The five year old nephew of the bride was chosen to be in charge of carrying the rings down the aisle. At the wedding rehearsal he was unusually unruly. He kept leaping out at people, baring his teeth at and then chasing the flower girls. He growled and snarled as he practiced going down the aisle. He brandished the pillow like a pistol. Finally his mother pulled him aside and demanded to know why he was behaving so badly.
“But Mom,” he explained, “I have to act fierce — I’m the ‘Ring Bear.’”
Like so many of us that little boy misunderstood just what role he was supposed to play. He thought he was called to be big, imposing, fearsome, large and in charge. He thought he was to BE the “star of the show.” He thought the spotlight was his.
But he wasn’t supposed to BE a bear, he was supposed to offer the supportive role of “ring bearer.” His role was important. The pastor, not to mention the bride and groom, needed those rings down front. But the focus of the wedding ceremony was not on the ring bearer. The reason for the wedding celebration was not him.
In this week’s Advent gospel text John, the author of the fourth gospel, has no trouble distinguishing the one who “bears witness” to the light from the One who actually IS the light. John the Baptist is “a man sent from God,” but he is still just a man. When he is confronted and grilled by representatives of the highest religious authorities, those whose livelihood and lifework centered around the exclusivity of the Temple, those questioners are concerned that John himself may be a new incarnation of one of Judaism’s most celebrated and anticipated figures. The religious establishment was concerned about who John might be.
But as this delegation from Jerusalem quizzes John, at first all they get is confirmation about who he is not. Before they can even mention any messianic musings John adamantly denies any hold on that title: ”I am not the Messiah.” As they try to pin down his identity this Temple contingent offers him the opportunity to claim other important roles. Is he Elijah, there to usher in the day of the Lord? Is he a new Moses, a new direct mouthpiece for God’s words to the world?
John doesn’t want to talk about it. John doesn’t want to talk about himself, about who or what he may or may not be. Despite his growing popularity, the swelling crowds, and now attracting the interest of the Jerusalem Temple big shots, John refuses to let himself become the center of attention. The only identity he will claim is that of “the voice.” And the voice of John is only raised to proclaim the One who is “the Word,” The Voice.
John the Baptist would have made a terrible reality TV star. He is about as far from the Kardashian clan as you can get. By now our twenty-first century celebrity culture perpetually glows in the dark because everyone has trained a big blazing spotlight upon their own lives. We find ourselves so fascinating that every move we make is worthy of broadcasting to the world.
We “tweet” our choice of purchasing a vanilla latte and wearing plaid socks.
We You-Tube ourselves singing and dancing in our living rooms.
We cover our Facebook wall with every thought that skitters through our minds.
On reality TV the obscenely rich flaunt their excesses, the extremely mean flaunt their bad behavior, and horribly dysfunctional families flaunt their horrid dysfunctions. Andy Warhol sadly underestimated the power of media. We no longer get “15 minutes of fame.” We are “famous” in our own minds every minute of every day.
John the Baptist refused to step into the spotlight. He knew that his divinely gifted mission was to bear witness to the light, not to stand center stage in the spotlight. Every year at Advent season we are all reminded to take up John’s mission, to announce to a dark and troubled world that the light is coming. “Decking the halls,” Christmas concerts, cookie baking marathons, shopping sprees, fulfilling cherished family traditions of all kinds — these are all wonderful, but they are not the focus of Advent. They are not the source of the light. What we are doing in our lives is not the reason for the season. What we can buy for others is not the heartbeat of our preparation and waiting. What God is preparing to do for the world is the glowing center of Advent.
In the words Dr. Seuss gave to the Grinch after his conversion to the happy ways of the Whos down in Whoville: “Maybe Christmas doesn’t come from a store. Maybe Christmas – perhaps – means a little bit more.”
It usually takes a big winter storm to remind us that we all really have the same “favorite things” — electricity and plumbing. When a big blow shuts off the power and we are suddenly stranded in the dark we immediately go looking for a light. The first person who forges out into the dark and finds the flashlight is appreciated, but it is the light itself that everyone craves.
This Advent season, bear the light. Don’t be the light. Don’t seek the spotlight. Bear the light. So that Jesus can . . . . Shine, Jesus, Shine. We don’t need more of the spirit of Christmas. We need more of the Spirit of Christ.
In the words of the haunting Appalachian Carol:
I wonder as I wander out under the sky,
How Jesus our Savior did come for to die
For poor ornery sinners like you and like I
I wonder as I wander out under the sky,
When Mary birthed Jesus, twas in a cow’s stall
With wise men and shepherds and farmers and all.
But high from God’s heaven a star’s light did fall
. . .
It was the annual bathrobe drama, also known as the “Christmas pageant.” Unlike previous years at Orcas Christian School, however, the students this evening seemed to be approaching their please-the-parents assignment as less a “duty” than a delight. Maybe it was the contemporary music, more Broadway than Buxtehude. Maybe it was the everyone-has-a line level of interactivity, and the fast pace of the narrative. Maybe it was the theme of “angels,” which makes everyone’s heart flutter and tattle. Or maybe it was the choreography (especially for the teenagers present), with a Radio City Rockettes-like segue that moved the musical from “Silent Night” to “Joy to the World.”
It was almost too perfect — lines delivered flawlessly (if sometimes giggly), solos pitched-true and pure, duets harmonized like Amy Grant and Vince Hill.
Then came the “littlest shepherds.” Each one was dressed in a white toga, with a metallic blue frilly sash tied at the waist and a robin’s egg blue bandana around the forehead. One after another six and seven-year-old stepped to the mike and delivered a sentence of no more than six or seven words.
Then it was the turn of the littlest of the little shepherds. Like an otter parting the waters with his furry head, Jared merged from the crowd, and with absolute confidence grabbed the mike and said, with a noticeable lisp, “It was like . . . . It was like . . .”
You could feel the panic in his face. He looked to the prompter, who whispered the rest of his lines. He tried again. “It was like . . . It was like . . .”
Once again, the prompter gave him his lines, this time a little louder. Jared looked about ready to cry as he said, “It was like . . . It was like . . .”
This time the prompter spoke loud enough for everyone to hear. Jared tried again: “It was like . . . It was like . . .” Whereupon he mumbled something under his breath, and returned to the cast, his head hung low, his heart dragging the floor.
Like the appearance of the beavers in the movie “The Chronicles of Narnia,” what happened next stole the show. The other members of the cast gathered around their “littlest shepherd” and showered him with praise, encouragement, smiles and hugs. The entire cast, as if in one motion, gathered him up in their love and sent him back to his place with more confidence and conviction than when he had stepped to the front with such unwarranted bravado.
And in that singular act of compassion and tenderness, in that bearing the light of love, a love that transcends a universe of unceasing flubs and gratuitous bluster, I saw the star of Bethlehem shine as bright as 2000 years ago.
COMMENTARY
“Moderation should never be excessive.” That is my motto for holiday eating. Or in an alternative version, “Everything in moderation . . . including moderation.”
As we continue to munch and graze our way through holiday goodies and seasonal specialties, we worry about those extra layers of padding we are putting on. But there is one kind of extra puffery, extra padding most of us have willingly participated in at some time or another — “padding” our resume.
Though a few folks tread perilously close to out-right lying, for most of us it is just a matter of dressing up some dreary job with a more impressive title. The baby-sitting job becomes “child care management.” Mowing lawns and raking leaves translates into “landscape design and maintenance.” Helping serve the food and do dishes at a neighbor’s party is redefined as “catering services.” Especially when we are just starting out in the workplace and don’t have much experience, it seems necessary to make what we have done sound as important as possible.
Not so John the Baptist. In this week’s gospel text the writer of the fourth gospel, more so even than the Synoptic authors, refuses to “pad” The Baptizer’s “resume” with any additional titles or claims. In John’s gospel the role of The Baptizer is both clearly and narrowly defined. Articulating this role is so important to the gospel writer that he interrupts the elegant lofty language of his prologue, “In the beginning was the Word,” to interject a rather awkward disclaimer about John the Baptist’s presence and identity.
The very first statement about John emphasizes his simple humanity. He was “a man.” Yet this “man” does have special significance. He was “sent from God.” In other words, he is a man with a mission. However ordinarily human John may have been, his work and words were divinely instituted.
What this man’s mission was is immediately revealed — he is “a witness to testify to the light.” This “light” has already been described in vv.4-5 and is linked to activity of the Word. John’s witnessing about this light was more than a mere declaration of fact. It was a summons to spur all who heard him into action — to “believe” in the power and presence of this light which was “coming into the world” (v.9). Although the gospel writer’s description of “the light” is not fully defined here, it is obvious that the author is referring to Jesus, the Christ, The Messiah.
While John’s identity as witness and testifier are affirmed, the gospel writer feels impelled to articulate what John was not: “he himself was not the light.” This insistence that has led some scholars to conjecture that the author was actively arguing against a group that accorded John the Baptist himself a messianic identity.
After this momentary aside, John’s gospel returns to the introductory elegance of his prologue and reveals the wonder of the incarnate Word. It is not until v.19 that the gospel writer returns to the person of John (who the author never refers to as “the Baptist” or “Baptizer”) and once again emphasizes his role as witness, his mission of testimony. John is given a perfect platform for this activity by the appearance of a group of inquisitors, and envoy of “priests and Levites” sent out by “the Jews” to investigate him. Only the fourth gospel records this exchange.
This gospel writer uses the term “The Jews” in a variety of situations, referring to various Jewish groups. The reference is sometimes positive, sometimes simply descriptive, and sometimes clearly negative. Here the term “the Jews” seems to suggest Jewish leaders, for they are sending out “priests and Levites” — that is, those who worked within the temple (“from Jerusalem”). Although John’s gospel has not yet discussed John’s baptizing activities, it is evident from the ensuing discussion with these questioners that in part it was that apparent “purification” act that brought this delegation of “The Jews” out across the Jordan.
The first question posed to John, however, is not about authority but simply about identity — “Who are you?” It is John himself who turns the subject towards the person of the Messiah by emphatically declaring who he is not: “I am not the Messiah” (v.20). The gospel writer’s insistence that John “confessed and did not deny it, and confessed” turns this negative statement into a positive witness. John’s “confession” that he is not the Messiah, the “Christ” (“christos”) points forward to a confession of the true Christ.
The inquisitors are not satisfied with John’s answer and continue to pelt him with questions in an attempt to pin down his identity and authority. In Malachi 4:5 God promises to send Elijah back to earth “before the great and dreadful day of the Lord comes.” In Deuteronomy 18:15-18 there is the promise of the presence of a prophet like Moses who will speak God’s words to the people. John’s terse rejection of both these possible identities appears to frustrate his questioners. They have been sent out to get a positive identity. They need something they can report back to the authoritative “Jews” who sent them out.
They demand John have something to say about himself. Although John had denied he was Elijah, he now readily uses another prophet’s words (Isaiah 40:3) to describe himself. He is no Messiah or prophet. He is simply a “voice” with a message “make straight the way of the Lord.” While the Synoptic gospels emphasized John’s baptizing activity and articulated his demand for repentance, the fourth gospel focuses on this pronouncement of preparation. “Making straight” the way for the imminent return of the Lord is the reason behind John’s baptizing and his call to repentance. But it is as “the voice” announcing that impending arrival that John finds the genuine heart of his mission.
The plenipotentiaries questioning John are still floundering and flummoxed by John’s response. If he is merely “the voice” why then does he baptize? Seeing as he has confessed he is no Messiah or Elijah or prophet, there is still the question of who or what gives him the authority to demand and perform this rite? The gospel writer puts this follow up question into the mouths of those who “had been sent from the Pharisees,” an identification that seems to throw some confusion on the number and identity of those questioning John the Baptist. Grammatically the most logical translation of this text suggests that these Pharisees were part of the larger contingent that had been questioning John, not some just arrived second group.
Although baptizing was not uncommon among various first century religions, John’s use of the rite did raise questions. Unlike the self-baptizing of Gentile converts to Judaism or the daily dunkings self-administered by the Qumran sectarians, John himself immersed those who came to him. Even more unsettling was that John’s demand of repentance and the need for baptizing was issued to a Jewish audience — those who were by definition already God’s chosen, privileged people. John’s baptizing practices were definitely problematic and those most concerned with issues of proper purification, the Pharisees, demanded some additional explanation.
They didn’t get it. Instead once again John turns the focus of the discussion away from himself and his activities and towards “The one who is coming after me” (v.27). John declares he baptizes with water (v.26) but there is no discussion here of any other type of baptism that might follow — such as the Synoptic discussions of a baptism of spirit or fire. In this fourth gospel the topic immediately returns to John’s single-minded focus on witnessing to the one who is to come. If the Pharisees want John to disclose some hidden authority he has for his baptismal practices, he summarily scuttles the possibility of any elevated ethical position he might hold. Instead he declares he is not even worthy to perform the most menial of a slave’s tasks, “to untie the thong of his sandal” of this one who is to come.
John’s only “authority” is as the voice, as the one bearing witness to the fact that even as they speak, “among you stands one whom you do not know” (v.26).