On Not Being the Messiah

John 1: 6-8; 19-28 Marianne Niesen December 11, 2011

This took place in Bethany across the Jordan where John was baptizing. Most of us have little interest in that line. It doesn’t really mean much. After all, we know John was baptizing at the River Jordan and that’s all we need to know, right? In the desert. ‘Down by the riverside’ as the song goes. Those who have accompanied us to Israel on pilgrimage know that one of the highlights of our time in the Galilee is often the day we go to the ‘Baptismal Site.’ It is where we remember our baptisms and where we sometimes celebrate a baptism. The spot is a beautiful, lush one located very near where the Jordan River flows out of the Sea of Galilee on its journey to the Dead Sea. Of course, that description, if you think about it, should give you pause. Lush? Beautiful? Near the Sea of Galilee? The one thing we know for sure about this ‘baptismal site’ we visit is that it is definitely not the place where John was the ‘Baptist’ or where Jesus was baptized. It is quite simply a safe and beautiful place on the Jordan River where visitors to Israel can go to remember. You see, the water of the river is used extensively for irrigation so that by the time it gets to the desert and the Dead Sea it is essentially dry. Barely a drop of the Jordan River ever makes it to the Dead Sea anymore. So baptismal remembering in Israel is done where the water still flows. In addition, this site is nestled safely within the coutry of Israel. This is one of the few places that the River Jordan does not form an international border. This ‘remembering baptism’ place is a powerful site, a place where you can feel the presence of Jesus. We know he spent most of his time, his ministry, in this area and you can feel that. But if John the Baptist were to visit today, he’d look the place over and proclaim (probably rather gruffly) I’m not the Messiah but I am the Baptist and this ain’t the place where I did my baptizin’! And he’d be right!

Last January, we again led a group to the Holy Land. We spent the first six days in Jordan – not the River but the Country. And on one very memorable, absolutely beautiful day, we visited the place John would have recognized. Bethany Beyond Jordan. Largely because of this text in the scripture, scholars have always believed that the place John was baptizing was actually on the ‘other’ or the ‘beyond’ side of the River Jordan. The Jordanian side today. And, over the last decade or so, the Jordanians have been doing a lot of excavating. On different visits, we had seen the progress the Jordanians had made uncovering bits of evidence that this was indeed an early Christian pilgrimage site of great prominence. But this time, not only did we get to see the unearthed remnants of churches, this time, our whole group was able to make the rather lengthy walk to the place that is very likely indeed the actual site of the baptism of Jesus. The place where John did his work. It is in the desert. The path to the water is fairly clear but not developed. It is rocky and sandy and dirty. You have to be careful. The bushes and grasses are desert growth – prickly and spindly. The Jordanians have built a wooden platform at the river itself – a sort of reward for having made the walk. It provides a place for small groups to gather, pray and read scripture. The river is but a trickle there and across that trickle – not very far away at all – is an Israeli army post – with guards. Here, the Jordan River is the border between Israel and Jordan. The day we were there was quiet. Soldiers watched us, somewhat disinterestedly, from across the river, and I found myself wondering if Jesus and John had seen soldiers watching them on that day long ago.

Many of us made our way off the platform into a swampy approach that leads to the river itself. There we could touch the bit of water that was still flowing. Though you could have done a baptism here, it would have been messy. In Jesus and John’s day there would have been more water – but it would have been messy then too. It all felt holy somehow - and very authentic. This is Bethany Beyond Jordan where some 2000 years ago Jesus and his cousin John met. And, if John the Baptist were to visit today, I think he’d say “this is more like it.” And I think he’d remember because it was here that he proclaimed his identity. You heard it a moment ago. He said that he was not Elijah. He was not the Messiah. He was a just a voice crying in the wilderness, baptizing with water. It definitely feels like wilderness at Bethany Beyond Jordan. And from there, an obscure place in the wilderness that time and history almost forgot, Jesus would claim his ministry, a ministry that led him back, across the River, to Jericho and Jerusalem and Capernaum and Galilee – place names that are familiar to all of us.

As I thought about our time at ‘Bethany Beyond Jordan,’ I found myself pondering a new insight into why John the Baptist is such a consistent character this season. Maybe it is not so much because he was the cousin of Jesus or had a miraculous birth. Maybe it is not because Mary visited his mother, Elizabeth. Maybe it is not because he said prepare ye the way of the Lord and Advent is about preparing for Jesus. Maybe the reason is because John knew who he was and who he wasn’t. And we need help getting that straight. In this season that seems to demand so much of us, in which there are so many expectations about what we need to do and who we need to please and where we need to spend time, John calls us to a fundamental humility that has the power to transform our lives. John had quite a following when Jesus encountered him in the desert. Scholars, who study these things, believe that many people at the time indeed thought John was the Messiah. He was deeply faithful, had strength and character – and an attitude. Perhaps John even harbored ‘Messiah thoughts’ for a while. In the end, he would be killed for his beliefs and, when that happened, Jesus mourned his death and acclaimed his greatness. John had a role – as do we all – but he was not the Messiah.

Don’t you wonder what the ‘rest of the story’ may have been like? After that baptismal encounter, I imagine John breathing a sigh of relief. And, as he watched Jesus head off into the desert, John kept working. As far as we know the crowds still came to him for their ‘baptism of repentance.’ In other words, John still had a mission. He still had a calling and it was an important one. But he wasn’t the Messiah. It is good to know who you are and who you are not. That’s humility, a virtue often forgotten in this day of self-promotion. Humility, you see, is not false modesty. It is not thinking less of oneself. It is thinking of oneself less. [1] It is ‘letting go and letting God’ as the people of AA proclaim. And if there is one thing we seem to need to learn every Advent, it is that! We need to hear these words echo in our hearts and minds. I am a child of God, I am beloved, I have a place. But I am not the Messiah.

This is a season that exhausts us, doesn’t it? We get overworked and overfed and over-committed and over-stimulated and over-indulged and overwhelmed by countless demands, many of which are wonderful things. But, at some point, we need to find our ‘Bethany Beyond Jordan’ and get some perspective on things. We need to remember that we can’t do it all. At some point, we need to remember that we are human – no more, no less.

Watch a video clip with me…about this Most Wonderful Time of the Year. [2]

I think John the Baptist appears in our Advent reflections because he knew who he was and who he was not. And, that is humility. And every Advent, we are challenged to remember the same thing. My invitation to us today is simple. There are two weeks left in Advent. Rather than succumbing to the message of the market place, which is a message of scarcity, designed to produce anxiety – only 13 shopping days ‘til Christmas – take an opposite approach. It is the approach of abundance and calm, born from knowing who we are and who we are not. We still have two weeks of Advent. Two weeks to enjoy the beauty, ponder the story, see the lights, hear the songs. There are things to do – sure – but there is also much to experience, if we but claim the time to do it.

So, in these two weeks, make yourself an I’m-not-the-Messiah-so-I-choose-not-to-do-this list. True, there are things we must do but, let’s face it, there are things on all of our “to-do” lists that aren’t necessary. They might be nice but the world will go on if we don’t do them. So, don’t do them. Find at least one thing to let go. And secondly, think of at least one thing that would really touch your heart, delight you – which, since you are not the Messiah, you could do – and do it. It might be attending Tuesday night’s Family Promise benefit concert by John Floridis or coming to the Interfaith Jazz Solstice event on December 21st. That has become one of our most popular ‘respites from frenzy.’ It might be as simple as watching a candle burn or listening to music or singing a carol all by yourself under a starlit sky.

Last year, on this Sunday, I received the call that changed my Advent season. Lyle had suffered a cardiac arrest and was in a coma in a hospital in Austin, Texas. I left the next day and spent much of the remainder of Advent in a hospital ICU. I missed the celebration of Christmas with you all. Amazingly, all of the responsibilities I had – and they were many – were covered. I was reminded that, important as I might have thought I was, I was not – and am not - the Messiah. Everything happened as planned. Things were different, of course, but Su DeBree and Gayle Sandholm and Rick Hulbert and Phaedra Raymond and Dave Buness and our staff – and others I don’t even know – all came forward and the celebration of Christmas happened. And the thing is - we don’t need trauma to learn that lesson. Every one of us can choose to do and to not do something this year that reminds us who we are and who we are not.

As some of you know, we have a poet at St. Paul’s who, for the past 20 years has written a poem for us which is delivered anonymously on Christmas eve. As I was writing this sermon, I remembered last year’s poem from the Christmas poet of St. Paul’s which I only saw after I returned. It is called What to Do on Christmas.

Put down your armload of grand expectations

the burden you carry of other people’s dreams

Take off the smothering garment of your doubts

knit of your need to share the world’s beliefs

Forget the haunting memories of your youth

homilies, lectures, fearsome bible tales

Drop your uncertainties on the stable floor

And hold the baby.

Feel how human this warm bundle is

how vulnerable, how small, how innocent

How needy, not for heavenly intercession

but simply human tenderness and love

Nothing a church must teach, or laws ordain

only what your soul already knows

That is all God asks of you right now

just hold the baby. [3]

It was at Bethany Beyond Jordan that John the Baptist proclaimed he was not the Messiah. If you remember nothing else this Advent, remember that . . . and, in your remembering, take some time to hold the baby.

[1] David N. Mosser, ed., The Abingdon Preaching Annual 2011, p. 392.

[2] http://www.worshiphousemedia.com/mini-movies/21469/Its-The-Most-Wonderful-Time