John the Baptist

Up the Revolution!

The Fourth Sunday in Advent

Isaiah 40:1-11, Psalm 80, Philippians 4:4-7, St. John 1:19-28

Up the Revolution!

                One of the most interesting seminarians I’ve met was a fellow named Butch.  Butch was not a seminarian in the usual sense of the word; he never took a course for credit as far as I know but he certainly audited a long catalogue of them. But then, there was nothing usual about Butch.

He had a fine grasp of history and a keen interest in the Scriptures.  Butch was a white-haired retired Army officer, but I figured he landed in the wrong branch because he swore like a sailor . . . as to both quantity and quality.

I assure you this was not the norm in the hushed corridors of Cranmer Theological House.  The rest of us weren’t monks, but sometimes we seemed to be trying to be.

But Butch didn’t care.  The last time I saw him was a few years ago, at synod in Dallas.  We greeted each other in a hallway at the hotel and Butch launched – in his customarily animated way — into an oration about counseling a fellow cancer patient:

“Here’s what you do.  You stand in front of the mirror and you say to that cancer inside of you, ‘Listen, you . . .’”

I’ll stop here because if I continued I’d have to bleep out more than Rosemary Woods deleted.  The presence of bishops and other august personages had no effect whatsoever on Butch.  He was who he was.  I loved the guy.  And I was grateful I was not his priest.

I bring him up today because of a talk he and I had one day.  We were speaking of issues of the day in the tones of the political conservatives we were when, somehow, we discovered we had both begun as liberals.  And what’s more, neither of us was about to apologize.

We came of age, Butch and I, in the 1960s.  Thinking back over that time, we agreed that institutionalized racism – in a significant part of this nation, legally codified racism – was wrong, and we were right to denounce it.

That the Vietnam War – perhaps in conception and without a doubt in execution – was wrong, and we were right to denounce it.  That many among our leaders were corrupt, and we were right to denounce them.

Sometimes, those out of power hold the moral high ground.  So say Butch and I.  So says John the Baptist.  And – here’s the crucial thing — so says Jesus Christ.

Our Lord Jesus is a God of order, but He will not sacrifice biblical principle for the sake of order.  So doing, we would enshrine a lie, cast deceit in concrete.  That is the way of “the Jews,” as they are called for the first of many times in John’s gospel in the first verse of our text for today.

The term refers to the leaders of Israel and, most likely in this case, to the Sanhedrin, the ruling council.  They have sent a delegation – priests and Levites – to brace the Baptist on the banks of the River Jordan.  Who do you imagine you are?  What do you think you’re doing?

One of the Sanhedrin’s important functions is the tagging and removal of false prophets.  Indeed, some have risen and fomented rebellion, and have been dealt with.

But this Baptist is a special case.  His father Zechariah ministered in the temple.  John, descended from the priestly caste, could take up the role of priest . . . but he operates more like a monk.  He did not rise through the ranks of the religious establishment; he presents no credentials.

And there’s more.  Any insurrectionist worth his copy of the Saul Alinsky bible knows one stirs insurrection in the cities. But this one called John pursues his work out yonder in the wilderness, at various locales on the Jordan’s banks.

What is his mission?  He baptizes.  What manner of ritual is this?  Israel knows of proselyte baptism, but John is baptizing the circumcised, Jews – members in good standing of the synagogues and the temple, even Jerusalemites, those purest of practitioners.

Those who come from beyond the pale need cleansing to engage with the covenant people of God, but those born into Israel are by their very nature clean.  Are they not?

John’s baptism is an affront to the religious authorities. What do those who bear the mark of the covenant need with the empty symbolism of a rite nowhere prescribed in Jewish practice?

Make no mistake, the priests and Levites who have confronted him on the Jordan’s bank can hear the muted message beneath his words.  He has invoked Isaiah, who prophesied of one crying out in the wilderness who would prepare the way of the Lord.

But that prophet of old did not stop there.  He went on to interpret the coming of the kingdom of God to earth in the language of a second exodus.  But what does Israel need of escape?  She needs to remain in place, right where God planted her, and throw off the yoke of Rome.

Exodus talk reeks of danger for the authorities’ home-brewed religion.  Orthodoxy is their prized possession.  And orthodoxy is what those in power say it is.  This orthodoxy is perverse, decaying . . . and proper, because they proclaim it so.  Who is John the Baptist to say them nay?

No one, really.

And because he is, he is God’s man for a time such as this.  For who is the One for whom John prepares the way?  The greatest revolutionary the world would ever know.  One who would foment an insurrection that would explode the world religious order and then reshape it in His image.  He will be the Head of His body the church.

The Sanhedrin suspect sedition . . . and their concern is well-placed.  Jesus is coming to free His people from bondage to sin and death.  He will overthrow an order that values privilege over righteousness, wealth over compassion, prestige over holiness.  He will cast down the powerful and exalt the humble . . . and usher them into His banquet that has no end.

One who comes to make all things new will win no favor from those who have a vested interest in preserving the old.  The rulers of Israel would tamp down this revolution; the Baptist would fan its flames.

John anticipates his Lord ideally in another way as well.  Look at how the fourth gospel presents the Baptist: no mention of his lineage, arrest or death.  Matthew, Mark and Luke can fill in those blanks.  John the Evangelist relates that God sent this man and that his ministry is baptism, full stop.  His relationship to the One who comes after him is what matters here.

The evangelist trills of Jesus with a poetic lilt . . . but prose will suffice for the Baptist.  How is he defined?  In the negative.  Who is he?  He is not the Christ.  Not Elijah.  Not the prophet, the “one like me” of whom Moses spoke.

Well, who then?  “The voice of one crying in the wilderness.”  Merely a voice.  This is that second way in which the Baptist anticipates so beautifully the Christ.  He wears camel’s hair and lives off the land, a lowly figure . . . out there in the wilderness.

Who better to make straight the way of One lowly born in a manger to parents of mean estate, One who will humble Himself unto death, even death on a cross?

He who comes after him, the Baptist explains, is the One “whose sandal strap I am not worthy to loose.”

A disciple must serve his master in every way, just as does a slave . . . save for one thing only.  He is not bound to remove shoes and wash feet.  That is work so menial that only the slave is required to do it.  But, says John the Baptist, not only am I willing to serve my Lord in so humble a way, I am too lowly to merit even that service to Him.

He is no more than a voice.  The voice is the medium, the Word is the message.  I am come, John would have us know, as the vessel that proclaims the Truth that is to follow.  Pay heed, repent, believe . . . for the kingdom of God is at hand.

Way back when, St. Augustine wrote, “John is the voice, but the Lord is the Word who was in the beginning. John is the voice that lasts for a time; from the beginning Christ is the Word who lives forever.

“Take away the word, the meaning, and what is the voice? Where there is no understanding, there is only a meaningless sound. The voice without the word strikes the ear but does not build up the heart . . .

“When the word has been conveyed to you,” Augustin continues, “does not the sound seem to say: The word ought to grow, and I should diminish? The sound of the voice has made itself heard in the service of the word, and has gone away, as though it were saying: My joy is complete. Let us hold on to the word; we must not lose the word conceived inwardly in our hearts . . .”

So wrote Augustine.

Indeed, the Lord Himself says of John, “Assuredly, I say to you, among those born of women there has not risen one greater than John the Baptist; but he who is least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he” (Matthew 11:11).

The kingdom of heaven is here.  It arrived when the Lord ascended and His Holy Spirit alit upon the earth.

And we have beheld wondrous things the Baptist did not see: the Lord upon the cross, crucifying sin and death; arisen from the tomb, upon the Emmaus Road, on the seashore with His disciples, ascending into heaven.  We are greater than John.  If we are greater than John, we should be more humble than he.

The world is lying to you, o man . . . again.  It tells you to trust in yourself.  It tells you you are trust-worthy.  Are you?

Trust the One who made you.  You could not make yourself.  Can you remake yourself?  Trust the One who knew you before you were.  Now that you are, will He not love what He has made you to be?  Humble thyself in the sight of the Lord.  He will lift you up.

He is coming now.  He is almost here. In Advent, we await the arrival of Truth in the world.  He is coming . . . coming to die for you . . . but first to live for you . . . to show you the way.

What is the way?  Humility is the way upward to God who is above all things; it raises you up to Him.  Pride, the elevation of the self, sends you spinning away from God on high and so casts you down.

Was it not ever thus?  In the beginning, God placed man in the garden and forbade him one thing . . . a good thing, for the fruit of that one tree was pleasing to the eye and sweet to the tongue.  God denied man one thing, a good thing, to point him to a greater good . . . obedience.

The humility of obedience is the elixir for your sin-sick soul.

The Baptist and the Christ stepped into a world bathed in the pax Romana – the peace of Rome – but still an agitated age in that little backwater called Palestine.  Among the Jews, expectations of the Messiah varied.

The Greek Christos comes from the verb chrio – I anoint — and translates the Hebrew mashia – Messiah.  The Christ was the One anointed by God . . . but anointed to do exactly what?  Opinions covered a spectrum stretching from Dan to Beersheba, but all agreed that in some way He would enhance the worldly position of Israel.

The idea that He would come as the fulfillment of Israel, the true Israel – making God known among all the nations – disturbed the thoughts of a paltry few in the nation.  Like countless generations of Jews and Christians who would succeed them, they put their own stature first and God’s glory second.

They rejected Jesus of Nazareth as the Christ not because He defied God – how could He? – but because He, like His forerunner – defied the leaders of Israel.  What God desired was exactly what the Baptist had launched and the Christ would perfect – an uprising of humility.

John the Evangelist gives us a gospel laden with the vocabulary of jurisprudence – “testimony” and “witness” and “trial” – and he offers John the Baptist as his star witness to the authenticity of Jesus as the Word made flesh.  The voice proclaims the Word.

This John, after all, had stood in the Jordan and, after he baptized Jesus, had watched the Spirit of God descend dove-like upon Him . . . but more than that.  The Spirit had alit on others in Old Testament times, but now comes something new: He abides with Jesus, who is the Christ, the Anointed One.

Yet as we have seen even the Baptist would harbor doubt . . . and see it resolved . . . and pay with his life for his witness of the Truth.  His testimony is as vital in our day as in his own for the opposition’s argument never changes:

Jesus is a man of high principle and a great teacher . . . but not the Son of God.  Oh, He might instruct you . . . but He cannot save you.

For to hail Him as the promised Messiah is to humble ourselves and submit to Him.  The human heart, unfettered by Spirit and Truth, knows no end of self-seeking.  It aches to aim its worship not upward but inward.

So harken to the voice that you might come to the Word that dwells in the heart.  John is the revolutionary, o Christian, you are called to be.  Yet you are greater than he.  Fall to your knees and, looking upward, hail Jesus as divine Savior, Lord and King.

God loves you, o sinner.  He wants to lift you up.  What greater honor could He bestow on you than to make you a forerunner of the One who comes to save the world?  Who am I?  My name is Not-the-Christ.  Amen.




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A Scandal

The Third Sunday in Advent

Isaiah 35, Psalms 22:23-31 and 99, 1 Corinthians 4:15, Matthew 11:2-10

A Scandal

William II was the son of William the Conqueror, who invaded England in 1066.  He ventured north to drive the Scots out of a territory then known as Cumberland.  When he concluded that chore he ordered the construction of Carlisle Castle as a base for securing his newly won possession.

As anyone who has seen “Braveheart” could tell you, the Scots would not go quietly.  The region remained in dispute for centuries and the castle changed hands many times.  During one stretch of English control, soldiers captured a border chieftain who had been making mischief, and worse, for some time.

The English commander did not execute him.  He was not nearly so kind.  Instead, he stuffed this son of the wild into a little cell and left him there for years.  The little cell had a little window, set too high in the wall for a man standing on the floor to look out.

On the window ledge, it is said, are two depressions worn into the stone by the chieftain’s two hands as, day after day, he hoisted himself up to gaze out of that window at the familiar green dales over which he would never ride again.

John the Baptist could have commiserated with him.

We find John today in his own prison.  The king, Herod Antipas, has clipped his wings and thrown him into the hole.  The historian Josephus places the Baptist in the fortress of Machaerus, in the mountains near the Dead Sea.

Before we consider his plight, let us locate him here in chapter 11 in the context of Matthew’s gospel.  Jesus has encountered little opposition to date.  The evangelist has spent the last six chapters recounting the Lord’s works, including His miracles of healing.

But now as we scan the horizon we see storm clouds stacking up.  Unhealthy reactions to the Lord’s ministry are cropping up, some born of misunderstanding of his mission, some of outright rejection flaring into hostility.

John sits in his cell, brooding.  Herod has confined him for many months, perhaps for a year.  Like the border chieftain, he is a rugged man, born to the wilderness.  He has lived on locusts and wild honey with the canopy of stars for a roof.

His disciples remain faithful.  They bring him reports.  He puzzles over what he hears of Jesus.  Was it not John who had branded the Pharisees and Sadducees a “brood of vipers” and proclaimed:

“And even now the ax is laid to the root of the trees. Therefore every tree which does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.  I indeed baptize you with water unto repentance, but He who is coming after me is mightier than I, whose sandals I am not worthy to carry. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fan is in His hand, and He will thoroughly clean out His threshing floor, and gather His wheat into the barn; but He will burn up the chaff with unquenchable fire” (Matthew 3:10-12).

So said John the Baptist, declaring God’s own judgment on all hypocrites.  But where is that judgment now?  This Jesus from Nazareth has been serving up blessings of healing with a ladle the size of the Big Dipper, but where is His wrath?

Is He the one of whom Isaiah foretold, the One who would set the captives free?  For here hunkers John the Baptist, wrongly imprisoned for speaking truth to power.  Where is God’s judgment on Herod?

And there’s more.  Jesus does not keep the fast, like a faithful Jew.  What He does keep is questionable company – tax collectors and harlots.  John gazes into a metaphorical mirror and asks himself, “Am I a false prophet?”

Did not the angel Gabriel appear to his father Zacharias in the Jerusalem temple, declaring that his barren wife Elizabeth would bear a son in their old age – “and you shall call his name John”?  Would his mission not be to “make ready a people prepared for the Lord”?

John’s very reason for being is called into question.  He has waited, patiently and faithfully.  He has baptized this Jesus, believing Him to be the promised Messiah.  But now?

He dispatches two of his disciples with a question for the Nazarene: “Are you the Coming One, or do we look for another?”

Scholars divide sharply over its meaning.  I once considered, briefly, becoming a scholar . . . but no.  It’s not that I’m not smart enough.  I’m not confused enough.

In truth, I owe a great deal to scholars, but here is an example of their muddying of the waters.  Some insist John posed the question in order that his disciples might gain the benefit of Jesus’ answer.  On this reading, John himself never suffered any doubt or perplexity.

I once accepted this interpretation but I have swung over to another view – he said, sounding scholarly.  It seems John was truly struggling: Can this Jesus be the promised Messiah?  He sends his boys to pose the question.

Jesus’ answer seems enigmatic:

The blind see and the lame walk; the lepers are cleansed and the deaf hear; the dead are raised up and the poor have the gospel preached to them.”

Yes, well, miracles are fine and good, but the ancient world knows sorcerers who seem to pull off miraculous feats.  This is no proof, unless . . .

With this Jesus, it seems, there’s always an “unless.”  When others are thinking in material terms, He is thinking spiritually.  So maybe busting John out of jail isn’t part of Jesus’ program at all.  Maybe Herod isn’t his true captor.  Maybe there’s an “unless” now, too.

Unless those prisoners He has come to liberate are shackled not by man . . . but by sin.  Jails and jailers, shackles and chains, can confine the body but they can never stitch up the soul.  Might it be that sin is the tyrant Jesus has come to confront?

Disease and infirmity issue from sin.  They were not part of God’s design.  And at His first advent, Jesus has come not to judge but to heal.

Recall all those rules and regulations in the Levitical code, all the oozings and scrubbings, all the banishments from the camp where God dwelt in the tabernacle until ceremonial cleanliness had been restored.  God was showing His covenant people that He would tolerate neither sin nor the symptoms of sin in His presence.

God, you might have heard, is of purer eyes than to behold iniquity.

Now comes the Great Physician, bringing the balm of grace.  He will rub it gently into the lesions of those suffering under the curse of sin.  Will you admit your fallen nature, your sinful state?  Then you will invite the divine Healer to come in.

Or will you deny the disease that infects you?  Then you will bolt your door and close Him out, despising the gift He brings.

By His miracles of healing, Jesus is destroying the forces of the evil order of this world.  To sin is human, to heal divine.  He has preached the gospel of grace to the poor, those shunned by the rich and powerful.  And His apostles have amplified His message.

More than that, He has shunned power itself, the hammer so many in Israel want their Messiah to wield.  No . . . “by His stripes we are healed” (Isaiah 53:5).

He is flipping the world’s standard of greatness on its head.  Are you listening?  It is not the warrior but the Healer who will overcome.  His great triumph will occur not on a battlefield . . . but on a cross.

If John the Baptist – the one anointed to prepare the way of the Lord – deems mercy too timid a mission for the Messiah, even he has failed to mine the meaning of the Hebrew Scriptures.

But may he question his Lord?  He must question Him.  How else will he find clarity?  The early church, feeling her way along the Way, prized highly the questions of the faithful.  And so must you, too, pose your questions to your Lord.

But do your inquiries proceed from a humble heart that longs to know and to grow?  Or from a haughty spirit that aches to denounce and discredit?  There lies the rock before you; will you build upon it or stumble over it?

“And blessed is he who is not offended because of Me.”  Interesting word.  Variously translated, as here, “offended,” “fall away” and “made to stumble.”  The Greek is skandalidzo and, yes, we get “scandal” from it.

Are you scandalized by the offer of a medicine that will heal your sin-sick soul?  Do you feel you have no need for it?  I pulled myself up by my bootstraps and I reckon I can look after myself now, thank you very much.

Or are you sagging under the weight of your sins and prepared to confess your brokenness beyond repair – unless you find a Healer, a Savior?

For the sake of clarity, let’s draw a distinction.  We’re using “questions” to mean honest wonderings about how God works and why He allows evil in His creation as opposed to “doubts,” which challenge whether He exists or has the power to save.

By all means, bring your questions – open questions, sincere questions – for what is the Christian religion?  Is it unthinking assent to a list of propositions.  Or is it life with God?

For if it is life with God, it will engender questions.  The answers, which will come in God’s time, will either fortify belief in the short term or challenge it over the long haul.  This is the way of growth in Christ.  If you prefer a fancier term, call it sanctification.

Are you scandalized by God’s insistence that you are a sinner in desperate need of Him?  For if you have no need of healing you have no need of the Great Physician.  If you are sufficient unto yourself you must rely on yourself for a cure . . . and may God have mercy upon your soul.

If you are fallen, broken, shattered . . . if you are crippled by sin, if you are a spiritual leper, then you may hope.  And if you invest your hope in the One – the only One – who has the power to salve the ravages of sin, you have salvation.

Are you scandalized by the suggestion that you might have gotten the Christ wrong?  You have begun well, and in good company.  You’re walking the path John the Baptist once trod.

Now, you will avoid stumbling if you rethink your expectations of the Messiah in the context of the person of Jesus.

The living Word – the perfect representation of God – has appeared.  Where your image of Messiah does not match the fact of Jesus, conform it . . . and you will not fall away.

Jesus will not rebuke the Baptist for his questions.  In fact, He bears witness to the one who has borne witness to Him, for questions about Jesus imply questions about John.

“What did you go out into the wilderness to see? A reed shaken by the wind?”

The cane grass along the Jordan’s banks sways to and fro in the breeze.  Is that what you expected?  When the word of this prophet baptizing many in the river reached you in your home or in the Jerusalem marketplace, did you set off into the wilderness in search of a frail, irresolute, vacillating man?

Of course not.  John boomed his message: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.”  His truth was as rough as a rasp. This prophet of God did not shrink before Herod but called out the king for seducing his brother’s wife and then divorcing his own to marry her.

For this reason he wastes away in a cell today.

“But what did you go out to see? A man clothed in soft garments? Indeed, those who wear soft clothing are in kings’ houses.”

John had dressed in a hair shirt – camel’s hair – not the luxurious, even effeminate, garb of those who dwell in Herod’s palace.  His clothes were as rough as his gospel.  Did you anticipate a dandy living the lonely prophet’s life in the wilderness?  Of course not.

Over the centuries, the ways of the courtier changed little.  Marjorie and I watched a BBC series on the life of Queen Elizabeth I.  The men of her court wear ruffled collars and tights.  They fawn over her, speaking so obsequiously that . . .

Well, let me just say it: Sometimes I think they’ll make me give up my supper.

The Lord’s questions should be moving His hearers toward a correct understanding of John.

“But what did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I say to you, and more than a prophet.  For this is he of whom it is written: `Behold, I send My messenger before Your face, who will prepare Your way before You.’”

That was God speaking through the prophet Malachi.  There He said: “And he will prepare the way before Me.”

Make no mistake, Jesus is claiming to be God.  All who doubt who this Nazarene is can no longer doubt who He claims to be.  He has said it clearly and almost casually: Heavens to Betsy, gonna be a hot one today.  And, by the way, I’m God.

And, yes, John is that messenger sent to prepare His way.  He is a prophet . . . and more than a prophet?

The Old Testament prophets preached repentance.  As did John, but unlike them he was the herald of God who now has come in the form of a man.

The Old Testament prophets proclaimed a coming Messiah.  As did John, but unlike them he saw Him face-to-face.  More than that, he baptized Him in the River Jordan.  Yes, more than a prophet.

Yet even he had his failings, his questions.  Jesus is patient with him, as He will be with Peter, who is chief among the apostles but still riddled with anxieties and confusions and fears . . . and questions.  Jesus is patient with them . . . as He is with us.

Beloved, we are not prophets, you and I – not in the same sense.  But like John the Baptist, we will have our Lord’s commendation.  He will speak well of us.  He speaks well of us today, pleading our case with His Father.

In the last day, we will find that He speaks better of us than we do of ourselves, that every word we have uttered in His favor has earned a reward.  Does Matthew not later report that when Jesus comes again He will separate sheep from goats, placing the sheep at His right:

“Then the King will say to those on His right hand, `Come, you blessed of My Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world’” (Matthew 25:34).

He has not left us captives to sin.  He has brought healing to this corrupted creation.  And when He returns He will not leave us prisoners in a fallen world.  No, He will escort us into the very throne room of God the Father Almighty.  This is the One we await in this Advent season.  Amen and amen.

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