Sermon - Both sides of John the Baptist

St. John the Forerunner, Angel of the Desert, Lyuba Yatskiv, 2019

Sermon preached at Evensong at St Stephen's Rochester Row on Sunday 28th August 2022 (Year C, 11th after Trinity, Proper 17) based on the text of John 3.22-36

This bank holiday weekend many people will be spending time on road trips - as far as the traffic jams will allow of course! Looking out for funny signs is often a good way to brighten up a long and tedious car journey. I found a book full of funny signs recently and thought I would share some of the cleaner ones with you (which isn’t actually that many!)

 

There’s a place called Pee Pee Creek, which at first I thought might be that little alley at the side of the English National Opera - you might know the one - you have to hold your nose as you dash to the pub at the end! But no! It would actually be quite pleasant to find yourself up to the waist in Pee Pee Creek which, it turns out, is a rather a beautiful river in Ohio; it’s name taken from the first initials of an Irish settler who founded the nearby town. 

 

You can choose to drive to Hell and back - the place named after an Old Norse word “hellir” which means “overhang”. What’s rather marvellous is that Hell - in South West Norway - literally freezes over for a large part of the year! 

 

And, closer to home, there’s the cause of the annual deficit in the Welsh transport department budget - all the signs to Llanfairpwllgwyngyllgogerychwyrndrobwllllantysiliogogogoch! With apologies to any genuine Welsh speakers out there! 

 

 

Tonight in our scripture reading we come across another rather unusual, sign. The only man who never gets told off for pointing - John the Baptist, who we encounter here in the Gospel of John for the second and final time. 

 

I say he’s an unusual sign not because of the hair shirts or locust eating - although that is pretty unusual - but because - as we learn tonight - he’s a sign that changes.

 

You might recall the first occasion we meet John the Baptist, in those passages at the beginning of the Gospel that we associate particularly with the seasons of Lent and Advent, in which he describes himself as “the voice of one crying out in the wilderness “Make straight the way of the Lord””. 

 

John’s whole being is so intricately bound up with the divine word he has been called to proclaim, that there is no distinction between ‘man’ and ‘message’. John ‘is’ the ‘voice’ of God.

 

Mentioned by all four evangelists - and other writings that survive from the time - it is clear that through his ministry proclaiming a baptism of repentance for forgiveness of sins, John had built up a considerable band of followers - the gospels refer to ‘disciples’ of his own. 

 

In the reading we heard this evening,  some of these followers explain that they have seen Jesus baptizing people himself - and that his popularity is growing. They want to know what their man thinks of the competition. 

 

John’s reply reveals his characteristic humility. His mission was to pave the way for Jesus. Now his cousin’s ministry is established and increasing, John’s can and must decrease. No longer is John in broadcast mode - a voice crying out in the wilderness - he is now a listener. He describes himself as a ‘friend of the bridegroom’, who rejoices greatly at the ‘sound of bridegroom’s voice.’

 

 

We are all, like John the Baptist, called to be living signposts, whose lives direct others to the way of Christ. Living is the operative word; to point others to the Good News we must first live it for ourselves. Breathing it - in and out. This means recognising when to be in broadcast mode and when to turn the dial to ‘receive.’ For many of us, that doesn’t come naturally. Our signposts often get rusted into one position. Set in our ways. Saying and doing the same things. 

 

Two years ago, in the height of the lockdown, I came here with some fellow students from the seminary. It was a time when many of the programmes and social action initiatives that characterise so much of the life of St Stephen’s - that define its very being - had been put on hold. Like the ministry of John the Baptist, you too had built up a significant community of fellow travellers, with partnerships, links and connections not only within the parish but all around the world. But much of this excellent ministry had to be paused, to avoid exacerbating the transmission of the corona virus. Activities were postponed, some moving online where this was possible. 

 

As part of a project we called Nine Lessons in Lockdown, we recorded the experiences of this community as you, like John the Baptist, switched from broadcast to receive mode. Noticing the grandeur of God in the small things of life; finding a new appreciation for the ordinary. The beauty of the natural world. The value of chance meetings and conversations. The importance of routine. The benefit of ‘being’ a community - as well as striving to ‘build’ it. 

 

In the midst of the hardship and the loss of the lockdown - when at times the church could feel so empty - we learnt to appreciate the fullness of God’s grace. We came closer to understanding what John the Baptist meant when he said “He must increase, but I must decrease.”

 

So this evening we remember and give thanks for both sides of the ministry of John the Baptist - a living signpost who points two ways. Not only a voice in the wilderness - but also a listening ear.  

 

May we too strive to become such “funny signs” for God. 

 

Amen.

 

 Image : St. John the Forerunner, Angel of the Desert, Lyuba Yatskiv, 2019