What Now?

I have an image and a question.

Here is the image: You live in the Galilean region of Judea during the rule of Pontius Pilate. You have heard that a man named John is preaching to people on the banks of the Jordan. Curious, you travel to the river to hear what he has to say. When you arrive, you stop at the top of a hill and watch.

This man looks wild. He wears clothes made of camel’s hair. People say he eats locusts and wild honey. His words are filled with bitter judgment.

Down beside the river, he leads a strange ritual. People wander into the water; John places his hands on them; they immerse themselves and then they emerge, disheveled and sodden, but also looking as if somehow, in some way, something important has changed.

That is the image. Now, here is the question: Would you walk down the hill to meet this man?

We all understand the signal importance of John the Baptist. Jesus described him as a “burning and shining lamp.” He appears in all four gospels. He is associated with the “voice … crying in the wilderness” and “prepar[ing] a way for the Lord” that was foretold by Isaiah. The opportunity to stand in the presence of John seems like it would be an incredible experience.

But John is more than a little intimidating. He challenges us. His words have a stark and relentless quality to them. He demands that we change course right here, right now. He talks about axes and threshing forks and unquenchable fires.

At one point or another, we have all probably played the game where we identify historical figures we wish we could invite to dinner. I doubt that many of us have ever proposed John the Baptist as our first choice. And that is not because of his unique dietary restrictions.

No, John puts us off. And his almost inhuman purity makes it even harder to have warm and fuzzy feelings toward him. We love many of the figures we encounter in the gospels because in them we see our own foibles and failings: many of us can be hot-headed or hypocritical like Peter or skeptical like Thomas. We can sympathize with the rich young man who wants to be good but also wants to stay rich. We know people who, like Mary Magdalene, came into the light from very, very dark places. Maybe we are that person.

This is why Luke’s distinctive portrayal of John the Baptist is so important. Luke provides us with additional details that show us John’s humanity, demonstrate John’s compassion, and help connect the words we hear now from John with the words we will hear later from Jesus.

One particular detail, which appears only in the gospel of Luke, seems to me especially important. In this passage, John calls for those who have gathered to repent in order to prepare for the one who is coming--that much appears in all the gospels. But Luke goes on to tell us that the crowd wanted more information. The crowd wanted a better understanding of what John meant by his command that they must “bear fruits worthy of repentance.”

So they asked a logical question: “What then should we do?”

John tells them to prepare for the coming of the Lord.

So they ask the next logical question: How should we do it?

And here’s where things get really interesting and where the brilliance of Luke’s gospel shines through.

John does not answer their question by describing articles of faith or doctrine. He does not answer by citing scripture. He does not answer by setting rules for membership in an exclusive organization. He does not answer by prescribing religious rituals.

Rather, he answers by saying this: “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none; and whoever has food must do likewise.” That, John says, is what the people must do to turn their lives around. That is what they must do to prepare. That is what they must do to get ready to stand in the presence of the living God. They must give to those who have less.

And when the tax collectors and the soldiers press for still greater clarity, Luke offers them a similarly simple directive. He tells them not to use their authority to oppress others but, instead, to treat them as they would be treated.

The timing of John's message is also interesting. When John said these things, Jesus had not begun his ministry as an adult. People therefore might have had faith in the abstract proposition that a savior was coming. But they would not yet have had a reason to believe that the savior had already arrived, particularly in the person of Jesus. That is, of course, precisely why the people asked John if he was the one for whom they had been hoping and praying.
Still, John does not tell them to wait around until Jesus arrives; he does not tell them to put their faith in idle until the time comes to put it in gear; he does not send them off to contemplate or meditate or procrastinate. He tells them to get to work, to give to those who have less, and to treat others as they would be treated.

In his book Mere Christianity, C. S. Lewis confronts the difficulty of fulfilling the command that we must love those we don’t even like. He says “The rule for all of us is perfectly simple. Do not waste time bothering whether you ‘love’ your neighbor; act as if you did. As soon as we do this we find one of the great secrets. When you are behaving as if you loved someone, you will presently come to love him.”

John’s answers to the questions asked of him reflect the same fundamental psychological truth. In essence, John told his audience not to waste time wringing their hands over whether they were ready, but to go ahead be ready by behaving as if they were people of God. 

Later, Jesus will give us these same messages.

He will tell us to feed the hungry, give drink to the thirsty, clothe the naked, give shelter to strangers, visit the sick and imprisoned, and care for the needy.

He will tell us to treat others as we would be treated.

He will tell us to show mercy and forgiveness and grace and love--and to do so in ways that radically transcend our normal, comfortable sense of what it means to care for other people.

And he will give us the greatest lesson imaginable by doing the most loving act imaginable: he will die for us.

“What then should we do?” the baptized asked.

The answer now is the same as it was thousands of years ago.

Come down off of the hill.

Throw yourself into the water.

Live as if you were a child of God, charged to care for the children of God.

Because you are. And you are.

Amen.