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John the Baptist is a man who knows who he is and who he isn't. He’s a witness to the light, not the light itself. When queried about his identity by priests and Levites, who were sent on a reconnaissance mission by nervous Jewish leaders in Jerusalem, John doesn’t offer much. The interrogation is painful.
Are you the Messiah, John? No, I’m not. Are you Elijah? I am not. Are you the Prophet? No.
His monosyllabic responses give you the sense that John the Baptist is a man of few words. The wilderness will do that to you.
Here's what he does say about himself:
Grammarian and author Lynn Truss points out how different a sentence can become simply by adding a comma. Check out the sentences below. Each refers to the actions of an adult panda bear:
A comma or colon can make a world of difference. Now look at these two sentences:
Quoting from Isaiah 40:3, John the Baptist identifies himself as the “voice”. But where we put the colon makes all the difference.
Is he a voice calling in the wilderness? If so, that’s just information – useful information – but it doesn’t require us to do anything.
So which is it? For help in knowing where to put the punctuation, we can’t look to the original Hebrew because the original Hebrew didn’t have punctuation. Although most translations prefer the former translation, I think a compelling case can be the latter translation, especially if we pay attention to context. After all, people heard the summons. They flocked to John, out in the wilderness. What’s more, God seems to have a soft spot for wilderness wanderings. As Todd Wynward writes in Rewilding the Way:
Time spent in the wilderness is one of the deepest threads running through our four-thousand-year-old tradition. Fleeing dominant culture, Moses did it. Escaping from bondage, the ancient Hebrews did it. Inside the whale, Jonah did it. Confronting kings and cults, Elijah did it. Organising a radical life-change movement, John the Baptist did it. Prior to exploding on the scene, Jesus did it. God sends people into the wilderness. On purpose. The call of the wild is issued to nearly every single leader in the Bible. 1
If we look beyond the Scriptures to church history, the pattern continues. In the fourth century, the desert fathers and mothers escaped the rise of Christendom – that unholy union of church and state – by fleeing to the desert.
Starting in the fifth century, the Celtic Christian monks set out alone in small, flimsy boats, seeking solitude, nature, and God on the most remote islands of Britain.
In the twelfth century, Francis of Assisi had a vision of Jesus at San Damiano, a wayside chapel in northern Italy. There, he heard a call: “Francis, Francis, go and repair my house, which as you can see, is falling into ruins!” Francis came to realise that God was referring not to the literal church building, which was crumbling, but to the wider church. To bring about the renewal of the church, Francis turned his face towards the rest of creation.
When God wants to bring about a renewal movement, within Judaism, within the church, dare I say within our own lives, he sends people into the wilderness. Sometimes it’s a literal wilderness. Sometimes it’s a metaphorical one.
If John was here today, what might he say to us? In the wilderness, prepare the way for the Lord.
Not all of us can access wilderness easily. Indeed, there’s even debate about whether wilderness can be said to exist anymore, so widespread is the human footprint. Still, there are things we can do to mimic the wilderness as we prepare for the coming of the Lord.
Turn off the TV. Silence the social media, or anything that fuels the dissatisfaction that comes from comparing yourself with others. Get out for an unhurried walk. Sit in the garden and enjoy the smells and colours. Light a candle while eating.
Joy can be born of deep struggle and sorrow. When everything is stripped away, when all distractions are removed, and we’re left vulnerable and naked, that’s when we’re most likely to come face to face with God, and our own belovedness. Perhaps this is one reason why – wonder of wonders – John the Baptist is considered the patron saint of joy.
This Advent, may we heed his call: in the wilderness, prepare the way for the Lord.
1 Wynward, Rewilding the Way, p. 37
Check out other articles in the
series below.
More articles in the
series are to come.
We have invited these writers to share their experiences, ideas and opinions in the hope that these will provoke thought, challenge you to go deeper and inspire you to put your faith into action. These articles should not be taken as the official view of the Nelson Diocese on any particular matter.
John the Baptist is a man who knows who he is and who he isn't. He’s a witness to the light, not the light itself. When queried about his identity by priests and Levites, who were sent on a reconnaissance mission by nervous Jewish leaders in Jerusalem, John doesn’t offer much. The interrogation is painful.
Are you the Messiah, John? No, I’m not. Are you Elijah? I am not. Are you the Prophet? No.
His monosyllabic responses give you the sense that John the Baptist is a man of few words. The wilderness will do that to you.
Here's what he does say about himself:
Grammarian and author Lynn Truss points out how different a sentence can become simply by adding a comma. Check out the sentences below. Each refers to the actions of an adult panda bear:
A comma or colon can make a world of difference. Now look at these two sentences:
Quoting from Isaiah 40:3, John the Baptist identifies himself as the “voice”. But where we put the colon makes all the difference.
Is he a voice calling in the wilderness? If so, that’s just information – useful information – but it doesn’t require us to do anything.
So which is it? For help in knowing where to put the punctuation, we can’t look to the original Hebrew because the original Hebrew didn’t have punctuation. Although most translations prefer the former translation, I think a compelling case can be the latter translation, especially if we pay attention to context. After all, people heard the summons. They flocked to John, out in the wilderness. What’s more, God seems to have a soft spot for wilderness wanderings. As Todd Wynward writes in Rewilding the Way:
Time spent in the wilderness is one of the deepest threads running through our four-thousand-year-old tradition. Fleeing dominant culture, Moses did it. Escaping from bondage, the ancient Hebrews did it. Inside the whale, Jonah did it. Confronting kings and cults, Elijah did it. Organising a radical life-change movement, John the Baptist did it. Prior to exploding on the scene, Jesus did it. God sends people into the wilderness. On purpose. The call of the wild is issued to nearly every single leader in the Bible. 1
If we look beyond the Scriptures to church history, the pattern continues. In the fourth century, the desert fathers and mothers escaped the rise of Christendom – that unholy union of church and state – by fleeing to the desert.
Starting in the fifth century, the Celtic Christian monks set out alone in small, flimsy boats, seeking solitude, nature, and God on the most remote islands of Britain.
In the twelfth century, Francis of Assisi had a vision of Jesus at San Damiano, a wayside chapel in northern Italy. There, he heard a call: “Francis, Francis, go and repair my house, which as you can see, is falling into ruins!” Francis came to realise that God was referring not to the literal church building, which was crumbling, but to the wider church. To bring about the renewal of the church, Francis turned his face towards the rest of creation.
When God wants to bring about a renewal movement, within Judaism, within the church, dare I say within our own lives, he sends people into the wilderness. Sometimes it’s a literal wilderness. Sometimes it’s a metaphorical one.
If John was here today, what might he say to us? In the wilderness, prepare the way for the Lord.
Not all of us can access wilderness easily. Indeed, there’s even debate about whether wilderness can be said to exist anymore, so widespread is the human footprint. Still, there are things we can do to mimic the wilderness as we prepare for the coming of the Lord.
Turn off the TV. Silence the social media, or anything that fuels the dissatisfaction that comes from comparing yourself with others. Get out for an unhurried walk. Sit in the garden and enjoy the smells and colours. Light a candle while eating.
Joy can be born of deep struggle and sorrow. When everything is stripped away, when all distractions are removed, and we’re left vulnerable and naked, that’s when we’re most likely to come face to face with God, and our own belovedness. Perhaps this is one reason why – wonder of wonders – John the Baptist is considered the patron saint of joy.
This Advent, may we heed his call: in the wilderness, prepare the way for the Lord.
Check out other articles in the
series below.
More articles in the
series are to come.
