+ In the Love of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit. Amen.
If a screenwriter of courtroom dramas wanted to adapt this morning's Gospel for television, she might begin this way:
"In the criminal justice system, religious-based offenses are considered especially heinous. The dedicated priests and Levites of the Temple prosecute these cases with great zeal. These are their stories." (Bum-bum)
"There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. This is the testimony given by John when the Judean authorities sent priests and Levites from Jerusalem to ask him, 'Who are you?' He confessed and did not deny it, but confessed, 'I am not the Messiah.' And they asked him, 'What then? Are you Elijah?' He said, 'I am not.' 'Are you the prophet?' He answered, 'No.'"
Let's stop there and notice how well this script is written. The investigating priests and Levites are single-minded. "Who are you?" is their unrelenting question. And in response, as John gets angrier and angrier with his interrogators, his responses get increasingly short and hostile: "I am not the Messiah." "I am not." "No!" But the badgering continues: "Who are you? Let us have an answer for those who sent us. What do you say about yourself?"
Finally the intensity of the interrogation pays off. And as soon as John confesses, "I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness," the priests and Levites pounce: "Why then are you baptizing if you are neither the Messiah, nor Elijah, nor the prophet?"
It's a pretty clever line of questioning. The priests and the Levites have him now. You see, if John had been the Messiah, the great warrior like King David who would bring victory over the Roman armies, then John would have had the authority to baptize. Or if he had been Elijah, the prophet who had been carried up into heaven by a chariot of fire until his return before the great Day of the Lord, then John would have had the authority to baptize. Or if he had been "the prophet," the prophet like Moses who would again lead God's people, then John would have had the authority to baptize.
But suddenly John turns the tables on them. He admits, "I baptize with water." But then John gets his first chance to "testify to the light." And this is his testimony: "Among you stands one whom you do not know, the one who is coming after me; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandal."
John's authority to baptize doesn't come from himself; it comes from someone the priests and Levites don't even know, someone who is coming. And what's more, says John, "I am not worthy even to untie his sandals." To untie someone's sandals was so humiliating and abject, that even a slave couldn't be required to untie his master's sandals. And yet, says John, I'm not worthy to do the most menial thing for him. Are the priests and Levites concerned about authority? Then they'd better consider the authority of the one whom they do not even know, the one who is coming, the one whose authority far exceeds the authority of David or Elijah or Moses!
And with that, the television screen fades to black, and the credits start rolling.
This morning's Gospel begins with a simple sentence: "There was a man sent from God, whose name was John." It's a simple sentence which could be said about every baptized Christian. "There was a man sent from God, whose name was _____ [member of congregation says his name]." "There was a woman sent from God, whose name was _____ [member of congregation says her name]." "There was a girl sent from God, whose name was _____ [member of congregation says her name]." "There was a boy sent from God, whose name was _____ [member of congregation says his name]."
Just like John, we are all "sent from God." And just as the priests and Levites asked John, "Who are you?" people also ask us, every day, "Who are you?" Oh, they may not literally ask, "Who are you?" and they may never consciously wonder, "Who are you?" but that's the question we answer every time we do something, or fail to do something; it's the question we answer every time we say something, or fail to say something. In the musical Les Misérables, "Who are you?" is the question Inspector Javert keeps asking the fugitive Jean Val Jean, and, more importantly, it's the question Jean Val Jean asks himself, "Who am I?"
("Who am I?" is a question our Governor hasn't asked himself in a long time.)
In this morning's Gospel, John not only knows who he is; he also knows who he isn't. He knows he isn't the Messiah, he knows he isn't Elijah, and he knows he isn't "the Prophet."
This past Monday we had our first Youth Confirmation Class, and one of the students asked an excellent question: "Why would I want to be like Jesus when I want to be myself?" Her question reminded me of a wonderful Hasidic story that Rabbi Zusha used to tell about himself: "At the end of my life I will not be asked, 'Why weren't you like Abraham?' or 'Why weren't you like Moses?' or 'Why weren't you like David?' Rather, I will be asked, 'Why weren't you like Zusha?'"
Like John, each of us is sent from God to be the person God created us to be― and only that person. And like John, the only way we will ever be able to answer people when they ask us, "Who are you?" is if we have already answered the question "Who am I?" John's answer was, "I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness, 'Prepare the way of the Lord.'"
What's your answer?
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