John the Baptist, 2019

ΚΑΤΑ ΜΑΘΘΑΙΟΝ 3.1-12

1Ἐν δὲ ταῖς ἡμέραις ἐκείναις παραγίνεται Ἰωάννης ὁ βαπτιστὴς κηρύσσων ἐν τῇ ἐρήμῳ τῆς Ἰουδαίας 2[καὶ] λέγων, Μετανοεῖτε, ἤγγικεν γὰρ ἡ βασιλεία τῶν οὐρανῶν. 3οὗτος γάρ ἐστιν ὁ ῥηθεὶς διὰ Ἠσαΐου τοῦ προφήτου λέγοντος, Φωνὴ βοῶντος ἐν τῇ ἐρήμῳ, Ἑτοιμάσατε τὴν ὁδὸν κυρίου, εὐθείας ποιεῖτε τὰς τρίβους αὐτοῦ. 4Αὐτὸς δὲ ὁ Ἰωάννης εἶχεν τὸ ἔνδυμα αὐτοῦ ἀπὸ τριχῶν καμήλου καὶ ζώνην δερματίνην περὶ τὴν ὀσφὺν αὐτοῦ, ἡ δὲ τροφὴ ἦν αὐτοῦ ἀκρίδες καὶ μέλι ἄγριον. 5τότε ἐξεπορεύετο πρὸς αὐτὸν Ἱεροσόλυμα καὶ πᾶσα ἡ Ἰουδαία καὶ πᾶσα ἡ περίχωρος τοῦ Ἰορδάνου, 6καὶ ἐβαπτίζοντο ἐν τῷ Ἰορδάνῃ ποταμῷ ὑπ’ αὐτοῦ ἐξομολογούμενοι τὰς ἁμαρτίας αὐτῶν. 7Ἰδὼν δὲ πολλοὺς τῶν Φαρισαίων καὶ Σαδδουκαίων ἐρχομένους ἐπὶ τὸ βάπτισμα αὐτοῦ εἶπεν αὐτοῖς, Γεννήματα ἐχιδνῶν, τίς ὑπέδειξεν ὑμῖν φυγεῖν ἀπὸ τῆς μελλούσης ὀργῆς; 8ποιήσατε οὖν καρπὸν ἄξιον τῆς μετανοίας: 9καὶ μὴ δόξητε λέγειν ἐν ἑαυτοῖς, Πατέρα ἔχομεν τὸν Ἀβραάμ, λέγω γὰρ ὑμῖν ὅτι δύναται ὁ θεὸς ἐκ τῶν λίθων τούτων ἐγεῖραι τέκνα τῷ Ἀβραάμ. 10ἤδη δὲ ἡ ἀξίνη πρὸς τὴν ῥίζαν τῶν δένδρων κεῖται: πᾶν οὖν δένδρον μὴ ποιοῦν καρπὸν καλὸν ἐκκόπτεται καὶ εἰς πῦρ βάλλεται. 11ἐγὼ μὲν ὑμᾶς βαπτίζω ἐν ὕδατι εἰς μετάνοιαν: ὁ δὲ ὀπίσω μου ἐρχόμενος ἰσχυρότερός μού ἐστιν, οὗ οὐκ εἰμὶ ἱκανὸς τὰ ὑποδήματα βαστάσαι: αὐτὸς ὑμᾶς βαπτίσει ἐν πνεύματι ἁγίῳ καὶ πυρί: 12οὗ τὸ πτύον ἐν τῇ χειρὶ αὐτοῦ, καὶ διακαθαριεῖ τὴν ἅλωνα αὐτοῦ, καὶ συνάξει τὸν σῖτον αὐτοῦ εἰς τὴν ἀποθήκην, τὸ δὲ ἄχυρον κατακαύσει πυρὶ ἀσβέστῳ.

MATTHEW 3.1-12

3In those days John the Baptist appeared in the wilderness of Judea, proclaiming, 2“Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” 3This is the one of whom the prophet Isaiah spoke when he said, “The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.’” 4Now John wore clothing of camel’s hair with a leather belt around his waist, and his food was locusts and wild honey. 5Then the people of Jerusalem and all Judea were going out to him, and all the region along the Jordan, 6and they were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins.

7But when he saw many Pharisees and Sadducees coming for baptism, he said to them, “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? 8Bear fruit worthy of repentance. 9Do not presume to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor’; for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. 10Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire. 11“I baptize you with water for repentance, but one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to carry his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. 12His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor and will gather his wheat into the granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”

[The above texts are from the Revised Common Lectionary for the Second Sunday of Advent, Year A (the Year of Matthew) for Sunday, December 8, 2019.]

John the Baptist, 2019

+ In nomine Domini. Amen.

It all began with my Irish cap.

I have replaced that cap so many times over the years of my adulthood. It’s a cap that is made in Ireland and I have bought it in Ireland, in New York, in San Diego and most recently in Victoria on Vancouver Island just last year.

Why?

Because I keep losing it. I have left it on a bench at the Cloisters in New York City, on an airplane flying somewhere to somewhere else and this last time ??? – well let’s just say I cannot remember where it was, but my wife and I were on a journey through Croatia, Slovenia, Venice, and Spain and somewhere along the way the last issue of the Irish Cap became the property of someone else.

And so, being cold in Dubrovnik, I bought a black knit cap for €3. It was basic, it kept the head warm, it kept the head relatively dry and it was relatively cheap.

Of course, I did not like it at all.

That being said, I realized while we were on our Tour of Spain that it was getting close to the season of Advent. (One knows this in Europe because of the now-everywhere advertisements for ,,Black Friday”.) And I thought to myself, I usually meet John the Baptist about now and I haven’t. Maybe I won’t see him this year. Maybe it’s just my imagination. Maybe. Maybe.

I should explain that over the years I have met John the Baptist many times: in downtown Santa Fe dressed in wild clothes with a staff topped with feathers, in the check-out line at KMART™, once in Venice on the sidewalk, once in Maui near the beach, and once in Times Square. Every year, no matter what, he shows up. Sometimes he is masculine (John the Baptist) and sometimes he is feminine (I choose to call him now her as in Jeanne la Baptiste). But he never fails me. And he comes each year with a message, a lesson, a teaching, a reminder, something that changes the direction of my life.

But this year. Nothing.

It made me think during the silent month of November. Again, I pondered that maybe it’s just my own wish, maybe it’s because I want him/her to appear, maybe it’s because I need him to appear. I found myself sighing a lot.

On November 23^rd my wife, Beverly and I were in Valencia, a port city on the Mediterranean. It is a beautiful place; very medieval, very historic, and most importantly very near the sea – for me that is not only refreshing but life-giving. I cannot be long removed from a significant body of water before I begin to dry up spiritually.

After walking on the beach, we made our way on the tourist-empty promenade along the sea and then back to the main street that runs parallel to the Sea. In the midst of a group of pedestrians waiting to cross the street at the traffic signal there was a man in a wheelchair.

A worn-out red knit cap was on his head, worn-out clothes on his body, worn-out shoes on his feet, and a worn-out paper cup in his quivering hand.

As he extended the cup to those people waiting at the light, it tipped over and the several small-denomination Euro coins that were in it scattered onto the sidewalk. They made a random pattern of despair as they fall around and underneath his wheelchair. As he leaned forward attempting to retrieve his coins the chair began to move down the slight incline toward the street. He stopped the chair just in time.

I went over to the man, picked up all the coins, including the ones hidden underneath the wheelchair and put them back into his cup. “Gracias,” he said softly. “De nada,” I replied. I added €1 to the cup. He smiled weakly.

The light changed and Beverly and I walked across the street and into the historic part of the city. We spent a quick half-hour walking to the city hall, plaza, ruins of the Roman village under excavation in the middle of an office building, and ultimately to a nearby church high up the next street.

There are some people who cannot be erased from one’s mind, whose image is left indelibly upon the brain. Such was my friend in the wheelchair.

Retracing our steps I looked everywhere but could not see him. Crowds of people were crossing back and forth at the intersection. I assumed he had moved to another place. And then, there he was – he had moved, now to the same side of the street where we were.

Walking over toward him, I saw once again coins scattered around his wheelchair. “My friend,” I said in English as I picked up the coins once again and put them into his paper cup, “There’s a theme here.”

He looked at me.

I looked at him.

I said gently, “La Paz, mi amigo.”

And then I put €2 more into his cup.

Looking at the worn out red knit cap on his head, I took the new cap off my head and gave it to him.

“Gracias,” he spoke so softly I could barely hear him. Putting the paper cup in his lap (so as not to spill one more coin) he turned the cap over and over again in his too-soon-elderly hands and smiled.

I put my hand on his shoulder and said again, “La Paz, mi amigo.” I knew it was John the Baptist.

I knew it was John the Baptist even if he didn’t resemble the upstart-fellow in the account by Matthew the Storyteller (the Gospel we are primarily reading starting this Advent). I knew it was him even if he did not yell loudly or talk strangely or warn me to “flee from the wrath to come” (something I think we all need to pay heed to in these times).

The message of John the Baptist in any age, in our age, is one of repentance, our repentance. He calls us to “turn” – the word in Matthew’s Greek is Μετανοεῖτε. It means “change your mind” and do it completely! Not just “Well, yes, I think I should maybe someday sometime if it’s convenient perhaps and if nothing else gets in the way and I have more time more money more whatever more I need yes to be sure I will change my mind, repent, and get on track, later – ”

No.

The Baptist’s message is one of immediacy. Do it NOW! There is no waiting or pondering or measuring or contemplating about it or trying it out. To quote another John the Baptist, Yoda (in Star Wars: The Empire Strikes Back), “Do. Or Do Not. There is no ‘try’.”

That is the beauty of the Valencia John the Baptist. He stands (rather sits – in his wheelchair in this case) in the midst of the people. You can avoid him – but it would take a lot of effort and walking away at a distancwe – but you cannot avoid seeing him. He sits, cup extended, coins spilled on the ground, about to slip into oncoming traffic.

And there it is: if someone does not do something, he will be hurt, maybe even killed. If someone – no, if I do not move from my stationary spot, if I do not take notice, engage, act – you see that’s the point. Just so, in the noticing, engaging, above all in the moving from waiting into action – there is the μετανοια.

I was waiting as Advent approached this year, and for what? The “OK You Can Walk Now” white or green image (I cannot recall which colour) displayed on the opposite side of the street. Well, yes. But what else?

Ah! What else, indeed? That is where so many of us spend our Advent and non-Advent days and weeks and months and years – in the “What Else” as we wait for the undefined, the vague, the unclear, the obscure.

It’s what I call “Refrigerator Theology.” It’s what happens when late at night you get out of bed worried and upset about something and in just a little bit you end up in the kitchen. And there you find the refrigerator and open the door and looking inside think to yourself, “Well the answer must be in here somewhere.” Maybe eating something will cause the feeling of hunger, of emptiness to go away.

And of course it does not.

So where does it happen? Where does the emptiness get filled, the hunger satisfied, the rough places made straight? And when? When will it all be OK, when will the future become rosy, when will the present make sense?

And in just that questioning moment comes John. Just in that crowded wilderness comes the one with an urgent urging of action.

For me, this year, it happened in Valencia where I met the one who brought the kingdom near to me and turned me inside out and made me begin the move from passivity into action from thinking about loving my neighbor and actually doing it! From pondering the need for our world to be healed, and actually becoming part of the healing.

I can only hope that wherever and whenever John appears to you this year, the same will happen to you.

EPILOGUE

A few people over the years have asked me whether I ever noticed that in my stories John the Baptist is always someone on the fringe of life, someone with a condition, someone who is dealing with mental health perhaps, or poverty, or is alienated from the community?

My answer has been and remains a simple, “Yes.”

So it is.

But will add that of all the encounters I have had with John the Baptist, this is the first time I was privileged to give him my cap. And, more importantly, it was the first time I ever touched him.

Deo Gratias (+)
The Rev. Benjamin Larzelere III
Retired