Offensive Messiah

When we met John the Baptist last week, he was standing waist deep in the Jordan River, urging immediate repentance, and pointing toward one who would come after him, the thong of whose sandals he would not be worthy to untie. His description of this approaching Messiah is enough to rattle even the most self-assured of John’s day and of ours. Axe in one hand, winnowing fork in the other, this Coming One would separate the wheat from the chaff, the good from the bad, the righteous from the unrighteous.

John’s message is clear: Repent right now while there’s still time. Once the Messiah arrives to bring in the kingdom, we’re cooked.

If we had read just a little further last week, Matthew would have told us how Jesus had turned up next, received John’s baptism, and walked off into the wilderness, leaving John thinking, "That’s him! He’s the one I’ve been waiting for!"

That was last week, from the third chapter of Matthew’s Gospel. Today we meet John again, in the eleventh chapter, where the circumstances are very different. John is no longer in the spotlight. Jesus is. John has been hauled off the stage of Matthew’s Gospel by a very large hook wielded by none other than King Herod himself.

You see, so long as John sticks to fire and brimstone, he’s no threat to the King, but when he starts criticizing King Herod’s marital arrangements, the King’s Attorney General declares John a threat to homeland security. Herod wants to execute John right away, but the royal spin doctors remind him that John is a popular figure. He still has name recognition and a higher approval rating than the King himself. Herod therefore decides to throw John in the clinker and await further developments.

John’s own disciples visit him in prison to give him reports of this Jesus whom he baptized.

"What did he do first? Did he call down fire from heaven to consume those Roman soldiers while they slept in their barracks?"

"No, teacher, he just called a few disciples."

"Disciples? Well, that’s not a bad idea. Impressive lot, are they? Learned? Well-trained? Pious?

"Not exactly, teacher. Most of them are fishermen, common folk. Not a single preacher or FSU Ph.D. amongst them."

"Well, at least they aren’t Pharisees and Sadducees. What a brood of vipers! How about the kingdom? Has he said anything about the kingdom?"

"Well, as a matter of fact, he has. He said, ‘Blessed are those who are persecuted for righteousness sake, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.’"

"I see. And Herod? Has he denounced the King for committing adultery with is own sister-in-law?"

"No, teacher. But he did say that anyone who looks at woman with lust has already committed adultery with her in his heart."

"He said that? Are you sure?

"Oh yes! It caused quite a stir in the presbytery meeting."

"I’ll bet it did. What about our enemies? Did he say that anyone who opposes us is on the side of the evildoers? He did condemn our enemies, didn’t he?"

"Well, not in so many words. What he said was, ‘Love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you.’"

"The fork, then. Has he poked anybody with the fork? Or the axe? Surely by now he’s minced up a few of the most notorious sinners."

"Sorry, teacher. He doesn’t seem to carry a fork or an axe."

"Let me get this straight. Common fishermen for disciples. No fire from heaven. Denounces sin, but not sinners. Tells folk to love their enemies. No fork and no axe. Have I got that right?"

"Yes, teacher, but we haven’t told you the half of it. People follow him everywhere. He touches lepers. He heals the sick. He hangs around with the most disreputable people you ever saw: tax collectors, prostitutes, women who are unclean. Why, just last week a woman who had been suffering from a flow of blood for 12 years touched the fringe of his cloak, and instead of reprimanding her, he said, ‘Take heart, daughter; your faith has made you well.’

"Teacher, it just doesn’t add up. He’s nothing like the one you told us to expect."

"Here, take a memo: John to Jesus: Are you the one who is to come, or are we to we wait for another?

It must have been a terrible shock to John, sitting there in Herod’s dungeon, to hear those reports about Jesus. They challenge his long-held convictions, shatter his carefully-nurtured notions about who God is and what God expects of God’s anointed One. Maybe John is wrong. Maybe Jesus isn’t the Messiah after all.

If Jesus is surprised to receive John’s question, Matthew doesn’t say so. Instead of sending John a certified copy of his spiritual credentials, Jesus tells John’s disciples, "Look around. See for yourself. Remember what Isaiah said about the Messiah, and draw your own conclusions:

Put all of that together and go back to John. Tell him this:

That verse has always puzzled me. Who could be opposed to a Messiah who restores sight, who heals people of leprosy and restores them to community? Where’s the offense in preaching good news to the poor?

Consider the laws on the books when this house of worship was built – laws that made it a crime to teach a slave how to read. Some of the folks who wrote those laws were members of this church. Wouldn’t they find this Messiah offensive?

Consider those who would deny insurance benefits to couples who aren’t married. Wouldn’t they find this Messiah offensive?

Consider those who would have hospitals turn children away at the emergency room door because their parents are illegal immigrants. Wouldn’t they find this Messiah offensive?

This much is sure: no one puts Jesus into a Messianic box. Not John. Not you. Not I. No one. No one tells him whom to love or whom to save.

For years now, some Presbyterians have been complaining about other Presbyterians who, they say, don’t take Jesus’ messiahship seriously enough. They’re probably right.

Few Presbyterians take Jesus’ messiahship seriously enough. If we did, we wouldn’t spend so much time and energy trying to protect him from folks who make us uncomfortable. If we took Jesus’ messiahship more seriously, we’d be looking for him amongst those very people. If we took Jesus’ messiahship more seriously, we’d be following him into the world were the blind long for sight, the lame cry out for help, the untouchable yearn for contact, and the poor ache for good news.

But isn’t that what drew us to this Messiah in the first place? We came to him because something in our lives was missing. Some deep hunger was gnawing at our insides. Our poverty drove us to him. We sought him out because we sensed that he would not turn us away, offensive as we are.

Are you the one who is to come, or should we wait for another? We can wait an eternity for another Messiah, but we will never find a better one, or one more liable to give offense.

I heard a New York City firefighter being interviewed on the radio. He talked about the camaraderie that goes with being a firefighter – the companionship, the practical jokes, the silliness that eases the stress of the job.

He said, "Kids come up to me and say, ‘Hey mister, when I grow up, I’m going to be a firefighter.’ I tell ‘em. I got news for you, kid: You can’t do both."

Being a Christian is a bit like that. We can avoid offense or we can follow the Messiah. John has news for us on this third Sunday of Advent: we can’t do both.