There was only one John the Baptist, and yet it’s not a stretch to suggest that his mission is our mission. This week’s Gospel comes from John:
This is the testimony given by John when the Jews 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.” Then they said to him, “Who are you? Let us have an answer for those who sent us. What do you say about yourself?” He said,
“I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness,‘Make straight the way of the Lord,’”
as the prophet Isaiah said.
The next day he saw Jesus coming toward him and declared, “Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!
Last week I noted how Mark’s Gospel pairs wilderness with the announcement of “good news.” I made the point that in the Bible and in our lives, good news is usually preceded by a wilderness experience. This week I’d like to suggest that while we trudge through a desolate wilderness we also have a mission. We’re not called simply to persevere and patiently trust in God’s eventual rescue. We also have a job to do. And that job is suggested by John the Baptist.
John’s mission was to announce to the multitudes the coming of Jesus Christ, in particular that he is “the Lamb of God,” who, by his death and resurrection, “takes away the sin of the world.” That, of course, is one of our callings. We may not have the gift to publicly announce the coming of Christ, but we are nonetheless called to live in such a way, and to speak to family and friends as the occasion warrants, about Jesus Christ and his redeeming work. And this, in the middle of our own desert.
At such times, this is not an easy thing to do. We’re struggling to trust in God’s goodness as we endure the suffering he has allowed us to experience–and we’re supposed to live and speak in such a way that suggests it is a good thing that Jesus Christ has come to rescue us?
There’s a story about St. Teresa of Avila (it’s unclear whether it’s apocryphal or not, but it is certainly a story that fits the personality of the outspoken saint). She had some unfortunate incident, perhaps falling off her horse into the mud. Whatever the circumstances, she heard Jesus say to her, “This is how I treat my friends,” to which she replied, “If this is how You treat your friends, it is no wonder You have so few!”
So, it’s not easy to praise God and to point people to his goodness when it seems we’re not experiencing it. But there you have it: it is part of what it means to trust God in all circumstances.
A related aspect of this weighty phrase: Our personal wilderness is a special occasion–again, God-given–to make straight the way of the Lord in our own hearts and minds. There is nothing like a dose of suffering to help us ponder more deeply the state of our souls. We gain insights into ourselves during such periods, insights that never occur to us otherwise. I often say that I never really learn anything unless I suffer to one degree or another.
All this points to the image at the top of the page. It is an altarpiece by Matthias Grunewald (1470-15). Wikipedia:
It is Grünewald's largest work and is regarded as his masterpiece. It was painted for the Monastery of St. Anthony in Issenheim near Colmar, which specialized in hospital work. The Antonine monks of the monastery were noted for their care of plague sufferers as well as for their treatment of skin diseases, such as ergotism. The image of the crucified Christ is pitted with plague-type sores, showing patients that Jesus understood and shared their afflictions.
Note especially the bony, distorted finger of John the Baptist pointing to our crucified Lord. Grunewald seems to be saying that it’s not about the fame of John; it’s not even about our suffering. It’s about Jesus Christ. It is in this sense that our mission is the same as John the Baptist’s: We point to Christ in our prayers, in the way we persevere in suffering, and in the way we speak about him to others–even if we’re in the middle of the desert with no oasis in sight.
As you may suspect, I’m mostly preaching to myself as I traverse a dry period!
Culture Links Why Does Anyone Go to Mass? by Matthew Walther (The Lamp)
This analysis of Catholic attendance at Mass applies in large measure to church attendance in many traditions. At least it seems so to me. Catholics do not have a corner on declining attendance. The Work of Sports Betting; In a pop-cultural landscape stripped of meaning—the true “context of no context”—gambling on sports content offers a frisson of ersatz excitement, by Oliver Bateman (Splice Today).
Though this piece focuses on sports betting, it is about trends and pressures that fundamentally sabotage community in other aspects of our culture.
Grace and peace,
Mark
P.S. I will be taking next two weeks off, returning on January 5. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to all. I deeply appreciate your support of my writing efforts, and am especially thankful for my paid subscribers who help pay internet costs, subscriptions, and when there is some left over, art supplies! (I’ve taken up drawing and painting, and I’ll share some work in the new year).
I have to thank you again, Mark, for ministering to us in such meaningful ways in the midst of your wilderness wanderings. Speaking as someone who's been experiencing the same for more or less 40 years, it really helps me reflect that sometimes God uses us most and best when we have absolutely no sense of our own usefulness.
Bless your Christmas and New Year's. A blessed 2024 to you as well.