The Gift of Being Yourself

Third Sunday of Advent

Isaiah 64:1-4, 8-11

John 1:6-8, 19-28

I have a friend who works for a Real Estate Investment Trust.  They finance large real estate transactions.  So they own large movie theaters, ski resorts, vineyards, and casinos – and lease them back to the operators.  When I lived in NYC, my friend called and said he’d be in town on business.  He needed to drive to check on some business in upstate New York and wanted me to come with him.  And he told me to bring my clubs and we’d play some golf.

We threw our clubs in a rental car and made the beautiful drive up the Hudson River towards the Catskill Mountains.  It was a gorgeous early Fall day.  We wound through several small towns and made our way to the golf course.

 

We got royal treatment.  The manager of the resort came out to greet us.  Helped us get our clubs loaded onto a cart and sent us on our way.  The course was amazing.  The tee boxes, fairways, and greens were immaculately kept.  The sand bunkers were in perfect shape (I know because I was in several of them).  It was a difficult course because of the changes in elevation. 

We had a great time.  We came back in and the manager greeted us again.  He fixed us lunch, chatted with us about the course.  He asked my friend if we’d like a little tour of the grounds and the resort.  And so we did that.

When we were preparing to leave, my friend told the course manager that I live in NYC and that I might want to come back and play again.  So he gave me his card and told me to come play anytime.  Just call him a day ahead so he would know I’m coming.  I thanked him and we left.

When we got back in the car I said, “Wow, that was amazing.  Why was he treating us like royalty?”  And my friend said, “Well, it’s complicated, but that guy works for me.”  He went on to explain that his company was involved in a large real estate deal that didn’t work out.  The other side had put up this large resort and golf course in the Catskills as collateral.  And when the deal fell through, his company took title to the resort and needed to take care of it until they could sell it off to developers.  “So,” he said, “that guy works for me.  And I just wanted to check on how things were going.”

When I got back to NYC, I told three of my buddies about the course.  I told them how amazing the course was, and that we could play for free.  So a couple of weeks later, I called Greg, the course manager, said I had a group of four that would like to play the next day, and he said, “Great, see you when you get here.”

Again, he greeted us out in the parking lot when we pulled up.  Helped us with our bags.  Walked us over to the practice range where he had buckets of balls already set up for us.  He asked us if he could make us lunch before we headed back.  He apologized to us because there was one spot on a fairway that was a little soggy. 

And then looking at me, he started to talk about how the course was doing, even mentioning some financial data.  It was at this point that I realized that he thought I worked for the company that owns his golf course!  Of course I thought about correcting his mistake, but didn’t get around to it.

We went out and had a wonderful day on a beautiful course.  We came in afterwards and he had lunch prepared.  He asked us what we thought about the course.  We raved.  We turned down the offer of a tour, but he walked us back out to the car and told me to come play any time. 

By this time I was feeling a little awkward.  My friends knew what was going on.  I felt like I needed to set things straight.  And so just before we got back in the car I shook his hand, looked him square in the eye, and said, “Greg, you’re doing a great job, keep up the good work!”

In our reading from John today, the time had come for Jesus’ arrival to go public with the beginning of Jesus’ public ministry.  But there was considerable confusion among the Jewish people in Jerusalem and in the villages along the Jordan River.  There was great ferment brewing, excited anticipation that something great and powerful was happening.  Many assumed that John was himself the long awaited Messiah!

They didn’t have gossip magazines, news websites, or celebrity blogs, but nevertheless, word spread quickly that this half-crazy, primitively dressed John was baptizing people in the Jordan River for the forgiveness of their sins.  He was preaching about the immediate arrival of God’s kingdom and calling all people to repent.  He had stirred up the fascination of the simple villagers but also the powerful, religious authorities in Jerusalem.  The crowds were flocking to hear this man preach in a kind of revival service.  Some of the men attached themselves to him as his disciples – they wanted to live at his side and learn the ways of God’s coming kingdom.

And so it’s no wonder why there was some confusion about John’s identity and role.  The Jewish leaders in Jerusalem sent “priests and Levites” to ask him who he was.  The Jews were looking for the arrival of the anointed one, the Christ, the Messiah, God’s long awaited promise to send one who would deliver them from threats and oppression.  And so they ask John, “Are you the long awaited Messiah?” 

And unlike my performance at the golf course, John responds with clarity:  “I am NOT the Messiah.”

That clarity opens up further questions.  “Then who are you?  Elijah?  The Prophet?  Who are you?  We need something to take back to those who sent us.”

The gospel of John begins with a dual-track telling of Jesus’ arrival.  Right alongside the report that “the Word became flesh” is the report of another, parallel sending -- of John the Baptizer.

And John is introduced with terse language: “There was a man sent from God whose name was John.”

Immediately we’re told what and who he isn’t.  His name is John, not Jesus.  And he was NOT the light of the world.  He was a witness to the light: “He himself was not the light; he came only as a witness to the light.”

This is a rather funny way of introducing someone.  Wouldn’t you feel rather odd at a party if someone introduced you this way at a party?  “Hi Bill, this is Ed.  He’s not the neighbor I get along with.  Or the best friend I play tennis with.  Do you know the wonderful family I’ve told you about, the successful doctor, his intelligent wife and their well-behaved kids we love spending time with?  Yeah, this isn’t him . . . “

John the Baptizer is introduced this way because there was some controversy about his identity that needed clarification.

We, too, live in relationships where others are seeking an answer from us, “Who are you?”  We live in networks of expectations and care.  Others are anxious about their place in the network.  They need things from us.  And usually the question isn’t voiced explicitly.  But in a thousand different ways, others seek to know who we are, and how we see our role.

But notice the language of John’s gospel.  He’s a “witness” whose work is to “testify” to the light (v. 7).  When asked who he was, he “confessed freely” (v. 20).  This language enriches questions about who we are, who we’re called to be, and how we come to see our roles.  Figuring out these questions and giving voice to what we discover is a kind of witness, testimony,  or confession.  We often think of “testimony” or “confession” as talking about God.  But here we see that it can also involve finding healthy ways to talk about ourselves, our identities and roles.

John the Baptizer knew who he was because his life and imagination was saturated with the stories of Scripture.  His life was so deeply shaped by the language of Isaiah that it formed his sense of who he was and what he was to be doing: a voice crying in the wildnerness, make way, for God is arriving in our midst!

Our reading today invites us into a new sense of ourselves, a growing awareness of our own identities and roles.  And while there is fruitful reflection in asking, “Who are you?”  There is also fruitful reflection in asking, “Who are you NOT?”

Jesus’ arrival as the Messiah opened John the Baptizer’s life into a fresh clarity.  And that same clarity and peace is available to all of us today.  We are NOT the center of our own lives.  Nor are we the center of anyone else’s life.

There is wonderful freedom in not being the center of one’s own life.  And in not being the center of other people’s lives.

I need not rescue myself or fix myself.  Nor do I need to rescue or fix anyone else.

Now of course we’re responsible for our own lives, how we respond to God’s love, how we use our own gifts and resources, how we deal with the challenges of life.

And of course we’re also expected to make considerable sacrifices to care for our family and friends in extreme situations.  Many of you are caring for spouses, for parents, and for young children who rely on you. 

There is glorious freedom in relating to yourself in honest, realistic terms.  In NOT trying to be something or someone you’re not.  We might need also to recognize that others cannot be this for us either.  In that way, we free other people. 

We might need to go to someone today, or call someone to say, “I cannot be the center of your life, the fixer of all your problems.”  Or, “I have expected you to center my life and I’m sorry.  That’s not your role, and I will learn to relate to you in new ways.”

Jesus Christ arrives as the light of the world, as the light at the center of our lives.  The light that gives our lives meaning, dignity and purpose.  In his light, we recognize that we are loved by God out of God’s sheer delight and joy in being with us.  When we see ourselves centered in Jesus Christ this way, we confess that there is no performance or success or accomplishment that could make us more beloved.  We’re already God’s beloved and adopted children because we belong to Jesus Christ.  Nor is there any failure, disappointment, suffering or hardship that can call into question God’s love for us.  So we have nothing to fear.

Jesus Christ is the light in the middle of our lives, and in between us.  He is the center of our value and identity.  He is God’s beloved who has adopted us into his light.  He lives out God’s story of coming from afar to be with us along the way.  And he lives this role so completely that there is no reason for any of us to attempt it.

Let’s confess together with John the Baptist: “I am not the Messiah.”