You’d think that John would recognize
his own cousin, the one he baptized in the Jordan, when God said in those deep,
booming tones: “This is my son, my beloved, in whom I am well-pleased.” If you
needed a message telegraphed that this was the Messiah, what more could you ask
for?
And yet John, locked away in prison
because he had chastised Herod for taking his brother’s wife, feels like he has
to ask the question. “Are you the one? Are you the Messiah?”
You’d think Jesus would be a bit put
off by that, but when he gets that message from John, he simply gives John the
information necessary to confirm his status: he quotes an excerpt from the
prophecy of Isaiah that we heard a few moments ago: "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."
The
gospel writer Matthew never gives us John’s reaction to that information. The
presumption is that the answer is sufficient, because Matthew then turns away
from this cousin-to-cousin dialogue and reports on Jesus’ preaching about John.
Jesus
lauds John as a fiery prophet, even more than a prophet, the fore-runner of the
Messiah. Remember that John is a political prisoner, so it’s a highly risky
thing to do. But the people, who have already embraced John as a prophet (remember
him baptizing people from all over the area in the Jordan?), are happy to hear
Jesus say these strong words in support of John.
They
might have worried that Jesus would say bad things about John, because there
was already a strong tradition of competing religious reformers in Israel at
that time. The Pharisees were religious reformers. So were the Sadducees, the
Essenes, and the Zealots. And it was common practice for an advocate of one
group to say harsh things about another.
But
here was Jesus saying that this political prisoner, his cousin John, was an
ally. More than that, John was a fore-runner. He was intended to prepare the
way for the Messiah. That’s a sterling endorsement.
But
then Jesus says something that seems out of place. “The least in the kingdom of
heaven is greater than he.”
Is
this a mark of disrespect? Is it intended to keep John in his place? Or is it
Jesus trying to get the people to focus on the larger picture, trying to
reshape their desire for a secular king to one that recognizes that the kingdom
of God is heaven-based? That secular kings like Herod and the Caesars are not
relevant in this discussion?
Or
is it something entirely different? A riddle, a twist of words that is designed
to get the listener to think that something upside-down is going on?
Might
Jesus be planting the idea that he – Jesus – is the least? He certainly talks
about himself as one who serves, all that language about “the last shall be
first and the first shall be last” and “Whoever becomes humble like this child is the greatest in
the kingdom of heaven.” He acts like it, washing the feet of his
disciples. And if he is the least, but he is also the Son of God, wouldn’t he
be greater than John the Baptist? Jesus’ reign doesn’t depend on the usual
hierarchy of king sitting above his subjects – he is king precisely because he
doesn’t do that.
He
is king because he puts himself entirely at the service of his subjects. He is
king because he puts himself below his subjects. That may not be what his
audience wants to hear – they want a secular king who will drive out the hated
Romans – but it’s the king that they get, because it’s the king that they
really need.
It
is the obverse side of the statement from Donald Rumsfeld, the former Secretary
of Defense, who said “As
you know, you go to war with the army you have, not the army you might want or
wish to have at a later time.”
In the midst of the Iraq war,
Rumsfeld thought he was stuck with an outdated military fighting a different
kind of war, but he was going to do the best he could as he saw it with the
military that he had.
Jesus, on the other hand, was the
perfect instrument for the war that was being waged. His goal was to win the
souls of humankind and bring them into a good relationship with God. Instead of
being the wrong instrument for the task at hand, he was the right instrument
for the task that the people didn’t even realize was facing them.
He was wise about telling the people
though. He knew what they were expecting, and he wasn’t it. He could have taken
care of those evil Romans with a mere thought or word, but that wasn’t the true
task. He was attending to the more important responsibility of bringing them
back to God. And he was doing it not by leading an army, but by healing and
teaching and bringing good news to the poor.
This gospel passage in the midst of
preparation for the celebration of Jesus’ birth seems not to fit: it’s much
more about the work than about the sweet and sentimental story of the baby in
the manger. But we read it because it is good to know what we are getting into
by committing ourselves to this king who is not king, this leader who serves
us, this fighter who turns the other cheek.
The
baby who will be king won’t be born in a palace. He will not command an army of
soldiers. He will be surrounded by troublemakers and troubled souls, by tax
collectors and the impoverished, by women of ill repute and men who have
abandoned their families to follow him. He will find himself on the outs with
the powers that be. He will die.
So
if you’re going to fall in love with this little baby who is a newborn king,
know what kind of a king you’re hooking up with. Know that you will not get
glory on earth. You will probably not get peace on earth, despite the Christmas
carols. But you do get something. Something important, more important that
backing the right candidate for king or living in a fine palace: you will get
heaven. For eternity, not just during the reign of a secular king.
That’s
the king you will follow, if you choose. Not an ordinary king. But an
extraordinary reward for following him. Watch for the baby, and watch what
happens.
Amen.
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