Matthew 11:2-11
2 When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by
his disciples 3 and said to him, "Are you the one who is to come, or are
we to wait for another?" 4 Jesus answered them, "Go and tell John
what you hear and see: 5 the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the
lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good
news brought to them. 6 And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me."
7 As they went away, Jesus began to speak to the crowds about John: "What
did you go out into the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the wind? 8
What then did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes? Look, those who
wear soft robes are in royal palaces. 9 What then did you go out to see? A
prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet. 10 This is the one about
whom it is written, "See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you, who will
prepare your way before you.' 11 Truly I tell you, among those born of women no
one has arisen greater than John the Baptist; yet the least in the kingdom of
heaven is greater than he.
Where do you find joy? That can be a
philosophical question. You may say something like, “I find joy in the laughter
of a child,” or “I find joy in the unnoticed blessings of clear night sky.”
That can be a more active question for some of you. You might say you find joy
in the rhythmic action of casting a line and reeling in a hook, or you might
say you find joy in the satisfaction of fixing something with your own two
hands.
Still, for others, that can be a very literal question, like that scene
in my favorite movie Forrest Gump
when Forrest runs into Lt. Dan in New York City after a television appearance
about his ping pong travels in China. Lt. Dan begins to complain about the way
the other vets are always asking him about Jesus, and he looks at Forrest and
says, “Have you found Jesus, Gump?” and Forrest replies, “I didn’t know I was
supposed to be looking for him.” That’s how some of us hear the question,
“Where do you find joy?” You may find joy in a tree stand on a cold December
morning, or you may find joy on a quiet morning on the golf course. You may
find joy around the table at Momma and Daddy’s house after church on Sunday.
There may be many locations, places where you find joy, but the last place I
think any of us would expect to find it is in a jail cell.
As much as we may try to fool ourselves into thinking jail is gravy train
with biscuit wheels (with three meals a day, cable television, and all the
workout equipment one could ever want) it is still jail, still a place of
separation and confinement, a place where few (if any) would ever go looking
for signs of joy. But on this third Sunday of Advent, we find ourselves in a
jail cell—and not the sort with indoor plumbing, a mattress, bed linens, and
modern temperature controls—a jail cell in ancient Judea. There, perhaps
squatting on the floor in the corner, we find (not joy) but what’s left of that
emboldened preacher from last week at the Jordan River.
John (like a number of us preachers) has gotten himself in trouble by
opening his mouth. He had preached against the recent actions of Herod Antipas
(one of the Tetrarchs of Judea, son of Herod the Great), particularly his
taking his brother’s wife. In retaliation, John was imprisoned and eventually
beheaded. In that jail cell, John has had time to think—maybe too much time to
think—and so he sends word by some of his disciples to Jesus (the one whom he
had only recently proclaimed as “the Lamb of God who takes away the sins of the
world” in the first chapter of the Fourth Gospel). He asks, "Are
you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?" Are
you really the one I claimed you are? Are you really the one whose sandals I’m
not fit to carry? Are you really the one about whom the angel told Mary with
tidings of comfort and joy? Are you really
the one who is to come, or should we hang on and wait for someone else?
You can understand where John is coming from, can’t you? He’s stuck his
neck out preaching about an increasingly close kingdom; he’s stuck his neck out
proclaiming Jesus as the Lamb of God, and now he’s about to stick his neck out
far enough to have his head removed from it! “Look Jesus, ‘Are you the one who is to come,
or are we to wait for another?’, because if so, then I need to get
myself out of this joyless jail and head out looking for him!”
Jesus gets word of John’s question, and in typical Jesus fashion he
responds without really answering his question: "Go and tell John what you
hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are
cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news
brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me."
Now, if I had been John, sitting in that cell, waiting for my inevitable
execution, I believe I would have taken such a response from Jesus with at
least a tinge of frustration. After all, Jesus’ response may sound hopeless,
void of joy, to one who is waiting out life in a cold cell. I believe I might
have replied by saying something like, “Good for the blind! Good for the lame!
I’m proud for all those lepers and the deaf! What a sight it must be to see the
dead come back to life, and I’m glad the poor have another bleeding heart to
tell them good news! But what about ME
Jesus?! What about that whole notion of setting the captives free?!”
Thankfully, I wasn’t John, for I have a feeling John heard what he needed to
hear in the jail cell; I think in those reaffirming words from Jesus, John
found joy—a joy that came with the assurance that Jesus was indeed the one who
was to come.
But Jesus isn’t finished with us in this passage yet. For after he sends
word back to John, he turns his focus to the crowd: "What did you go out into
the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the wind? What then did you go out
to see? Someone dressed in soft robes? Look, those who wear soft robes are in
royal palaces. What then did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and
more than a prophet. This is the one about whom it is written, ‘See, I am
sending my messenger ahead of you, who will prepare your way before you.' Truly
I tell you, among those born of women no one has arisen greater than John the
Baptist; yet the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he.”
Perhaps word had gotten around that John was beginning to have doubts about
Jesus, or maybe news of his imprisonment was causing doubt in others. Either
way, Jesus’ words ring with a tone of rebuke: “What’d you expect to see out in
the country, wading in the creek? An agitator? A rabble rouser? Maybe you
expected to see a televangelist on a big, gold chair with big, pink hair? Did
you expect to see a prophet, one proclaiming the word of the Lord and the
coming day of God? Well you got that, and I aim to tell you, you got more than
that! You got the one who other prophets only hinted at! You went out and saw
more than a prophet!”
Now, I don’t know if those words got back to John, but if they did, maybe
he felt a slight swelling of pride as his cousin proclaimed how great he was,
how John was head and shoulders above every person ever born. But those last
words may have been a bit confusing, troubling even: “yet the least in the kingdom of
heaven is greater than he.” Nobody born up to that point was greater
than John the Baptist, but Jesus said John was least in the kingdom of heaven. John
was more than a prophet, but least in the kingdom. What a humbling expression!
John the Baptist, the cousin of Jesus, the one who was greater than all men
born up to his lifetime (that presumably includes Abraham, Moses, David, and
all the other prophets) was least in the kingdom. That has to make you wonder
where you stack up, doesn’t it?
I think in some way, that’s the point. You see, in the Fourth Gospel
(John), chapter three, verse 30 John the Baptist says this about Jesus: “He
must increase, but I must decrease." I don’t suppose John thought
he’d decrease all the way to the bottom of the list of those in God’s kingdom. Nevertheless,
John got it with that expression: “He must increase, but I must
decrease." That’s what discipleship is all about: decreasing
ourselves and increasing Christ. Letting go of what defines us as us, and
taking hold of what defines Christ. In the end, that’s the only true way to
find joy (even in a jail cell). The only
true way to find joy is to let go of all those things that define you (pride,
ego, selfishness, service, titles, awards, distinctions, habits, addictions…)
and take hold of all those things that Christ freely offers to us all (hope,
peace, joy, love, salvation…).
As John sat in that cell, I’m sure it was hard for him to find joy. As
the people of God longed for a messiah, I’m sure it was hard for them to find
joy in a world that seemed to continually punish them. On a day like today, in
a week like this, I know it’s hard to find joy, and I know it can be hard to
think let go of what defines us, what defines our loved ones and friends. But
just as John was more than a prophet, we are more than whatever label we choose
to give ourselves, or whatever labels others may try to impose upon us. We are
children of God. We are the beloved of God.
Jesus calls John least in the kingdom because it seemed John was just
starting to get it: “He must increase, but I must decrease,” and yet he still
struggled with faith: "Are you the one who is to come, or are
we to wait for another?" Jesus is the one who came; he came in
manger, to the most unlikely of parents in a backwater province of ancient
Judea. Jesus is the one who is to come; he is coming as the Church lives the
gospel, as believers share the love of Christ in word and deed, as the day of
resurrection draws closer. We don’t have to wait for another. We simply wait
for the one who told us he’s coming again, and we wait with an inexplicable
joy. We wait with the anticipation of those who long to see sisters, brothers,
parents, children, and friends who have gone before us. We wait, knowing that
the place we find joy is in the loving presence of our God, in the presence of
the Holy Spirit, even in this place this morning.
May you find joy as you decrease so that Christ may increase, and may you
find that inexplicable awesome joy today.
Let us pray…
