One whom you do not know

John 1: 6-8 and 19-28, NT pages 91-92 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 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. Now they had been sent from the Pharisees. They asked him, “Why then are you baptizing if you are neither the Messiah, nor Elijah, nor the prophet?” John answered them, “I baptize with water. 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.” This took place in Bethany across the Jordan where John was baptizing. Sermon I have a new suit. There’s a chance that you’ve seen it already on Facebook or when I was marching in the Christmas Parade last Monday, but I don’t have it on today because while Jim Ross told me that he’d pay me $100 to wear it to church Marcy told me she pay me $200 if I didn’t. It’s that kind of suit. Bright red pants and jacket, decorated with reindeer, Christmas trees, snowmen, and holly leaves. There’s even a matching tie, and after I wore it to the Youth Christmas Party last Sunday, Dawn Taylor posted a picture of it to Facebook and all kinds of people wanted to know where I got it. More than one person from Good Shepherd Presbyterian Church, the church I last served, wrote a comment too, which was exciting, only they didn’t say anything about the suit. Not having seen me in more than four years all they wanted to know was what happened to all my hair. Sometimes no matter what you put out there, no matter how flashy and ridiculous, it won’t attract as much attention as what is missing. Even a Christmas suit can’t make up for a receding hair line. A new car can’t make up for a youth come to an end. And no matter how beautiful the dress, how covered up in furs, all some people will talk about is the absence of a wedding ring on her finger, because sometimes we’re defined not by what we have, but by what we’ve lost. We’re not just identified according to what we do but also by what we abstain from. Sometimes we are defined, not by who we are – but by who we are not. Take step children, for example. They are sometimes more than willing to tell the man married to their mother, who he is not by proclaiming, “You are not my father.” Frustrated people everywhere yell, “You’re not the boss of me,” and when they do it’s meant to hurt a little bit, but don’t forget how much freedom comes from knowing and accepting, not just who you are, but also who you are not. John the Baptist was absolutely clear. “I am not the Messiah,” he said to the priest and Levites from Jerusalem who were sent by the Pharisees. No doubt there were many who wanted him to be, there may have even been a part of him willing to pretend and reap the benefits of being the person the crowds wanted him to be. However, he was secure in his role as the voice crying out in the wilderness, the one who proclaimed: ‘Make straight the way of the Lord.’ He was secure enough to avoid the trap of being someone other than the person God created him to be, even if that meant coming to terms with his limitations. Maybe you know that following his example is not as easy as it sounds, so there’s an important lesson here for you and for me, maybe especially during this time of year. My sister on the other hand, excelled sometimes. Every year growing up we’d go to my grandparent’s house for Christmas. My grandmother wanted to buy us all something special to eat from Costco, the only thing is that she never asked us what we wanted, she just went from memory, and according to my father, if she couldn’t remember she’d just make something up. At breakfast she’d announce to my little sister, “Elizabeth, I bought you those poppy-seed muffins that you like so much,” and since it was from Costco there were at least 50 of them. Our grandmother would go to heat one up in the microwave for her, then put some butter on it, because she thought that was delicious, but my sister, ever determined to be known on her own terms, would stop her in her tacks by saying, “I don’t like those muffins Nanny.” “But I thought you loved them, so I bought them just for you,” our grandmother would respond, and it’s at this point where I’d try to communicate with my sister using telepathy – “just take a muffin Elizabeth”, I’d say to her in my mind without speaking at all – “Just take a muffin, it’s not worth it!” But my sister would go even further, “I never liked those muffins Nanny. The seeds get stuck in my teeth.” I can hardly imagine doing such a thing. For me, it is hard to be honest about who I am not, especially around those members of my family who want me to be, not the person that I am, but the person they’re expecting me to be. Doing so is so hard in fact, that my grandmother went to her grave believing that I loved the red shirts she bought me every year for Christmas. A few of them are in my closet right now. I’m used to having them there, because I’d pull one out to wear it whenever she came over, but now they just hang there reminding me of not having enough courage to be myself. That’s a hard thing to do. Especially if you’re used to practicing, straining even to be someone else. When I was 12 or 13 I hated the sound of my voice and how it hadn’t changed, so I’d just pretend that it had, talk in as deep a voice as I could muster. We were on our way to Florida for Thanksgiving. We stopped for lunch. I ordered: “I’d like a chicken melt plate,” and the Waffle House waitress commented to my mother, what a strong, deep voice her son had. “Strained voice, more like it,” my mother responded. Doesn’t it sound liberating – to stop straining. To relax and be the people that we are instead of the people we think we’re supposed to be. That’s what John did. He knew who he was and he knew even better who he wasn’t, but if you’re anything like me, accepting yourself as you are and as you aren’t is easier said than done. Perfection is the goal – creating the perfect Christmas where everyone gets what they want to eat, everyone gets along, and snow covers the ground, airbrushing away every flaw. Sinless, flawless, ageless and beautiful – that’s what we want and who we think we’re meant to be, but let me tell you the truth, the truth that John knew – if you could be the family pictured on your Christmas Card 365 days of the year, then what reason would you have for the Savior to come? “I baptize with water,” John told the priests and Levites from Jerusalem, but “Among you stands one whom you do not know.” And we don’t know him, who he is and what he came to do, we don’t understand Christmas so long as we buy this lie that perfection is the goal and that until we’ve attained it we are disappointments. We don’t know him if we think we were supposed to strain for salvation ourselves, for he came not to give you a reason to decorate a tree and fight over some toy in Walmart – he came to bring comfort to you – all of you who work for perfection without ever getting it. He came to make the desert like the Garden of Eden. He came to bring gladness to the ones who can’t seem to find a reason to get out of bed. In him and who he is, “everlasting joy shall be upon [your] head”… you “shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall fall away.” Not because you’ve finally done it. Not because you’ve been enough or you’ve done enough. Simply because you’ve finally seen yourself for who you are not. And once you know who you are not you finally can understand who he is, this Savior who is coming soon. Amen.