This morning, in good Advent fashion, John the Baptist shows up to inaugurate the coming of the new age, the age in which God will do a new thing to save the world. And he shows up quoting Isaiah and Baruch (which we heard this morning), saying, "Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth; and all flesh shall see the salvation of God."

Ok, I want to tell you a story from my life, but there’s no way for me to tell you this story without you realizing, no matter how much I try to hide it, that I’m trying to impress you. So let me begin by acknowledging that I am trying to impress you. (And I think my life would probably be better if every time I was trying to impress someone, I just disclosed it on the front end?)

So, here goes. Some of you know that I’ve taken up bicycling. Here’s the impressive part: last Friday, I got on the Silver Comet Trail and rode 51 miles, and during that time, the temperature ranged from 28 degrees to 38 degrees. Are you impressed? Hey, I’m fifty years old — are you impressed? Good! You should be.

But, that’s not the point of the story. The point of the story is the trail itself. I know that some of you have ridden on the Silver Comet Trail, but for those of you who aren’t familiar with it, it is part of the "Rails to Trails" program. It goes from Smyrna, just off I-285, to Alabama, and it is the old rail bed for the Silver Comet train, which used to go from New York to Birmingham. The trail is paved and pretty, and no motorized vehicles are allowed.

Now, sometimes I ride around here. In particular, I sometimes ride on the deserted streets that were once neighborhoods before the Airport expanded. (This is the area west of, say, the College Park Shoe Store.) I ride right around the barricades that keep cars out and enjoy not having to worry about becoming someone’s hood ornament.

But I find that I can ride twice as far on the trail as I can when I’m on the deserted streets. Why? Because that old neighborhood, like a lot of College Park, is some kind of hilly. You might not notice so much if you’re in a car, but if you’re on a bicycle, you know that there are very few places in College Park, or anywhere around here, that aren’t hilly, and that old abandoned neighborhood has some whoppers. So it does me in in about half the distance that the trail does.

So, what about the trail? Is it somehow going through those famous great flat plains between here and Alabama? There are no great flat plains between here and Alabama. It is every bit as hilly between Highway 6, where I get on the trail, and Rockmart, where I have a delicious lunch at Frankie’s and turn around, as it is anywhere around here.

The difference isn’t in the land, the topography; it is in the trail. This is an old railroad track, and much of the time when I’m riding, I am either in a man-made ravine, a "cut," with steep embankments rising up on either side of me, or I’m on a man-made ridge, looking down on either side into a valley. Trains and hilly terrain don’t play well together, so the railroad cut through the hills and raised the valleys so that the train could stay relatively level and straight.

Yes, there are still hills, and I do still occasionally huff and puff, but if you’ve ridden around College Park, and then you ride on the Silver Comet Trail, you’ll know that there is no comparison. Which is why I spend my days off riding where the valleys are filled, and the mountains and hills are made low, the crooked is made straight and the rough ways are made smooth.

When John the Baptist shows up to inaugurate the new age of God’s saving action, he recalls to the people of Israel what God said to them 800 years before when they had been crushed, and deported, and were in exile, and were dejected, and wondered if they could ever go home again and worship their God again. That was when God first got into the business of building paths. That was when God said, "Come to me. Come to me. I will show you the way; I will make you a path; I will fill the valleys, and make the mountains low, and I will make the crooked ways straight, and I will make the rough ways smooth."

To that crushed, dejected people, it was a love song.

And John the Baptist begins his ministry by singing that ancient love song from God. "Come to me. I will raise. I will lower. I will straighten. I will smooth. Come to me, that all flesh shall see the salvation of God." You can’t help but hear a beautiful, inviting tone.

But, you know, most of us know John the Baptist. If you’re not familiar with him, let me clue you in. He’s not a guy who’s going to stick with that beautiful, inviting tone. Next week, we’ll hear him say, "You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee the wrath to come?" And he goes on for a while like that, earning his reputation as the John the Baptist we know — one who scolds and shouts and threatens.

It’s not really so much what he says; he doesn’t say anything we would not agree with. It’s the tone. And we all know that the same words, delivered with a different tone, can mean such different things. [Lovingly:] "Oh, yes. You’re beautiful. [Sarcastically] "Oh. . . yes . . . you’re beautiful."

So, in John the Baptist, we get two distinctly different tones of God. In one, we hear a love song. In the other, we get scolding and shouting and threatening.

Listen to me, now: I think the biggest difference between Christians is not what we hear God say. It’s the tone we hear in God’s voice. I think the biggest difference between Christians is not what we hear God say. Sure, we have lots of theological differences, but let’s not loose sight of the forest for the trees. The vast majority of what the vast majority of Christians believe is vastly similar. We can so easily focus on the relatively small areas of divergence that we lose sight of the huge areas of convergence.

The biggest difference between Christians is not what we hear God say. It’s the tone we hear in God’s voice. Do you hear God’s words with the expectation of them being a love song, or do you hear God expecting to be scolded, shouted at, and threatened? John the Baptist seems to be like a lot of us; he’s got some of both in him.

This really isn’t something that we conclude from our encounter with God; it’s more like something that we bring to that encounter. It seems to me that it’s a predisposition to how we think of God. So where does that come from? Some people seem to be born predisposed to see God and the world either as loving or threatening, but most folks are probably shaped one way or another. I’ve heard lots of stories of scolding, shouting, threatening parents, and scolding, shouting, threatening churches that have shaped people who hear God’s voice as scolding, shouting, and threatening. I’ve also heard stories of loving parents and loving churches that have produced people who hear a love song in everything God says.

Most of us are probably like John the Baptist; we have some of both. But we need to decide, at the very least, which will be dominant. Because that is a huge decision. And that, I believe, is what really separates Christian churches and traditions. Theology — some. Tone — a lot! Huge!

I want you to know that John the Baptist, before he was killed, came to realize that his expectation that the Messiah would come scolding, shouting, and threatening was wrong. He sent a message to Jesus that essentially said, "Can this man singing songs of acceptance, songs of justice, songs of forgiveness — love songs — can this man be the Messiah?" And Jesus sent a message back saying, in effect, "I’m here to sing love songs to the blind, the deaf, the lame, the rejected, the dead, and the poor." [Lk. 7:18-23]

I tell you that because if you were shaped to hear God as scolding, shouting, and threatening, or at least part of you was, I want you to know that you can change. You can change by recognizing that this has been done to you and by longing to hear God’s true voice. And you can change by hanging around people who will shape you differently, people who hear the love song.

So, this Advent, I invite you to reflect on this:

as you journey through Advent and toward the manger,

as you journey through life and toward your meeting with Jesus,

will you see that path toward God as cooked, and rough, and full of hills and valleys and fearful obstacles?

Or can you change how you hear, change the tone, and change the landscape,

and journey toward the manger, and toward your death,

on ground that God has made level, and straight, and smooth,

by the power of God’s love song, sung to you?

The Rev. James H. Pritchett, Jr. St. John’s Episcopal Church, College Park, GA. If you would like to comment on this sermon or receive these sermons by email, contact me at rector@stjohnscollegepark.com.