The voice of one crying out in the wilderness

Mark 1: 1-8, NT page 34 The beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. As it is written in the prophet Isaiah, “See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way; The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.’” John the baptizer appeared in the wilderness, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. And people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to him, and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. Now John was clothed with camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey. He proclaimed, “The one who is more powerful than I is coming after me; I am not worthy to stoop down and untie the thong of his sandals. I have baptized you with water; but he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.” Sermon Someone backed into our car while it was parked behind my parent’s house. We didn’t hear it happen so no one rushed outside to see, and whoever was driving the car that hit ours just drove off without leaving a note or making an effort to put things right. And that was frustrating. That frustration was all that I could focus on for a little while, especially as I stood out in the rain talking to the insurance lady who was processing our claim. She was perfectly nice, cheery even two days before Thanksgiving, but it’s hard to be thankful for a kindness when the voice inside your head that’s primed for frustration has some injustice to focus on. “How could someone be so selfish as to hit another person’s car, and then just drive off,” the voice asked. “It was probably somebody talking on their cell phone who didn’t even notice what was happening. Or someone listening to their music too loud. Or someone trying to write a text message not watching the road.” “Just what is the world coming to,” the voice in my head asked next, as the dent in my driver’s side door became a reason to air all of my grievances and my grievances became all that I could focus on. Sara came outside to check on me after a while. She said, “No one was hurt, the car still runs, and we have an insurance policy to cover the whole thing,” her voice rescuing me from the voice in my head. It’s amazing what just one voice can do. A voice cried out in the wilderness, and when people from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem heard it, they went out to John, and were baptized in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. This voice must have been something like my wife’s voice, calling their attention away from distraction and frustration, refocusing the minds of women and men to gratitude and thanksgiving. It must have been a voice like the voice of a child to a mother’s ears. No matter how loud the television, no matter how focused her mind is on listening to a conversation rooms away, that small voice of a child penetrates the noise and “Mommy, I need you,” is all that she can hear. The voice of John the Baptist – like a glimmer of truth in a culture of smoke and mirrors – like the taste of authenticity when all around you are fake smiles and false promises – like a whisper or a shout – like a warning and a hope – but it is always one voice among others so your ears must be trained to listen. That’s easier said than done in a culture as noisy as ours. There may be in all of us, something that recognizes the truth when it speaks, no matter how softly, but that’s not to say that the truth can’t be drowned out. It can. One or two voices can drown out the other ones, so every Sunday many church members listen to our church service on their radio. They’ll call me and say that the choir sounds so much better in the sanctuary than on the radio, and that’s because I stand closer to the microphone than the choir does so unfortunately for everyone out there listening on WKRM my voice drowns the choir out. It’s so hard to train your ear to listen to the right voice among so many others. Our culture is noisy. It’s flooded by sounds and claims, many are the lies and few are the truths, and we are all drifting in the midst of them, left to discern the fact from the fiction on our own. With conviction John the Baptist preached from his pulpit in the wilderness, but know that the Pharisee in the Temple preached with just as much conviction, and with far more polish, poise, and all the trappings of authority. There’s a Christmas special on PBS for kids. The point of the thing is that getting toys isn’t what Christmas is all about, but how will a child ever grasp that message when the exact opposite is proclaimed on every other channel. There are competing truth claims all around us. It’s as true today just as it was then, and when so many people heard the voice of John the Baptist they knew who to listen to. They journeyed out there to hear him by the hundreds, by the thousands, but would you have been among them? Can you recognize the truth when you hear it? Sometimes I can. Sometimes I can’t. Like a needle stuck on one grove of a record album, there’s a voice in my head that repeats over and over again. It is silent while I sleep but it will pick right up again when I wake up if I let it. And it’s there to convince me that my frailty is what counts. That my mistakes are what defines me. That my failures are obvious and severe, and nothing that’s gone wrong can be made right again. That voice is right there in my head; it’s always there, but I need not always listen, for a voice cries out from the wilderness. Soft as it may be, sometimes nothing more than a whisper but there always none the less. The voice of a man sent from God proclaiming a baptism for the forgiveness of sins – yes you can be made clean. All that is wrong will be made right again. A Messiah is coming to you. Can you hear it? There’s a shout that rises from Ferguson, Missouri. It’s as loud as any other, it has everyone’s attention, it boldly proclaims that racism defines our justice system, and that white and black are no closer now than they were 50 years ago. I hear that voice, but there’s a whisper too, for just days before the verdict was read two churches worshiped here in this place, one white and one black, singing the same songs, eating from the same table, worshiping the same God, learning what it means to live as brothers and sisters. But nothing is getting any better a chorus of voices proclaim. In fact, it’s all getting worse, and that is the voice that I hear day in and day out. The city government is foolish, the school board ineffective, no one hears and no one cares says the voice, and the more you let this voice in the more you’ll believe it and the more the evil one will have you in his grasp. He wants you to give up. Hope is what he fears more than anything else, for as long as there is hope there is life, and where there is life death does not have the final say. He whispered in my ear as I stood outside the body shop to drop my car off for repairs. A man with a rental car was there with me, ready to drive me back to Hertz to fill out some paper work and send me on my way. His shoes were white and scuffed, his jeans a little dirty, and I asked him how he liked his work as he helped me take our car seats out of one car and put them into the other. He said, “I’m a glutton for punishment I guess.” He wanted to know what I do for a living as we stood there waiting for an estimate from the body shop, and whenever someone asks me what I do there’s a voice in my head telling me not to answer with the truth because funny things happen to people when they realize they’re talking to a preacher. I told him anyway, and this man, his name was Jake, didn’t say anything for a long time after I told him. When we got into the rental car to drive to the Hertz office he told me that his neighbors were Presbyterian. “Where do they go,” I asked him, he couldn’t remember the name. Then I really ignored the voice in my head, the one that told me to keep things professional, to never speak of religion if you’re not sure who you are talking to, and I asked him where he goes to church. A little embarrassed, he said that he didn’t. That he was raised Lutheran, always went to Vacation Bible School as a kid, but grew disappointed with the version of religion he was offered when he started to study for himself. That there was more to it than he had been told. “Have you read the Talmud,” he asked me. “The Talmud?” I said. “Yea, I really like it, and I have every volume of Strong’s Bible Commentary. And then there’s my favorite, what’s his name? The historian?” He couldn’t remember. “Josephus,” I guessed. “No, it’s Philo,” he remembered. “Philo?” I said. Then I asked, “Now who exactly are you?” The voice cries out in the wilderness, but you must listen to hear it. You must silence many voices, especially some in your head, for this voice cries out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord.’ He is coming, and he comes because he has not given up on you or on this world. Comfort, comfort, you my people. The Savior of the world draws near. Amen.