Teresa of Avila, a 16th century mystic is though to have written the following poem:
“Christ has no body now on earth but yours, no hands but yours, no feet but yours, Yours are the eyes through which to look out Christ’s compassion to the world; Yours are the feet with which he is to go about doing good; Yours are the hands with which he is to bless men now.”

This is a common theme of incarnational theology - the notion that we are to be Jesus Christ to the world. The idea is that God became incarnate, became flesh, so as to embody God’s love for the world. We are then called to incarnate Christ in our own selves and to love the world as Jesus did. The Apostle Paul writes of this end in his letter to Corinth, saying we are to love even to the point of “always carrying in the body the death of Jesus, so that the life of Jesus may also be made visible in our bodies.” (2 Cor. 4:10)

Many Christians strive towards this end, and indeed, I’m one of them. But this morning I’m going to show you a slightly different look at incarnational theology through John the Baptist. We are in the season of Epiphany, that time in the Church year when we celebrate the "manifestation" of Christ to the world, first as a baby and then at his baptism. Epiphany is, in three words, "all about Christ." But as I read and re-read the passage for the morning what struck me above all else was that the really interesting person in it was John the Baptist.

I have to admit I’ve always been a bit fascinated by John the Baptist. If Jesus came across as the radical of his day, John the Baptist would have seemed like a raving nutter to the average person. He is the equivalent of someone in our day who stands on the street and points out the wrongs of our society. Loudly. Perhaps also holding a sign. The really amazing thing about John though, is that he gathered followers. At the time of the passage this morning, John had a large number of people following him around and listening to him preach.

What I noticed about the depictions of John in classical drawings and paintings is that he points. Artists portray him in his leather belt with that long index finger extended, and his eyes are gazing from the canvas to me as if he’s saying, “Hey. Look at that.”

That is Jesus, the Lamb of God, and this passage if filled to the brim with names for that Lamb. So we have John the Baptist saying, “Behold” (Look at that), and we have John the Gospel writer as well with his plethora of names, too, saying, “Yeah. Do look. Look at him as Son of God, as Rabbi, as the Messiah, as the one who baptizes with the Holy Spirit. Look. Look. Look.” And if the names aren’t enough to make you do it, consider the action in the story. John the Baptist points and speaks, and two of his disciples follow Jesus.

Everything John says and does in this passage is about pointing people away from himself to Jesus. John’s message is in effect, “This isn’t about me. It’s about this guy. Yeah. There he goes. He’s the one. Him. Lamb of God.”

Fred Craddock says of John the Baptist “The fact is, there is no evidence of anything unhealthy in the life of John. No power, no influence, no capacity is abdicated or denied; all are fully and vigorously employed in the single service of witnessing to Christ. If he is speaking with one or two, he is a witness; if he is working with a crowd, he is a witness; if he is facing a forest of microphones and blinking into the flashing bulbs of Jerusalem inquirers, he is a witness, no less but no more. As such he is the perfect prototype of the Christian leader: sent of God to witness.

This is not to say there was no struggle, no temptation to use his gifts to elevate himself. On the contrary, such a battle must have raged within him at times. Since temptation is commensurate with strength, the unusually gifted face tests that the rest of us do not. But even with the wrestling, the great can and do turn all their gifts to the service of the gospel, and in so doing discover that their powers are not diminished but increased.”

I find it ironic that with so much effort that John the Baptist puts into drawing the attention away from himself to Jesus, that the lectionary has shoved him down our throats for these Sundays throughout Advent, Christmas, and now Epiphany. It reminds me of a kid who looks at your finger instead of the object you’re pointing at.

“Don’t look at me. Look there. Over there.” And finally in exasperation you rush over and manually turn the little tyke’s head. “See? The Lamb of God.” Maybe we’re guilty, too, of being too infantile to realize we’re supposed to be beholding the Lamb and what he’s about.

One thing you have to admire about Jesus’ apostles. They get who the finger points to. They drop John like a hot potato and go to see what Jesus is about. And, these weren't any two disciples; one of them was Andrew, the brother of Simon Peter. That is, John was going to lose some of his "best" disciples, who were going to go on to become the cornerstone of Jesus' ministry.

Nevertheless, John pointed Jesus out to them. Once he has directed his disciples to Jesus and they follow him, the scene shifts, and John is only mentioned one or two more times. In fact, by pointing out Jesus to them, John was committing professional suicide. He was putting himself out of a job.

The focus wasn't on him; he was only there to give himself so that others would follow Jesus. Now that is something that is not simply admirable, but rather amazing. That is what makes me want to say that this passage, though directing us to Jesus, is all about John. And, by thinking of the passage in this way, we are improved and strengthened.

Humility is defined as "the virtue that expresses a spirit of deference."  We tend to think of humility as a weak virtue in this culture. Something held by the shy and the meek. Not a characteristic of someone with “real” personality. Yet John has an excess of personality with his locusts and honey and with his taunting and coaxing people into baptism. No one could call John meek.

Yet, in the gospel, John showed humility through his witness to the Greater One. In our culture, a good witness gives first-hand information. We are consumed with the "facts." But, in Jesus' culture, a good witness had a good reputation. The quality of their witness depended upon the quality of their character. John placed his reputation, his character, and his very life at the service of his witness. His willingness to defer, to be humble, made John's witness all the more powerful.

John is marked by humility, but this does not prevent him from preaching with boldness. John’s message is not watered down to please his audience. He speaks against sin, whether it be that of tax-gatherers or soldiers or even Herod himself. He clearly identifies sin, condemns it, and calls for repentance. This boldness is not a contradiction to his humility, but a manifestation of it. He is inferior and subordinate to his Lord, the Messiah. He was called of God to proclaim the message he was given. He would do no less than proclaim that message with boldness and clarity. No doubt this played a part in the powerful impact of that message on those who heard it.

The Baptist's story winds throughout the gospels, connected to Jesus almost from conception. John precedes him, identifies him, baptizes him, defers to him, and in death is affirmed by him as "the greatest of the prophets."  Yet John was a prophet in his own right, dying the martyr's death because he would not be silent about the sins of the rich and famous.

That's the thing about John, he would not, could not, keep silent!  Jesus, on the other hand, builds his ministry slowly, out by the seashore, telling those closest to him not to divulge the secret, nuancing certain aspects of the coming kingdom with parables, similes and metaphors.  John' message has no filter whatsoever.  Even snippets of his sermons make us squirm yet. "You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?" (Matthew 3:7)

At best, prophets like John help us get our bearings in the world. They throw cold water and hard sayings in our faces and force us to take stock of our lives and the culture around us.  At worst, pursuing the prophetic may mean that we find an excuse to silence the messenger, manipulating our way out of the warnings.  From the Baptist to Dietrich Bonhoeffer, the prophetic landscape is strewn with the bodies of the dead, some of whom, though silenced, speak yet.

At other times, the prophetic word is a word of hope in a time of trouble, when things are so bad that the only way out is for God to do a new thing.  In today's text from Isaiah, the prophet is God's "servant," called from his mother's womb to "raise up" and "restore the survivors," to be "as a light to the nations, that my salvation may reach to the end of the earth."  Sometimes the pursuit of the prophetic is itself a reason for celebration.

But let’s go back to my original statement about John the Baptist and incarnational theology.  Rodger Nishioka tells this story: “While I fully understand what Teresa and the apostle Paul are saying to us, that we are to live lives that embody Christ, it is equally important that we not take on some messianic identity that says we are Christ to the world. A couple of years ago, a good friend and colleague here at the seminary who was concerned about my schedule and commitments and hectic pace and looking tired, insisted on taking me out to lunch. When we sat down at the table, I asked what was going on. She told me she had some good news for me. Perplexed, I asked her what the good news was. She smiled and said ‘I want you to know that the Messiah has come!’ Now I was thoroughly confused, so she told me she had even better news for me: ‘You are not him!’ The real danger in a distorted incarnational theology is that we come to believe that if we truly are Christ’s body in the world, then if the world is going to be saved, we have to do it.”

We get so caught up in trying to do everything and save everyone, we burn ourselves out. We cannot do everything yet we sometimes fall into the trap of thinking we have to. Maybe sometimes, instead of trying to save the world on our own, we should instead ask ourselves, what would John the Baptist do? Instead of trying to be the savior of humanity, we should try to be more like John the Baptist, calling attention to Jesus Christ and then saying to all who are within hearing distance: “Hey! Look! God is alive. God is in our midst. The Holy Spirit is at work in us and through and for us. Behold! The Lamb of God!”

Imagine living a life like that instead. A life where everything we did, pointed at the wonders of God in our midst. Where rather than taking everything upon ourselves, we lifted up everything to God instead. What would the world be like if rather than focusing on ourselves, we pointed to God? That would truly look like the kingdom of Heaven .

Rev. Cara Milne Gee

January 16^th, 2011