees one more person, “the one you never do see,” and who is sometimes just as obnoxious—that is, of course, you and me.^[1] The trouble we have with “X” is the same sort of trouble God has with us; that’s the enlightened point, the full truth of the matter. And as I said, I recall the subject of this essay often. Would that it were true that only you were the problem and not me, your faults and not mine. But it’s not; I know better. It’s not just you, and it’s not just me. It’s us—all of us, bozos on the bus, all of us beggars of God’s good mercy, all of us players, as Shakespeare said, on this “great stage of fools.”^[2]

Now I bring this up because of today’s great Advent theme and because of our capacity to miss the point, to misconstrue and misunderstand it. The message on this second Sunday in Advent is always the same; it’s the message of John the Baptist, that wild prophet prophesying on the banks of the Jordan. The message is that of repentance. “Repent,” he said, “for the kingdom of heaven is at hand,” that voice in the wilderness.^[3] That’s the Church’s gospel today; it’s what the Church wants the world to hear. Repent! It’s the same word she has for us every year on this Sunday, this early December Sunday in Advent, just as our joy begins and the new happy warmth of the season. Repent! That’s the word for us today.

It’s a word still recognizable in the culture. A religious word, but still even the irreligious know it; even atheists know it and either hate it or mock it. It’s a word that is today often found on placards carried by protestors, some of them fools, some sincere. Sometimes you’ll find this word on the interstate, bold upon a billboard towering just above some shameful business of iniquity, there to pinch patrons’ consciences, maybe dissuade them from going in. It’s a word we all still know, still a powerful word for many, even if laughable to some. It’s a word we often aim at people and places, ideas and movements. It’s a word we often associate with others, with the sinners we see and with the sin that is not is ours.

And that is where we sometimes miss the point, where we misconstrue and misunderstand. And that’s because when we think of the word “repentance,” most of the time we think of other people before we think of ourselves. Which is backwards. It’s not just judgmental and Pharisaical; it’s biblically backwards. It’s the wrong way to use the word, the Bible says. Which is why this word has become a joke for so many—because of its chronic backwards misuse.

Scripture is actually rather clear about the order of repentance. In 1 Peter, for example, it says very plainly that judgement “begins with us,” with the “household of God.”^[4] Paul wrote that when we judge others without first judging ourselves, we store up the “wrath” of God for ourselves, for there is “no partiality with God,” he said.^[5] It’s what Jesus was trying to teach when he talked about the “beam in your own eye” compared to the “splinter” in your neighbor’s.^[6] It’s an enduring mistake it appears, the mistake of seeing the sins of others before our own, confessing our sins, but with a “sidelong glance” at everyone else around us—especially them, especially him.^[7] Sometimes in the confessional I have to say, “Now, what about you?” Really, I do. This is what we do sometimes, we good religious folk. We get it backwards; we mess it up.

You’ll remember the story of King David. After he had taken the wife of Uriah for himself, having seen to it that Uriah was killed in battle, the prophet Nathan told David a story about a rich man taking advantage of a poor man; it was, in parable, a story about what David had done, about his sin against poor Uriah. But David didn’t recognize that; he didn’t see that the story was about him. Instead, thinking it was a story about someone else, he said with all the royal zeal he had, “the man who has done this merits death!” He saw the crime in all its criminality, and he was passionate that justice be done, but then Nathan looked at him and said, “You are the man!”^[8] The crime was his; the sin was entirely his, but he didn’t see it. He thought someone else was the sinner. He too got it backwards. He too messed it up.

This is simply what we do. It’s what we’ve always done, world without end, ever since Adam blamed Eve right up until you blamed your sister-in-law last Tuesday. It’s ever so easy to see the sins of others instead of our own. Repent! The trouble with “X,” as C. S. Lewis called it; the trouble’s with us every time we use that word without thinking of ourselves first. It’s how we mess it up, ruining the gospel with our pride and our impenitence.

Which is why we still require prophets like Nathan and John the Baptist; like Dr. King who said once to his congregation, “you may turn me out of here, but you can’t turn me out of the ministry, because I got…my anointment from God Almighty. And anything I want to say, I’m going to say it from this pulpit…when God speaks, who can but prophesy?”^[9] We need prophets; we still need them. Why? Because we’re just like our ancestors; we still sometimes get it backwards, miss the point. There’s very good reason that the Church every year puts John the Baptist in front us to say, “Repent!” Because we still need to hear it. We still need to learn—finally and fully—that God’s talking to us, not them; to me, not you. Repent, for the kingdom is at hand. Who do you think that word is meant for today? If you don’t know the answer to that question by now, then God help you.

So how do you react to the Church’s word for the world today? How do we hear the word, “repent”? Do we think of other people first or ourselves? Do you laugh it off with pretended sophistication? Are you too smart for this word to mean anything for you? Before Christ comes, there is this word “repent,” a word we so often misunderstand and misconstrue, a word we get backwards.

What do you have to say about this word, “repent,” today? An important question. The answer is the answer of Christmas and of whether it will mean anything for you at all. Amen.

[1] C. S. Lewis, “The Trouble with ‘X’…,” God in the Dock, 152-153

[2] William Shakespeare, King Lear Act IV, Scene V

[3] Matthew 3:2

[4] 1 Peter 4:17

[5] Romans 2:5-11

[6] Matthew 7:5 passim

[7] Dietrich Bonhoeffer, Ethics, 111

[8] 2 Samuel 12:1-7

[9] Martin Luther King, Jr., A Knock at Midnight, 172-173

© 2022 Rev. Joshua J. Whitfield