“What, then, should we do?” This question is asked three times in our gospel reading – by the crowd, the tax collectors and the soldiers. To put it another way… “how, then, should we live?”

Last week we heard John the Baptist’s voice crying in the wilderness, calling for repentance. Today he is a force of fury, threatening axes, fire and judgement, and questioning the genuineness of the people’s repentance.

Imagine John the Baptist standing here on the Cathedral steps. He has been in the wilderness, eating locusts and wild honey. He is strong and imposing, with wild hair. He wears a tunic of camel hair with a leather belt. His staff raised high, he points to people, loudly shouting, “You BROOD OF VIPERS!

I must give you a health and safety warning. I’m going to talk about snakes. If, like me, you are freaked out by them – be warned. I sacrificed my peace of mind for this sermon… my research gave me some horrible images of vipers that are likely to give me nightmares.

Vipers. Now, in Ireland we have no snakes. You have no idea how lucky you are that good St Patrick drove them out.

But I grew up with snakes. They were everywhere – under beds, inside cupboards, on windowsills, draped over door hinges. I was scarred for life! In Sri Lanka, the King Cobra is called the “good snake” because it gives people a chance to escape. It coils itself up, often hisses, and waves its head before striking. But not the viper, who lies in wait in the undergrowth. Sensing tiny amounts of body heat, it leaps out at you. I have seen one standing on the end of its tail about to launch itself.

The venomous Palestinian Viper inhabits Galilee and the wilderness around. And so appears as an Old and New Testament metaphor. Isaiah calls God’s sinful people those “who hatch out vipers.” Jesus uses it against Scribes and Pharisees. John is not using a random image, and the Jews would have known the metaphor. It is also likely he met his share of vipers in the wilderness.

But why is John so furious? Especially with people coming to be baptised? Why attack them? You’d think he’d be pleased to see the crowds.  

He was raging because he knew the Israelites had a sense of entitlement as God’s people. They were proud to be descended from Abraham – God’s chosen people. It wasn’t so much about repentance as it was about a sense of privilege, a religious experience. You hear his exasperation as he says, “Don’t even BEGIN to tell me Abraham is your ancestor!” “God can raise children of Abraham from the stones,” he tells them.

Sometimes we have a similar attitude. Our parents, grandparents, and great-grandparents were Christians. We are descendants of church goers, clergy, pillars of the church. We subconsciously assume this privileges us before God – or at least puts us on the inside track.

The crowd wanted to be baptised by this famous Prophet. Perhaps it was a status symbol, to show how religious they were. Maybe they wanted to make sure they were ok spiritually. Or they wanted a spiritual high. But John squashes that expectation and tells them they actually need to live in a way that “bear fruits worthy of repentance,” or God will judge them harshly. Last week the Dean told us what repentance was – “making a new beginning when we turn our lives around to face the Son of God,” and “turning our backs on self-importance and self-service.”

I suspect the crowd was somewhat freaked out and nervous by this challenge to their settled, complacent, entitled worldview. They had come for a simple baptism – but God demands more from them. Realising this, they ask him, “What then should we do?”

Did you notice how specific John’s reply is? He points to practical actions and life choices. It’s interesting isn’t it. Because I wonder if the church of today would have told them to read their Bible, pray more, come for more meetings and bible studies. We are so used to an internalised faith and spirituality. These are important, but John was absolutely right.

Far more important than our religious observances is HOW WE LIVE in our day to day lives. An internalised faith, that is not lived out externally is pointless.

So John tells them about sacrificial living, and living with integrity.

“If you have two coats, give to anyone who has none…whoever has food must do likewise.” Unlike our consumerist world, people in biblical times (and some people even now) had a few items of clothes. So this is not about a charity shop clear-out, or getting rid of unwanted stuff. This is about generous, sacrificial giving. It can be giving of your time, your money, your energy or your possessions.

As a postgraduate in Nottingham I experienced amazing generosity and love. I needed accommodation, and was put in touch with a Rector with a flat in his Rectory. The Victorian flat needed heating, flooring, furnishing – beyond a student’s resources. But the church community stepped in. I had to go to Sri Lanka due to family illness, but the Rector’s wife told me the church community would fix it. When I returned, I walked into a transformed flat: there was even a full fridge and larder, £20 in an envelope (for ready cash), a bowl of fruits and chocolate. Fresh roses on windowsills and bedside table, hot water bottles in the bed so I could crash out. I cried. It was extraordinary generosity and love extended by God’s family to an unknown foreign student they’d never seen.

A Christian academic in Glasgow and her GP husband live on the national average wage, and give away the rest. A young Christian couple faithfully brought us regular meals and gifts during my operation and later treatment. Michael Sheen, the well-known Welsh actor, recently sold his houses, to fund social projects and says he will use his future earnings for them.

To the tax collectors, John says “don’t collect more than you should;” to the soldiers, “Do not extort money.” This was a call to live with integrity in their corrupt environment of Roman rule. We too live in a fallen world. As we watch scandals emerging from Westminster we realise that integrity is not highly valued. Everywhere we see manifestations of self-service and self-importance. “I matter.” “I am important.” “My success.” “My image.” “My future.” “My Comforts.”

So what then should we do?

Throughout the gospels Jesus calls us to live radically and differently: loving God, paralleled by loving our neighbour as ourselves. We say these words every Sunday morning – if we actually live them, we can change our world. The story of the Good Samaritan, told later by Luke, illustrates who my neighbour is. The Samaritan acts with immense generosity and personal sacrifice to care for a stranger, a Jewish enemy.

We come to church, pray, voice repentance, and hear scripture. But what ultimately matters is how we live as God’s people. As James puts it, “What good is it if someone claims to have faith but has no deeds? Can such faith save them?” 

John points to the coming of Christ the Messiah – one greater than him. During Advent we meditate on Christ’s coming. At Christmas we will celebrate his birth. With new uncertainties surrounding Christmas celebrations, we are all wondering what might happen and “what we should do?”

What then should we do?

Whatever the practicalities of the Christmas season – we can love our neighbours as ourselves. Even if constrained in our movements, we are never constrained in love and giving. Christmas is about God’s gift to us. Whatever happens, we can find ways to give generously – whether financial, a meal, material goods, support, or simply lifting someone’s spirits.

A recent scheme in Scotland has people volunteering to be the Guardian of a young unaccompanied refugee child – to support and care for them. There is so much that our world needs – so much we can give if we but put our mind to it. Whatever the darkness around us, through this pandemic, the light and love of Christ can shine.