Isaiah 35:1-10; Magnificat; James 5:7-10; Matthew11:2-11
We’ve had this picture of John the Baptist in our dressing room, behind the church, all week. It’s one I used with the kids last Sunday because it does a good job of showing the otherness of John: his unruly hair, his clothes made out of camel, the wilderness all around him. In the New Testament, John is such a strange figure, and that makes him a compelling person to imaginative little children. But what about us, the grown-ups in the room? This is an icon, so it’s meant to appear un-true-to-life. But John is one of these characters who seems beyond real life to begin with.
Many of the disciples are very personable: they wander along, doing their best, making big mistakes every once in a while. Like the rest of us, they don’t always understand what Jesus is talking about. John, however, is different. He’s not a part of our regular group of “Bible story pals” – he doesn’t join the gang. He’s off in the wilderness, doing his own thing. But he’s also so unshakably certain. And so harsh, so judging in his certainty. When we met him last week, he was this fiery character who called out the people around him for their sins, and for their hypocrisy, and looked forward to the fire that the Savior would be, expecting him to come down vengeance, and terrible recompense, just as the prophet Isaiah says today.
Not only is John certain about his mission, and his message, but he’s certain about who the Messiah is. He knows that Jesus is the one who the world has been waiting for, and he announces it for all the world to hear, when he’s preaching and baptizing in the wilderness. Without doubt, John points to Jesus. I think if John had a favorite part of the liturgy, it would be the Creed: a straightforward, no bones about it, certain recitation of who God is and what people who believe in God believe.
But something happens to John this week. We see something in his story that is less like the Creed, and more like the Confession. John doubts. John doesn’t know. John needs reassurance. I’ve said it just now, and it is said all the time of him, especially in Advent: John points to Jesus. But today we see that finger wavering a bit. We see John sit down, put his hands in his lap, and wonder. He doesn’t know if Jesus is the Savior, and he has to ask him.
Now it’s not that John can’t believe, or hasn’t ever believed – we’ve seen that’s not true. What’s happened to him is actually something that you and I can understand better than anyone: John is separated from Jesus. There’s a distance between them – in time and space, a real physical distance. Before, John was out in the world, seeing the same people as Jesus, living through the same events, drinking from the same rivers. But John was arrested, and he’s been in prison for a while when we read about him today. Jesus’ ministry has taken off in unimaginable ways during that time. John hears about it, but he can’t see it with his own eyes. He can’t experience it in real time. John doesn’t have the person of Christ before him and the voice of Christ in his ears. All he has – and this is the part that we get – all he has are stories about Jesus. All he has are people who tell him stories about Jesus. It’s as if all he can see is a light flickering under his door. And all he can depend on is his imagination.
But even the stories that he hears don’t always fit his imagination. John was a firebrand, and Jesus’ ministry doesn’t seem to fit his idea of a fiery, severe Messiah. Instead, Jesus is fulfilling the other part of Isaiah’s prophecy: “the eyes of the blind are opened and the ears of the deaf are unstopped; the lame leap like deer, the speechless sing for joy.” And when John asks Jesus, “is it really you?” these are the things that Jesus points to.
John and Jesus working together here – John’s question and Jesus’ answer, John’s doubt and Jesus’ reassurance – give us a pattern for what it is to believe. Of all the people in the Bible, this eccentric wilderness prophet mirrors for us the life of faith. After all, there is distance between us and this historical person, Jesus, who is the object of our devotion; we are surrounded by words about him, but even these don’t always match up with our ideas about him. Jesus tells John and Jesus tells us, ‘don’t look too hard at me. Don’t pin all of your dreams, all of your belief, on statements about me and descriptions of me.” Jesus doesn’t say, “Yes, John, I am the Messiah.” Jesus says, “Look around. What do you see? What do you hear? Can you make out God’s presence in the world? Can you point to places of healing and light, of bright overcoming dark and health overcoming disease? Can you point to people who hope, despite the crush of hopelessness and a world that survives despite the crush of death? Do you see families outliving loss? Do you see nations outliving cruel leaders? Do you see people with money giving it to people who are poor, and people with time using it to help others?” Jesus asks, “Do you see a church gathering every week, coming to the table to be with me – and at the table, do you see the distance between us, all of the time and space that separates us, outlived in this meal? Do you discern my body in the body of the person sitting next to you?”
This last piece is one of the most important. John was alone, but we have each other. Together, we make the body of Christ and we make Christ present to one another. We cover the distance. Inevitably, with John, we will ask Jesus, “Is it really you?” And Jesus will answer us, “the blind see, the deaf hear, the lame walk, the speechless sing, and I am alive in you.”
Sermon preached by the Rev. Danielle Thompson at St. Chrysostom's Episcopal Church in Chicago, IL on Dec. 12, 2010 at 8:00am and 5:15pm
