3 Advent – December 17, 2023
John 1:6-8, 19-28
Our gospel for today tells us more about who John was NOT rather than about who he was: he wasn’t the light; he wasn’t the Messiah; he wasn’t Elijah; he wasn’t the prophet.” Who, then, was he? Well, he was a witness and he was a voice – a voice telling people to prepare for someone else, someone whose sandal thong John was unworthy to untie. He was a voice of one crying out in the wilderness, “make straight the way of the Lord”.
It begs the question, “who am I” for all of us as we read this passage. Who are you? Perhaps when trying to answer that question ourselves, we would do well to begin where John begins. Before we can figure out who we are, we have to clarify — for ourselves and for the world — who we are not. We are not Jesus. We are not Saviors. We are not infallible. We are not omniscient or all-knowing. And that, my friends, should be freeing. We have Jesus Christ as our Savior, as our hope, as our God where we can place our trust.
John begins his ministry from a place of humility. He doesn’t allow his calling to go to his head. He doesn’t claim any identity that doesn’t belong to him. He makes his listeners no promises of ease and comfort; he simply asks them to prepare themselves for the One who is greater than himself. He stays in his lane. “I am not the Messiah.”
To be clear, this does not mean that John is weak. It also does not require denying John’s gifts and abilities. He has many. No one who reads the prophet’s story can call him anything other than strong, self-possessed, and authoritative. But John knows both the source and the purpose of his authority. Celebrity holds no attractions for him, and neither does religious or political power. Notice that he carries out his vocation in the wilderness, far from the centers of power and prestige in Jerusalem.
So, the question, “Who are you?” is a very large question. It asks us to do deep work. It asks us to interrogate what we hold dear, what we trust, what we love — and why. Once we’ve peeled away everything we are not as followers of Jesus, what’s left? After we’ve figured out what we don’t support, what we don’t believe, or espouse, or love, what version of faith remains? What positive, vibrant, living core will we offer to the world in the name of Jesus?
I recently read a story of a man who went rock climbing with a group of experienced rock climbers. He was still a novice. Let’s call him Tom. As Tom followed in the footsteps, literally, of those more experienced climbers, he decided that he could make it up the mountain faster by going a different route. He was warned not to do so. Well, what happened was that he managed to get himself stuck in area where he could no longer go up, there were no footholds and there was a sheer drop down the cliff. He was, of course, very scared. Another climber came to his aid and carefully explained to Tom that what he needed to do was to take a leap sideways with his right foot to another foothold and then immediately lift and move the other foot over. And while doing this he must lean back a little and not try to hold on to the cliff or he would actually bounce away. Leaning away seemed counterintuitive and required a great deal of trust, all Tom wanted to do was hold tightly to what seemed secure. Tom made a choice to follow the instructions, to trust the more experienced climber, made it over to him and safely finished the climbing experience. Tom learned a lot about himself through that scary experience.
So, who are you? This Advent, this time of living in darkness, is a time when it might be possible to dig deep and contemplate who we are. “Who are you, really?…when it’s just you and God. You know, Jesus had this way of using parables to get around our defenses, to get around that persona that we present to others. Who are you?
The texts of Advent and Christmas shimmer with the light that God brings into our midst as we hear in John’s Gospel: The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it (John 1:5). Yet if we lean too quickly toward the light, we miss seeing one of the greatest gifts this season has to offer us: that the deepest darkness is the place where God comes to us. In the womb, in the night, in the dreaming; when we are lost, when we are stuck, when our world has come undone, when we can’t see the next step on the path; in all the darkness, whether hopeful or horrendous, God meets us. God’s first priority is not to do away with the dark but to be present to us in the darkness. I will give you the treasures of darkness, God says in Isaiah 45:3, and riches hidden in secret places. For the Christ who was born two millennia ago, for the Christ who seeks to be born in us this day, the darkness is where incarnation begins. It’s where new life begins.
Albert Schweitzer once wrote that “Jesus comes to us as One unknown, without a name, as of old, by the lake-side, he came to those men who knew him not. He speaks to us the same word: “Follow me!” and sets us to the tasks which He has for us. To those who obey, he reveals himself in the toils, the conflicts, the sufferings, through which they shall pass in his fellowship, and they shall learn in their own experience Who He Is. He comes to us as One Unknown.”
Take some time this Advent and Christmas season, to dig deep and think about who you really are. Who am I at my core? Ask God to meet you there, at the core of your very being. Take the leap of faith. I pray that you are the voice of one crying out in the wilderness: Make straight the way of the Lord. Amen.
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