Mattia Preti, Saint John the Baptist Preaching (c. 1665)
In the Gospel today, we hear that John the Baptist is confronted by representatives from the Jewish authorities in Jerusalem. They have come to ask him directly who he is. As we heard last week, John lived in the desert, preaching repentance and baptizing those who were sorry for their sins and wanted to reconcile with God. Clearly, many had begun to wonder just what this man was about – whether he was the Messiah they had been waiting for, the Prophet whom some believed would come before the end times, or someone else. And so they ask him, “Who are you? What do you have to say for yourself?”
John is very frank with them. While the people who had come out to see him in the desert and perhaps even the Jewish authorities thought that this one at last was the Christ that they had been expecting, John tells them they are mistaken. They’ve got the wrong guy; he’s not their man. Perhaps if we were crafting the Gospel story, this case of mistaken identity might have lingered a bit longer, to play up the suspense. But our Gospel writer, St. John the Evangelist, is interested in the story’s spiritual rather than literary value. John the Baptist, he makes clear, is under no illusions about who he is. He has been sent by God not to direct attention to himself, but to prepare the way for someone far greater.
On this Third Sunday of the Advent season, we recall just who that is – the one that the Baptist prepared for, the one that we await. Our expectation for him is so great that we even allow ourselves to begin even now to rejoice, to anticipate his coming with gladness and gratitude. The presence of John the Baptist is a signal that the Lord’s salvation is at hand. He is the Herald that announces the coming of the King, the King not yet here but coming very soon.
John the Baptist kept his eyes on the one who is really important, and we have to do the same. Like the people in the desert, and the Jewish authorities from Jerusalem, we too can fall victim at times to mistaking identity – not of John the Baptist, that is, but our own. While we should be rejoicing at the coming of our King, often we can become too weighed down by the chronicles of our own lives that we forget the overall plot. We can mistake our own story – with its ups and downs, joys and sorrows – as the primary narrative that should shape our reality, when really, it isn't.
Don’t we all have the tendency at times, perhaps especially at this time of year, to focus exclusively on what we are doing, on what is happening to us, and in doing so, to miss how God is at work around us? There is a kind of spiritual solipsism whereby we can become too wrapped up in what we are about that we miss entirely what God might be wanting us to reveal. The key to true happiness is understanding that we exist not as the primary actor of our own stories, but as characters caught up in a wonderful tale of God’s love for the world, and he is at the center of it. John the Baptist understood this – he played the part he had to play, and he played it well, but he didn’t mistake his role for something greater than what it was.
Let me share with you a bit of spiritual wisdom that I learned from a spiritual director in seminary, now gone to his eternal reward: live your life as if God is the protagonist, rather than yourself. It may sound counterintuitive – that you are not the center of the story. But believe it or not, you’ll be far happier if you live that way than otherwise. If you think to yourself, “What is the Lord doing today? Where is the Lord moving? How is the Lord speaking and acting?”, you will find that without the pressure of being at the center of everything, you have more the space to move and breathe and and look around you, and see what God is doing. Just look at John the Baptist. This man sent by God, as the Gospel tells us, whom Jesus describes in another place as the greatest born of a woman – what does he do? He acknowledges his lowliness: “I am not worthy to untie his sandal,” and steps aside for Jesus: “He must increase, and I must decrease.”
A lot of this, of course, is much easier said than done. Perhaps you’re thinking, “Father, if only you knew what I’m facing right now, how much my friend or relative is hurting, how lonely and anxious I feel; how can I possibly rejoice?” I hear you. Rejoicing, and being told to rejoice, doesn’t make all of our problems go away. But when we are struggling, it’s all the more important to lay hold of those truths that truly matter. Like a loving Mother, the Church consoles us by saying if we only knew how much those things, great though they may seem, pale in comparison to the love that God has for us, and the peace that Jesus can bring, we could not help but rejoice. St. Faustina Kowalska, the Polish nun who lived a century ago and who herself knew much suffering, once said, “If the suffering soul only knew how much it is loved by God, it would die of joy and excess of happiness!”
My friends, the stories of our lives are all vastly different, but they share one thing in common. At their heart, our lives have all been defined by one tale – classic, timeless even – summarized in this way: a Savior has been born for us, our King has come, and each day he wishes to fill us anew with his peace and joy. Don’t mistake your present concerns, great as they may be, with your true identity: a child of God, beloved by him, redeemed in Christ. No matter what trial you may face or darkness you may encounter, the love of God for you in Christ cannot be taken away. Make that reality your guiding narrative, as John the Baptist did. Put the Lord and what he has done at the center of your story, and you will find the right way to approach each moment, each challenge, each development in your own character arc.
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