2009.12.06 - "John - the Hinge of History" by Ken MacQuarrie (Ken MacQuarrie)
11.8 MB
12:49 min
Introductions are important. They establish credentials; they teach us about identity; they prepare people for what is about to come.
Around this time of year, there will be plenty of introductions made at office Christmas parties. As employees introduce their spouses to co-workers, and people put faces to stories of which they only had names before.
During my time as a student, I became all too familiar with the formal introductions given for speakers and guest lecturers. As each was invited to present, we learned of his or her past experiences, accomplishments, and current positions of notoriety on the faculty of this or that outstanding university.
We generally like these sorts of introductions. When we hear about aspects of a person’s identity or hear of a noted speaker’s past activity, it gives us a certain expectation of what is to come.
My favourite kind of introduction, I think, remains the sort of introduction that comes at the beginning of an article, or book, or essay.
I recall my English-101 professor explaining to us the structure of an essay – introduction, body, and conclusion – “say what you’re going to say, say it, and say what you’ve said.”
I used to think it kind of odd that we would give away the punch line of an essay right there in the first paragraph of an essay, but I have since found that once a reader knows where an author or a speaker is taking them, they get great enjoyment in following along the path of discovery.
Think of the opening lines to Romeo and Juliet:
“Two households, both alike in dignity, In fair Verona, where we lay our scene, From ancient grudge break to new mutiny, Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean…”
And so unfolds the synopsis. A mere fourteen lines into the two-hour play and we already know how things are going to turn out. And yet we are not bored by the rest of the performance – we don’t walk out of the theatre after three minutes saying, “That’s all I needed to see, the ending’s ruined now!” – no, we get entranced, we get excited! Knowing where the performers are going to take us, we want to see how they go about bringing us there. The introduction gives away the whole story, and for that, the story is made all-the-more powerful.
This morning, we get a similar sort of introduction to John the Baptist. In fact, we get two introductions to him – first, there is a poetic introduction in the song of Zechariah, his father; then, there is a narrative introduction in the account of the beginning of John’s ministry.
Let’s look at our first introduction to John the Baptist, Zechariah’s song.
The opening chapters of Luke are like a symphony announcing God’s incarnation – God’s coming to us in human form. Everywhere and at every turn, people and angels alike are found to be singing. They are struck by the birth of these two babies who will change history, and each time are led to worship in the form of song. Of the baby in her womb, Mary sings, “my soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my saviour;” of the child to be born, the angels sang glory to God and peace to all of the earth, and holding this newborn, the old prophet Simeon thanks God for allowing him to die in peace because he has seen the consolation of Israel with his own eyes. With each song, God’s promise to Israel is recalled and the imminent fulfilment of that promise is proclaimed.
In his own song, the father of John tells the whole story – the coming of the Mighty Saviour, the redeemer of the world. But in this story, he recognizes the fulfilment of promises made in the past, he recognizes God’s eternal faithfulness.
By the tender mercy of our God, (he sings), the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.”
And so Zechariah prepares the way for his son, who will one day prepare the way for God’s Son.
“It is a mighty task to be prophet of the Most High, and the rulers of the age will not go easy on him—John will eventually be thrown into prison and beheaded by the king. But on this day, when John is barely a week old, his father is filled with the hope that accompanies new life. It is the hope of salvation for all people: Jews and Gentiles, insiders and outsiders, rich and poor, blind and lame, tax collectors and sinners, women and men, old and young, fishermen and farmers, Samaritans and soldiers, lepers and lawyers, and many others” (Kathryn Schifferdecker).
Our second introduction is less poetic, but no less powerful.
In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness.
Luke was a historian. Of the four Gospel writers, he was the one with the greatest concern for the historical placing of the Christian story in relation to the rest of the Roman world. And so, John is born “in the days of King Herod of Judea” (1:5), and Mary and Joseph set out for Bethlehem because of the census ordered by Emperor Augustus, “when Quirinius was governor of Syria” (2:1-2). Accuracy of time and place are not his greatest concerns. But rather, “Luke is making a confession of faith: the events he narrates, though apparently small on the world stage – the birth of a son to a priest and his barren wife, the fortunes of a pregnant young woman and her fiancé – are of global significance” (David Lose).
In today's reading, Luke doesn’t just list one or two historical figures to anchor his story but rather names seven leaders both religious and secular. In comparison to these larger-than-life leaders, John is nothing – the son of a lowly priest, living out in the wilderness. He is a nobody, in the middle of nowhere. But we, the readers of the story know the end of the story – and we know the great power, the true power found in those final words: “… the word of God came to John … in the wilderness.”
All of the great leaders’ kingdoms come to an end – their power fails, their influence crumbles. But John’s word, even today reigns, because it is God’s word.
John is a hinge in history – he lives in the wilderness, like the prophets of old; the angel Gabriel describes him as having the spirit and power of Elijah (1:17), he fulfils the prophecy of Isaiah (3:4-6), and he calls for repentance among the people – both Jew and Gentile. But he is a hinge between the covenants – even as he lives in the tradition of the Old, he marks the transition to the New – and he precedes, prepares the way for, and foretells the coming of the Messiah, the one who is the salvation of Israel. John draws to a close the age of the law and the prophets and inaugurates the age of redemption when, “the dawn from on high [breaks] upon us..."(1:78).
In naming Tiberius, Pilate, Herod, Philip, Lysanias, Annas, and Caiaphas, Luke foreshadowing the fact that the power which John represents and in which Jesus will live, will overwhelm and subvert all of the powers of this world – both political and religious. John’s preaching of repentance will literally turn people away from the powers that be to the Lord. And so it is that he straightens paths, fills in valleys, brings down mountains, straightens what is crooked, and smoothes that which is rough (3:5).
It is not surprising that these people of power will seek to resist the power of God - John's preaching will ultimately lead to his beheading by one of those just named, while Jesus will later be crucified by another. Those who are threatened by repentance and forgiveness, after all, will not go without a fight.
But we know the end of the story. The death, which comes, cannot silence the truth of John’s words, and even death itself cannot hold Jesus’ life at bay. The powers of this world find themselves crumbling against the weakness of God, and the power of God brings renewal and peace and new life where before no peace could be found.
When Zechariah held his baby boy he saw, in John, the fulfilment of God’s promise to Abraham, and to Isaac, and to Jacob, and to Moses, and to the many generations that had gone before his own. The promise that was made aeons ago was revealed before his eyes.
Today, as we gather to celebrate Communion together, we, like Zechariah, hold God’s promise of hope and peace in our hands. Like all who have gone before us, we look back at the promises made, and we look forward to the ultimate fulfilment of those promises. Communion is an introduction of sorts, a hint, a snippet, a taste of things to come – an assurance that the promise will be fulfilled.
John: the Hinge of History
