Luke 1:67-79

         “What’s his name?” All my relatives had gathered around me, a brand-new baby boy, well, not entirely brand new. It had been a week since I came out of my mother’s womb.

         My grandfather, proud of his son, suggested they name me Zechariah, after my father.

         Now women didn’t have much say in such matters in those days, but my mother Elizabeth objected. “No, his name is John.”

         A buzz flew around the room as that name was repeated and repeated, always with a question mark on the end. “John?”

         “But none of your relatives have that name!” complained one of my uncles.

         “John,” my mother insisted.

         My father couldn’t speak to explain, since he lost his voice about nine months ago. It’s kind of a strange story, but this is what they told me.

         We lived in a small Judean village in the hill country, away from Jerusalem. It was Father’s turn to serve in the Temple. They drew lots to see who would enter the sanctuary of the Lord to offer the incense. That time Father was chosen.

         He went in with the incense burner, while all the people who were worshiping waited outside. This was a very important part of his work, so he was concentrating on the burner, when suddenly, without any warning, he realized that he was not alone. The someone who had appeared was not anyone he knew.

         The someone, an angel, told him not to be afraid. “Your prayer has been heard. Your wife Elizabeth will bear you a son, and you will name him John.”

         My father had never before seen an angel, and being told not to be afraid was not changing his fear. The angel told Father that this son would be filled with the Holy Spirit, even before his birth. And that he … I … would turn many of the people of Israel back to the Lord, with the spirit and power of Elijah.

         Now my father is a very practical man. He knew that Mother was too old to have a child. He never told me exactly what he said to the angel, but the angel got all huffy and angry. “I am Gabriel! I stand in the presence of God, and I have been sent to speak to you and to bring you this good news. But now, because you did not believe my words, which will be fulfilled in their time, you will become mute, unable to speak, until the day these things occur.”

         Sure enough, when Father went back out, he couldn’t even whisper. The only way he could communicate was to write something down.

         They sent him home, and sometime later Mother realized that something was happening inside her body. That something was ME.

         So now they were trying to name me. Mother insisted that they would call me John. Like children who get the wrong answer from their mother, my relatives turned to my father. He took a piece of papyrus and wrote down, “His name is John.”

         Immediately, words came out of his mouth, words they could hear and understand. “His name is John, like she said.”

         But he didn’t stop there. He gave a long speech about God looking favorably on the people of Israel, and that I would have a part in preparing a way, “to give knowledge of salvation to our people by the forgiveness of their sins, … to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide feet into the way of peace.”

         Now that’s a pretty big assignment for a week-old baby, but I grew up knowing what my job in life would be. I was not a city boy. We lived out in the hill country, and I learned how to live off the land. I did not follow in my father’s footsteps, because I did not become a priest. I had a greater assignment, a bigger job to do.

         The time came when I accepted that task, when I walked out of my home, left my family behind, and went out to the region of the Jordan River. There I began to preach, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.

         Yes, I looked rather strange to most folks, because I wore a camel-skin garment with a leather belt. Everyone in those days, at least, all my people, grew beards, but mine was a masterpiece, full and flowing. You folks have heard that I ate locusts, you know, grasshoppers, but add some wild honey, and they make a delicious meal. Of course, three times a day, every day, …

         Anyway, I soon had a reputation as a baptizing preacher, and people came out from Jerusalem and all over the country to listen to me and to be baptized. At first it was just the country folk, the villagers. When I talked to them about repenting, about learning to live new lives, they listened. I could see it in their faces. Then I would baptize them, and, most of them, I think, went home to live differently, to treat their family and their neighbors with respect. I was making a difference, like I had been raised to know I should.

         But then the city folk began to appear in the crowds, and they wanted to know what to do.

         “Whoever has two coats must share with anyone who has none. Whoever has food must do likewise.”

         The tax collectors asked, “What should we do?”

         I almost laughed. The words that came to my mind were, “Quit being tax collectors!” But they didn’t have much choice. We followed in our father’s line of work. What else could they do? Somebody was going to have to collect the taxes for the Romans. “Don’t collect any more than what is assigned to you.”

         And then the soldiers asked, “And we, what should we do?”

         Again I wanted to tell them to stop being soldiers. But again, they didn’t have a choice. “Don’t extort money from others by threats and false accusations. Be satisfied with your wages.”

         I don’t know how many heeded my words, but you could tell by their faces which ones went home and at least thought about what I said.

         When the religious leaders showed up, I didn’t think they were likely to be impressed by what I said. People who had plenty, tended to want to keep what they had, not to give it away, even when they didn’t need the extra they have.

         “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bear fruits worthy of repentance.”

         These men liked to brag about being descendants of Abraham, as if their pedigrees alone would save them, so I jumped on them about that.

“Don’t tell me that you have Abraham as your ancestor. Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees. Every tree that does not bear good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.”

         But I wasn’t the one they thought they were looking for. I remembered my father’s words, “You will go before the Lord to prepare his ways, to give knowledge of salvation to this people by the forgiveness of their sins.”

         I was the forerunner, the one who would point to the Messiah. So when I baptized them in the river Jordan, I told them, “I baptize you with water, but one who is more powerful than I is coming. I am not worthy to untie the throng of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fork is in his hand, to clear his threshold floor and to gather the wheat into his granary.” Then I gave them the alternative. “But the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire.”

         Then one cloudy day, while I was waving my arms and urging them all to repent, to be baptized in repentance, I saw him. From one viewpoint, he looked like anyone else, dressed like any of the villagers, dusty from walking, surrounded by a few friends, beard uncombed, like most of the other men. But there was something about him, an aura, if you wish, that made him stand out. And an inner voice said to me, “This is the One.”

         He joined the group of men entering the water. I looked into his eyes, and he looked deeply into mine. Something connected, held us together for some time. Then I spoke, “I should be baptized by you, not the other way around.”

         He smiled and shook his head. “We’ll do it this way now, to fulfill all righteousness.”

         I wasn’t exactly sure what he meant by that, but I reached for him, laid him into the water, and baptized him. Then the clouds split apart and a beam came down. It was more than a sunbeam, because it turned into a dove. The dove came down and rested on his shoulder. And with the dove came words, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”

         He paused, drew a deep breath, and raised his eyes to the break in the clouds. His lips moved, but I didn’t hear his words.

         Then he walked away, headed toward the wilderness. I didn’t see him again. Was he the One I had come before?

General questions

1) How does this story follow its Scripture?

2) How does this story expand its Scripture for you?

3) What is the message of this story?

4) How does the message apply to us today?

Specific questions

5) Why was the angel angry at Zechariah?

6) What would it be like to lose your voice?

7) The crowd asked John the Baptist if he was the one. Later he sent disciples to ask Jesus if he was the one. How did Jesus’ answer differ from John’s?

8) The other gospels do not tell that John hesitated to baptize Jesus. Why would Luke do that?