So, true fact – I wish John the Baptist were either more fleshed out in the Gospels, or absent all together. I mean, here we have Gospels all about Jesus, and just when we settle in to read about him, John pops up, yelling, waving his arms around, eating locusts, and generally being a wild man out in the wilderness. But the crux of the matter is, I want to know what motivates John. What caused him to take this turn in his life? Did he and Jesus hang out as cousins? What's the backstory?
I just have a problem that I can't quite put my finger on.
At least I thought that was the case until the pandemic hit way back when, a couple of years ago.
Because, you see, John the Baptist's main function in our Gospels is to “prepare ye the way of the Lord.” And back when we first locked down, I had my fill of preparing.
When the pandemic hit and people went nuts collecting toilet paper, I ran to my closet and counted rolls. Yup, I was safe I figured. At least for a while. But I turned my face to other things. I would drive up to my favorite grocery store, the Hannaford in Clinton, and swarm in like those locusts that fed John.
First, I'd hit the meat aisle. I stocked up on ground beef and cubed steak. I got as much bacon as I could get without being a TOTAL embarrassment. I got some ground lamb in case there was a gyro shortage, so I could make my own. And chicken! Lord, the chicken. You see, when the supply chain got strained, all the fancy cuts that stores generally had disappeared only to be replaced by cuts that would've gone to restaurants. This include chicken halves. For like $2.00. Nobody wanted to cook them, so the store was marking them down. I'd go in and grab four or five.
And because it was getting hard to get broccoli and brussels and beans, the Hannaford brought in the only green vegetable they could get – okra! For me this was the pandemic jackpot. I'd go in each time and a couple pounds. I mean, no Yankee knows what to do with okra. This wasn't selfish, right? Pound after pound of okra. Fried okra, gumbo, creole, etoufee. There was a time I was eating it three times a week and still freezing some.
Fortunately, because of Becca's Hashimoto's syndrome, she and Brooks and I have been on a pretty restricted diet that started right before the pandemic, so while everyone else was snatching up canned tomatoes and soups and pasta, there was plenty of Cassava flour, and white sweet potatoes, and taro root. Nobody else knew what to do with that stuff either, so I could snatch it up. I doubt many people came in during those days wondering, “Where did all the tapioca starch go?”
Then something happened. Bad. There was a shortage of aluminum, which meant a shortage of aluminum cans, which meant that beer companies cut back on the brands that brought in the least revenue. Which meant that my favorite beer, the amazingly cheap Natural Light, started to disappear. So, I started buying up that, the result being that, at one time, I had a wall of beer in the basement.
I've only lately come to grips with the fact that I went off the deep end. I had become a hoarder.
If John was in the wilderness shouting, “Prepare ye the way of the Lord,” I was standing on the street shouting, “Prepare ye the way of the hoard!”
Then one day, I went down into the basement to get something out of the freezer, and I just stood there, looking at what I had done. How much food there was. How much waste there would be if that freezer broke. How much money was now locked up in those frozen blocks of food that will take forever to eat.
And y'all. That was a sin.
It was a sin because it was taking from the bounty of God's earth and storing it up for me and me, alone. It was a sin because there was such a touch of malice is what I did – mentally pushing people out of the way as I charged down grocery aisles, emanating, I'm sure, an aura of panic and fear. And it was a sin because I knew better. I knew this wasn't the way to be. I knew this wasn't the way I, as a Christian, claim I want to be.
You see, John is calling us to enter into a different story. Not one of indifference and scarcity. Not one of dog-eat-dog competitiveness and winning at all costs and transactional relationship. No, John is calling us to enter into the Lord's Kingdom.
And the Lord's kingdom is, frankly, a place that makes me nervous, a place that is so foreign to the kingdoms of this world. Because in the Lord's kingdom, the rules are all upside down. It's a way of forgiveness. It's a way of grace. And it's a way of love. The way of sacrifice, the way of the cross. The way of love.
And these ways are not doable alone. I can't be forgiven, unless there's someone to forgive. I can't be redeemed unless there's someone to bestow grace. And I can't love or be loved unless there's another in my life. These are not things to be hoarded. These are not things that CAN be hoarded. They can't exist in that world. They make no sense to THAT world.
So, finally, after all those years, I think I've begun to get John the Baptist. This wild man in a wild place doing wild things. We are all called to be there with John. Doing those wild things that this world doesn't expect or even understand. Loving. Fighting for justice for others. Sacrificing of ourselves to keep others safe and whole. Praying for those who hate us. None of that can be horded. It MUST be shared.
You see, it finally hit me. John isn't asking us to prepare the way FOR the Lord. He's not asking us to create the kingdom FOR God. He's not asking us to make sure we have enough hoarded up to splurge on the Lord when that day comes. He's not asking us to make sure our churches are spic and span, our Sunday go-to-meetin' clothes are pressed. Our deviled eggs are, umm, deviled and ready for coffee hour.
No, John is asking us to prepare the way OF the Lord. Preparing a new way of loving, a new way of forgiving, a new way being. A way of BEING the way of the Lord, ourselves. A new way of encountering God and God's creation the way Jesus is going to encounter it in us and with us in just a few weeks as we move out of Advent Christmas and into Lent and Easter.
We are called, each and every day, to be the Way of the Lord. It means change. It means struggle. It means spending time in the wilderness. And it means truly, truly trusting in God and letting go. Trusting Christ to walk with us and to wait for us when we turn away again and again.
The pandemic was a painful time for all of us. And it taught me some lessons I'd rather not have learned. But if nothing else, I think it has made my relationship with Advent even more special, Because I finally get John the Baptist. I finally get why he's there where he is in the Gospel.
He's there for me. He's there for all of us.
Amen.