Isaiah 49:1-6
Psalm 139:1-15
Acts 13:22-26
Luke 1:57-80

"Come with Me to Eden"

Salvation is declared! And in America a rush of familiar images floods into the mind: Sr. Marty will, of course, remember the big neon sign on the corner of State St. and Balboa in Chicago hanging outside the Pacific Garden Mission, "Jesus Saves;" we all know those billboards along the U.S. highways in the Bible Belt asking if you've been "Born Again"; and, of course, "walking the sawdust trail" at a Billy Graham Crusade and hearing the reassuring voice of Billy Graham promising that if you will ask Jesus to be your Lord and Savior, that tonight you will be saved. Where did all these images and phrases come from? Certainly, they arise from a culture of belief that is alive today. Turn on any radio. Tune in any television. Attend any Evangelical meeting.

But where did it all come from? In the U.S., where it was born, it came out of the ever receding American frontier. It came from a world of whiskey and violence, of six-guns and prostitutes, which brought many a man to the point of moral exhaustion and self-disgust (for the immortal soul is always greater than the broken world). And it took shape in a world facing certain, hard realities. Religion was nearly always carried out by a solitary "preacher" or "parson" wandering from one soul to another in one town to the next. He had no catechumenate, which is to say, a community offering training and formation for those awaiting baptism. It was unrealistic to expect months or years spent in preparation for Christian initiation. No! The moment was now! The soul before him he might never see again. The repentant state of mind might quickly fade. His only choice was to draw an imaginary line in the hardscrabble ground of the prairie and to implore that man or woman to cross it, to cross it that they might leave the world of constant dying and eternal death and to enter the world of eternal life. This was the wandering preacher's only choice. And from that choice and that rough-and-tumble culture, we received instant religion. And the distinctively American language of being saved or becoming born again came into being. Indeed, the conception of John the Baptist in the American imagination is formed after the image of a prairie-worn, itinerant preacher, living on the margins, intruding into town life with his street-corner demands, and distanced by many as a curiosity.

Heaven knows, I am not putting down the American brand of Christianity. In the year 2018, it is practically where everyone begins. It is in the ether. It is in the atmosphere. You cannot live in the U.S. without breathing it in. I myself have taken long trips in the car, late at night, and turning on the radio, listening to the sermons of these preachers. In particular, I recall hearing Charles Stanley and remarking to myself, "Here is an honest man who truly has encountered Living God." No, I am not putting it down. I only make the point that no Christian would have recognized it before the time of its frontier birth. Without pop Christianity, where would the Christian faith be in the twenty-first century? How many Americans would even know what a Bible was? I was in a Roman Catholic parish church just a couple of years ago, and the newly appointed priest came out to begin Mass announcing, "The angel of the Lord declared unto Mary," and the response was a deafening silence. No one knew the Angelus! We live in an unchurched world. Without Evangelical Christianity, where would that world be?

What, then, is this salvation declared through Isaiah if it does not refer to that famous sign in Chicago, "Jesus Saves"? What would first-century Christians have heard? What were the flood of familiar images rushing into those minds? Let us proceed slowly and carefully, for we have clues in the same passage where this salvation is declared: the intention is "to bring Jacob back to [God]"; "to restore the preserved [or remnant] of Israel." This last phrase, with its emphasis of restored and preserved, brings us closer to our exact meaning. The Greek translation of the Hebrew Scriptures used by Jesus and the Disciples reads σοτηρει'αν for salvation, meaning "to return again," as in to restore, or "to preserve", as in retaining one's original identity and state.

Salvation signifies a state in which God's people are gathered around Him once more (Is 46:5). A reunion is contemplated and a restoration of all things to where they should be. So let us ask, in what original state were God's people gathered round Him? In what original place was all set in its right order? The answer, of course, is Eden. Eden is the ideal for universal amity among all creatures, for the food-chain, which is the nature we now see, did not apply in Eden. Animals did not prey upon one another, and humans ate only from constantly replenished orchards and fields of fruits and vegetables. Eden is the ideal of union with God for all humans, conversing with Him in the cool of the day. As we read about restoration this morning, we must remember that restoration of all things, always means Eden, the original Creation, God's plan, the perfect manifestation of the Creator's will for all creatures.

When Isaiah invokes the preserved of Israel, a narrative and timeline is set before us. Certainly, mention of the remnant of Israel, the Twelve Tribes, hearkens back to the wilderness around Mt. Sinai and thence to the Land of Promise. As with any timeline, though, we also see the entire span from the beginning until now. Indeed, the very act of speaking with God refers to Eden, when humans expected these encounters every day. This is the significance of the Moses story. Moses speaks with God, first in the wilderness of Midian and then at Sinai. God speaks to His people through Moses. The whole conception of this is Edenic. The Land of Promise is held up as a second Eden, flowing with milk and honey. Yet do God's human creatures rebel again — on the way to Sinai, at the foot of Sinai, and at Meribah and Massah. Yet God is faithful, and His love refuses to let go, to let go of His ideal of restoration to Eden, His first and always plan.

This is the significance of every prophet of ancient history, for to speak with God is the human attribute of Eden par excellence. Every word that proceeds from the prophet's mouth reminds us that it is still possible to return to that mythic cool of the day. It is still possible for God's people to surround Him in harmony. Consider our daily Mass readings during the past week in which we reflected on the story of Elijah and Elisha. Compact within Elijah's person is the preserved of Israel. The Jordan River parts before him just as the Red Sea had parted for the Twelve Tribes. Most important, He enters Heaven without tasting death as any citizen of Eden would, for death follows sin, and sin is incompatible with Eden.

What shall we say, then, of the greatest of prophets, St. John the Baptist (Mt 11:11, Lk 7:28). Just being near to him one detects a faint fragrance, a strangely familiar scent, stored in the deepest recesses of our racial memory. It is a goodly scent pouring balm upon the spirit and enlivening the cells within us. It is the sweet air of Eden. Among those who saw John, there was no doubt as to his identity: dressed only in natural clothing, having no spot of the corrupt city life upon him, eating the perfect food of honey cakes called manna. As the Greek word for this manna, ενκρις (enkris), sounds very much like the Greek for locust ακρις (akris), we have been handed the ridiculous image of this vegetarian from Eden preying upon insects! Who could possibly be a more perfect image of preserved Israel than this man of Eden? Preserved, like a creature from a prehistoric time, frozen in clear amber, perfect in every detail: John the Baptist. As we read in Psalm 81:

As any pure man or woman would, John was exquisitely sensitive to the impurity all around him. Have you ever given up smoking? Then you know how offensive cigarette smoke is to one who is cleansed of it. Have you ever given up drinking? Then you know how offensive is the crude and foolish conduct of a drunk when you no longer have any part of that world. Likewise, John's body and soul were ever fresh and new. The pink flesh of his heart beat in synch with God's heart. Unholy things that people had come to accept in themselves where unacceptable to John as they are unacceptable to our holy God. Yet John's heart, like God's, was full of compassion for the people. "Wash away this corruption that sucks the life out of your souls like a great leach! Be rid of it! For you can return to God! The salvation of God," John said, "now draws near to you! Prepare the way! Prepare!"

Within his mother's womb, John leapt with joy as the new Eve approached his mother Elizabeth. For, truly, Mary was the first citizen of Eden since Eve, the only human since Eve's Creation to be born without sin. Even in our time we continue to pray as "poor banished children of Eve."

It is a wonder that we can only faintly grasp all of this today. It is so distant for us. The encrustations of time have faded it in our American imaginations. We do not see the pristine and pure John, the natural man of Eden, which first-century Judeans saw so clearly. We have been too much exposed to "mountain man" depictions of John the Baptist and disgusted by the (false) report of his insect diet. Watching too many Hollywood movies, where John's baptism is seen as a marginal event, depicted to one side of the main action, we have missed the epic scale of this phenomenon, this tsunami that swept over the whole Levant. St. Peter compared it to Noah's Flood. The Gospels report that all participated in it. We do not get that the people were coming alive with a real expectation that Eden's gates might open. Had they not seen the man from Eden with their own eyes? The entire introduction of St. John's Gospel is preoccupied with these scenes — of the first thirty-four verses of St. John's Prologue more than half dwell upon St. John the Baptist.

St. Mark's Gospel find its starting point with this great prophet's words:

St. Luke's Gospel may be said to be about this tale of Eden. Consider its "bookends," its opening and closing verses. The entire beginning (as we read in our Gospel lesson this morning) invokes Isaiah, depicting the advent of St. John the Baptist. And Luke's Gospel closes with the Son of God hanging on a Cross promising, "this day you will be with me in Paradise."

And on this hill, outside the walls of Jerusalem, do we see God's people gathered all around Him. Yes, everyone is there. Those who love Him, and those who do not. All humanity is depicted: with one man on His left, cursing his life and cursing his God as he dies; and one man on his right, heeding the prophet John Baptist's words, "Prepare. Repent." And he does. For that penitent thief, the Gates of Eden were opened. And forever after, at the foot of that Cross, the Gates of Paradise beckon to all of us. For the blood and water that flowed from the side of God are to heal us and cleanse us and restore us, for within our very souls are preserved the vestiges of Paradise. And they prick us and prod us and cause us to long for the end of our horrible exile.