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Just for fun, let’s think about what he would look like if he were part of the carved little set: For starters, instead of a pretty, flowing robe, he’d be wearing a furry animal skin. Then, instead gold, frankincense and myrrh in his arms, He would be holding a jar of Christmas locusts in one hand—maybe chocolate covered locusts?--And…a pitchfork! in the other—or an axe? (maybe they could put a bow on the pitchfork to take the edge off a little). and then, I think he would also have some sort of softly glowing…(let’s say) bull horn at his feet. when the children would ask about this sweet character, we would tell them: "Ah, this is humble John who prepared the way for Jesus!" And then, when the children ask what that means, we could tell them that he roared at the people and called them a pack of snakes that needed to repent and then yelled about hellfire.
Nah…! No one wants a pitchfork at the nativity! If we did include him, it would mess up our whole little serene scene…which I suppose would be something, wouldn’t it?
Gotta love John the Baptist—it’s true, he doesn’t totally fit with the—ah--Christmas spirit. Funny thing is, although he’s not so popular now, people apparently flocked to the desert to hear him back in the day—quite possibly Jesus being one of these people. He’s a little fringy, but everyone’s very into it. Part of the thing with John is that he’s always railing about repentance! And God’s judgement! And, let’s be honest…God’s judgement is not top of the list for festive conversation topics for holiday parties. Repentance is not our go-to conversation starter for “the most wonderful time of the year.” and really, is it our go-to—any time of the year?
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Judgement is a hard one. I know there are a lot of people out there who have experienced judgement from Christianity. To some, it can seem like “Christians” (in the big sense) have some sort of license to decide what’s sinful and who deserves condemnation. And for some of us—many of us--that is cringy. we want to distance ourselves from this kind of intolerance or hypocrisy (like preferably distance ourselves with a 100 foot pole) and…we tend to gravitate towards the bible stories that describe God’s love and acceptance and generosity and bypass the ones that talk about judgement and repentance. Or, if we’re going to talk about judgement, maybe God could use a bit more gentle parenting?
Over the next year, starting now in the season of Advent, we will be working our way through the gospel of Matthew. And let me tell you: John the Baptist is tone setting here here in his opening act for his whole gospel story. This John-the-Baptist-story is going to shape Matthew’s version of the Jesus story.
A couple of months ago, I told someone Matthew was my favorite gospel. Yeah, I changed my mind about that a few days ago. There’s some anger running through the chapters of Matthew. And with it, some harsh language. People who question or challenge Jesus—like religious leaders?--are painted in a pretty unflattering way. Which has given Christians ammunition for antisemitic hatred over the centuries. Jesus threatens judgement and punishment all over Matthew. What do we do with gospel texts that talk about “casting people into eternal fire” when we know God is love?
As I was thinking about this this week, a phrase kept echoing through my mind by James Baldwin’s—an American author and civil rights voice known for his fierce honesty. he once wrote: “Not everything that is faced can be changed; but nothing can be changed until it is faced.”
Believe me, I didn’t expect to connect Baldwin to the Baptist but they both seem to get how we’d much rather avoid the truth. And—ugh—they’re both very good at dragging what is hiding out into view. I searched through my files and sermon to see where I had quoted this—yes several times for you—and specifically multiple time on…Ash Wednesday, which is the day that I refer to as, “the most honest day of the year.”
Baldwin and the Baptist are both painfully honest. Baldwin’s original article, called “As Much Truth as One Can Bear” was published in the NYT in 1962. Nothing can change, he says, without facing it. And we want change And it is terribly hard to take a hard look at things. He writes that “people cannot bear much reality; most of us do not dare to look directly at our lives.” Baldwin wrote that telling the truth is key and that it would,
blaze roads through that vast forest,
so that we will not, in all our doing,
lose sight of its purpose, which is, after all,
to make the world a more human dwelling place.”
Blaze roads through that vast forest. John the Baptist bursts into the gospel story insists, fiercely, that there is brokenness in the world that must be repaired.
In the whole cycle of confession, accountability, repentance we want to jump over the part where we admit wrong-doing to the part of grace and forgiveness and mercy. We want to get to that place of restoration that we heard about in Isaiah. A place where:
on all my holy mountain,
for the earth will be full of the knowledge of the LORD
as the waters cover the sea.
But we can’t skip over the truth telling on our way to wholeness. We have to admit it. We have to shine a light on the places where things are cracking in our own lives and around us.
Our old liturgy would say “that we are in bondage to sin and we cannot free ourselves.” We have to turn and look at the sting we cause, the suffering we turn away from, the way we participate in harm without meaning to, the ways things are not what God intends. John has some anger about the truth of the way things are. So does Jesus. (so does Baldwin!) (I think it’s because they all love ferociously). John sounds like someone who is at the end of his rope. Who is sick of the way things are—“utterly sick of injustice and wickedness.” He wants people to face the truth.
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One of the hard things in this is that it can be paralyzing to face what’s wrong in ourselves and in the world. How do we get from where we are (here) to a place of growth (there). This has always been a hard question. Leave it to John to ask the hard questions. (Hello, this is why we don’t want him with his pitchfork in our nativity scene). Getting from here to there (otherwise known as growing) has always been a process. It’s learning from our mis-steps, discovering that it actually matters when we act mercifully. Then, actually doing something about it--Changing, transforming, and growing. This is God’s creative energy moving and working in us. It is asking where does the question of “What can I do” meet the question of “what needs to be done?” A lot might need to be done to repar our world and lives, but what can I do? We know it is God who redeems the world. But what is also true is that God acts through us.
Redemption is a series of small steps. Of small acts. Day after day.
Each step mends a crack in our world. John doesn’t quite use worlds like mend. He’s more of the “take an axe and cut off the branch that isn’t bearing fruit” variety. Isaiah has a chopped tree image today too and he reminds us that a shoot shall break forth out of the stump, a branch shall grow forth from its’ roots.
We’re called to prune our lives into the shape of “the one who is coming” as John puts it. Into the shape of Jesus. John shows up in the beginning but then Jesus takes the baton and he will have more pointed teaching for us, some of them fiery, all of them motivated by passionate love for people.
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John the Baptist. John is not a seasonal interruption. There is a hallmark version of Christmas ( hot coco and all.) But our story is not that. It’s not even just loving a sweet little bland babe in a manger.
This is a story of tyrant kings and brave young parents, It’s a story where God’s angels singing out among the stars and herald the promise of a new day. In this story of Christmas, God breaks into our broken world to be with us to mend us. And God does it in the most upside down and confounding way—as this baby.
At Christmas, we celebrate that this is astonishing. And we open our hearts to this stunning aliveness of God’s presence which will change us—for the better! A life of faith demands that we pause and listen and evaluate our lives. Judgement and repentance aren’t the extra, take it or leave it parts of our faith—they’re the everyday, honest way we stay open to grace.
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John isn’t asking for a dramatic overhaul. He’s inviting us into the pattern of faith: That we face what is real. That we prune off what needs to go. (John would recommend an axe instead of pruning sheers—meh. God works with either). And, then that we begin again.
John the Baptist would have known that a journey from here to there takes time, that transformation doesn’t happen overnight. It took 40 years for the Israelites to journey through the wilderness for pete’s sake. But we’re called to a life shaped by transformation. A life suffused with the love of God. This love repairs. This Grace heals. This Accountability rights wrongs.
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You know, Maybe John never makes it into our little nativity sets, maybe he’s too loud, too honest, too wild for the little wooden stable. But, doesn’t mean he’s not there on the edge of the scene, ruffling feathers, pruning branches and even encouraging us in his brusque, direct way to look at life squarely, release what must go and repair what needs mending. To open our hearts to a God who comes close and shimmies into the cracks to face what we fear and heal where we hurt.
Joy to the world, the Lord is come, let every heart prepare him room, for the kingdom of God is near.
At our band-led service, we finished with this song. This kind of transformation and change doesn't happen overnight. It's not easy. And we are sustained, undone and redone by God's gracious presence who sees us through.
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