Coming in waves
Commentary
A major military operation is not a simple thing. No longer do we simply line up our
infantry against the other guy's infantry and have them fight it out in hand-to-hand
combat on a field. Instead, a major offensive requires complex orchestration of many
elements. Reconnaissance flights, spy satellites, and intelligence come first. Perhaps an
air assault prepares the way for the ground offensive. The different branches of the armed
services work in sophisticated coordination. Amphibious vehicles, special operations
units, aircraft carriers, choppers, paratroopers, and thousands upon thousands of troops on
the ground -- a major military operation comes in waves.
So, too, did God's major offensive.
An integral part of the New Testament worldview is an understanding of opposing kingdoms. We get a glimpse into the situation when the devil shows Jesus all of the kingdoms of the world and offers to give them to Jesus (Matthew 4:8-9). If they are the devil's to give, then they are the devil's. And in John's gospel, Jesus makes several references to "the ruler of this world" (12:31; 14:30; 16:11), but he is not talking about himself or his Father.
So it is that when John the Baptist appears on the scene and declares, "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near" (Matthew 3:2), he is announcing a kind of invasion. For the existing world was not God's kingdom: it was enemy-occupied territory. Now, suddenly, God was establishing a beachhead as the start of his grand, gracious, redemptive takeover. And his operation was going to come in waves.
Isaiah 43:1-7
This passage comes from the section of the book of Isaiah sometimes referred to as "deutero-Isaiah." Scholars observe a dramatic shift in tone and content from chapter 39 to chapter 40, and so these chapters are often attributed to some later author. But, whether they are from the hand of Isaiah in eighth-century B.C. Jerusalem, or from a later messenger during the exile, these chapters clearly sound a different note than the judgment messages that prevail through the first half of the book.
These words, appropriate to an audience in exile, are words of reassurance and promise. The judgment is past, and now restoration is at hand.
One striking feature of this set of promises is the particular sort of guarantee God gives his people in regard to danger. While the pilot of the passenger jet may explain over the public address system that they will be flying higher, or leaving later, or adjusting their route, in order to avoid some storm system, God does not promise to navigate around the turbulence. Indeed, he seems rather pointed about the certainty of their difficulties -- passing through the waters and walking through fire. Yet, in the face of that menacing prospect, God guarantees their safety.
It is one kind of mercy for God to steer his people clear of trouble (see, for example, Exodus 13:17-18). It is another, perhaps more remarkable, sort of mercy, however, for God to lead his people safely through trouble. This is the God whose servants did not avoid the den of lions or the fiery furnace, but rather survived them (Daniel 3:19-30; 6:1- 28). This is the God whose faithful followers do not live where there are no storms, but who withstand those storms (Matthew 7:24-25). And this is the God whose Son does not "come down from the cross" (Mark 15:29-32), but rather comes out of the tomb.
Anyone preaching this text this Sunday should be sure to include in the order of worship the marvelous eighteenth-century hymn "How Firm A Foundation." The hymn borrows some of its imagery from this passage of Isaiah, and it elaborates well on the spirit and message of the text.
The final lines of this passage feature the sort of themes and images that suggest an exilic audience. The woman who stands on the porch and rings the dinner bell on the farm summons family members from all parts to come to the table. They emerge from working in the field, from chores in the barn, from feeding the animals, from fixing the fence, and from every corner of the property, they hurry home for supper. Similarly, God is signaling that the moment has come for his children to return home. So he paints the beautiful picture of his people coming from every direction, returning to the land that he always intended to be their home.
It is noteworthy that God uses different means of retrieving his people. He will "bring," he will "gather," and he will "say." That may merely reflect a kind of Hebraic poeticism. On the other hand, it may instead reflect the versatility of God, for he works, rescues, and achieves his will in such a terrific variety of ways.
Finally, the image of God saying to the north, "Give them up," is a marvelously heroic one. It is, first, a portrait of authority. Like the Father creating with "Let there be" or the Son calming the storm with his word, here God achieves the release of his people by just giving the command. He does not need to roll up his sleeves or exert his force; he need only "say the word." And then, second, it is a portrait of resurrection. Just as Jesus called into Lazarus' tomb, so here the Lord calls in the direction of the place where his people wallow in captivity, and his word brings them out alive.
Acts 8:14-17
Before we move to a consideration of baptism and the Holy Spirit, we must first consider the human context of this passage.
"When the apostles at Jerusalem heard that Samaria had accepted the word of God," Luke reports, "they sent Peter and John to them." This brief report is a threefold delight.
The first cause for joy, of course, is in the report of any person or people accepting the Word of God. Whether they are Samaritans, Jews, Greeks, Egyptians, Romans, or what have you, the report itself is good news. After all, when even one sinner repents, the angels in heaven rejoice (Luke 15:10).
The second delight, however, resides in the particularity of the response. While it is good to hear that anyone has responded to the Word of God, these folks are not just anyone. Samaria was the neighborhood that the careful Jews drove around in order to avoid it. The Samaritans were the hated half-breeds -- the fact that gives teeth to Jesus' parable of the Good Samaritan, with its surprising hero. Yet there -- in the very region that most Jews religiously avoided, and where Jesus himself had been rejected along the way (see Luke 9:51-55) -- there they had accepted the Word of God. That is particularly delightful news.
Finally, the third delight is in the dispatch of Peter and John. The Jerusalem church had no more notable emissaries. Samaria did not receive second lieutenants. No, they were visited by two of the chief leaders of the church. And it was this same John, you recall, who had been so eager earlier to call down the fire of God's judgment on an unresponsive Samaritan town (Luke 9:54). Now he would be on site to call down a very different fire from God!
What happens when Peter and John arrive in Samaria is the subject of some debate, or at least uncertainty. And how we interpret the event there in Samaria is very likely informed by beliefs and assumptions that we carry into our reading.
The text recalls three different themes that are part of the larger book of Acts: 1) receiving the Holy Spirit; 2) baptism; and 3) the laying on of hands.
At the time the apostles arrive, the Samaritans are already believers and they have already been baptized, but they have not received the Holy Spirit. When the apostles lay hands on them, they receive the Holy Spirit. While the text does not explicitly reference speaking in tongues, conventional wisdom is that tongues was the sign that proved these Samaritan believers had received the Holy Spirit (see, for example, Acts 2:4; 10:44-46; 11:15; 19:6).
This occasion of receiving the Holy Spirit apart from the events of conversion and baptism creates a theological problem for some. They are tempted to strain and contort what is and isn't said in the episode in order to eliminate the problem. For others, the event is not a theological problem at all. They are tempted to turn the episode into a proof-text.
The event also adds a piece to the Acts' mosaic of the early church's practice and understanding of baptism. No water baptism occurs in the episode, but it is prominently mentioned. Specifically, the Samaritans' baptism is set in opposition to their receiving the Holy Spirit, making it clear that the Spirit does not automatically come at the time of baptism. Likewise, the later episode with Cornelius' household also illustrates that the Holy Spirit does not accompany baptism, for the Spirit's coming actually precedes the baptism event in that case (see Acts 10:47).
It is noteworthy that there is no apparent deficiency in the Samaritans' baptism. While the believers in Ephesus are identified with John's baptism, these Samaritans had been baptized in the name of Jesus, which is precisely what the apostle Peter calls for elsewhere (see Acts 2:38 and 10:48). And so the Samaritans do not need a different water baptism; they need to receive the Holy Spirit, and that came with the laying on of hands.
That laying on of hands is the third larger theme from the book of Acts represented here in our selected passage. It is used to set aside persons for certain dedicated service (Acts 6:6; 13:3), for healing (Acts 9:12, 17; 28:8), and to impart the Holy Spirit (Acts 8:17; 9:17; 19:6).
Simon, a magician in that region who had also come to believe, was particularly fascinated by this laying on of hands and its effects. The boundaries of our selected passage do not include his story. At a professional level, Simon was impressed by the mystical power wielded by Peter and John, and he made them an offer in order to purchase that same ability for himself. That evoked a harsh correction and condemnation from Peter.
Happily, our passage does not include the Simon element. We fairly presume from the larger context of the book of Acts that our attention should be on the Holy Spirit as the focal point of the event, rather than on Simon, the disappointing believer and unintentional villain.
Luke 3:15-17, 21-22
Expectation is a mixed bag.
On the one hand, expectation is a marvelously good thing. Expectation shows faith, and it lives in a condition of anticipation and hopefulness. Expectation tends to be better prepared for what comes. And when expectation is, specifically, applied to the things of God, then it is a very great virtue, indeed. For we always do well to expect from him.
On the other hand, expectation can be easily misled. It can even become delusional. Think, for example, of the frightened child at night who expects there to be monsters in the closet or bad guys outside the window. He will hear noises that confirm his fears: though he will be wrong. His fearful expectation turns shadows into goblins and tree branches into predators.
The people in John's audience were filled with expectation. And that was a mixed bag.
On the one hand, it was precisely that level of expectation that drew them to John, his message, and his baptism. The people who were complacently going about their day-to- day lives with no particular hopefulness about God or his kingdom were not the ones who came down to the Jordan. They no doubt heard about John; perhaps they gossiped with one another about him at the well; but they were not the ones who trucked down to the southern part of the Jordan River valley to see and hear him. It was the folks who were filled with expectation that were naturally drawn to John the Baptist, and thus their expectation was a virtue.
But it was also that level of expectation that made them see and suspect things that were not reality. They wondered if John might be the one: if he might be the Messiah. When you stand poised at the lookout, fully expecting the Messiah to come, then you run the risk of seeing him when he's not actually there.
John himself was quick to disabuse the people of their misplaced hope. He pointed beyond himself: "One who is more powerful than I is coming." And then he made a remarkable statement about his own standing in relation to that anticipated Messiah: "I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals."
The image of unlacing another person's shoes, of course, is a picture of servitude. And so John is saying, in effect, that he is not worthy even to be the servant of the Messiah.
We mustn't mistake this for being a reflection on John's own temperament. He is hardly a shy, retiring personality. In every other episode, we see John as a bold and fearless prophet of God. And, specifically, when we see him condemning Herod, we are reminded of the Old Testament paradigm in which the true prophet of God was of the highest rank: higher than king and higher than priest. Yet in relation to the Messiah, John ranks lower than a servant.
The Messiah John anticipates is coming to judge. This is not inconsistent with our prevailing notion that Jesus came to save, for in the larger Jewish understanding of the Day of the Lord, the expectation was that God would set all things right. And that requires both salvation and judgment.
When Jesus appears on the scene at the end of the passage, he is baptized, though Luke does not report the event with the level of detail that Matthew offers. While Luke does not provide much fanfare for the baptism act itself, the event -- and the scene -- is punctuated by the brief, tangible manifestation of the other two persons of the Trinity: The Spirit appears as a dove, descending upon Jesus; and the voice of the Father is heard, speaking his word of identification and approval to his Son.
Application
Take a snapshot of the moment at the end of our gospel lection, and study that picture. For there we see embodied the several waves of God's marvelous offensive.
First, there is John. He is the first wave. John is the one who drops the leaflets, providing ample warning to the people about what is to come: "His winnowing fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire." And John is the air assault, preparing the ground for the coming invasion (see Luke 3:3-6).
Next came Jesus. He called, trained, and gave authority to his disciples, who became his witnesses. He lived his gracious life, preached the word, and accomplished his saving work on the cross.
Then came the Holy Spirit. He came with power, first upon Jesus, and then upon his followers. He enables the work of the kingdom, both in the church and in the world. He guides, teaches, and empowers.
Only one more wave of this liberation remains: the victorious return of that same Jesus.
In the meantime, see the other people in the background of that scene: people who wanted to repent and become part of the coming, growing kingdom. They came to John in waves. And they still come to join Jesus and the Spirit in the waters of baptism. One by one, they step into the waves.
Alternative Application
Luke 3:15-17, 21-22. "The One You've Been Waiting For." When I was about ten years old, after an NFL game that I had attended with my folks, I waited with other eager fans outside the team's locker room, hoping to see the players and get some autographs. When the players started to come out, however, I was surprised by how unfamiliar they were.
I was a pretty big fan, mind you, but this was before the day of 24-hour sports channels. It was not like today, when pictures of the players are flashed on television, along with their stats, every time they made a big play. It was before big screens and HDTV. Instead, I watched football games on a little black-and-white television, which depended on carefully positioned rabbit ears for adequate reception.
As a result, the players' faces were not nearly as familiar as they might be to a comparable fan today. And so, as a mob of us surrounded each player that came out of the locker room, we didn't all necessarily know who he was. However, we sought to get every autograph we could.
I still remember looking through my pages after that occasion and not even recognizing the names of some of the players who had signed my book. But who knew? We were all there with our pens and our items to be signed, and we were all "filled with expectation." Even though we didn't recognize who every player was, we collected all the signatures we could, hoping to land some of our favorite guys.
The crowds that thronged to John's riparian ministry were also filled with expectation. They didn't know exactly who was who, and they weren't sure precisely what the Messiah would look like. Consequently, some of them were confused, and they thought John might be the one. But John quickly rerouted their attention to Jesus. He was the one they were waiting for.
It is not an easy thing to decline attention. John is commendable in this respect.
The greatest thing John did was point the people to Jesus. And this continues to be our calling and challenge today. There are still crowds filled with expectation -- or at least longing -- and yet they don't know exactly who they're waiting for or what he looks like. They crowd around all sorts of lesser lights, while the star player walks by unrecognized.
Most of the fads, preoccupations, and distractions will not be as helpful as John; they will not redirect the longing crowds to Jesus. We must rise up and point the way, for we know the one they've been waiting for.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 29
Certain people have unforgettable voices. Among them are some of the great preachers God has sent us in recent years. The late William Sloane Coffin comes to mind, with his voice ringing out from the pulpit at Riverside Church in New York City. Here was a voice of power. His eloquence and clarity led a generation into faith-based work for peace and social justice. Anyone who ever heard him preach remembers his voice.
Of course, there is the voice of Martin Luther King Jr. The passionate cadence of his preaching led a movement that looms large in history. His spirit, infused with God's, flung his words to millions who responded by joining the good work for racial justice and peace.
There are many voices that have come to us over the years. Preachers, prophets, community leaders, and even a few politicians have stood out as their voices reached out to the multitude. The utterances are clear, recognizable, and filled with power. Remembering the sounds of these voices leads us into a reading of this psalm as we prepare to hear the "voice of the Lord." It is a voice that seizes us through the awesome panoply of nature. The psalmist hears it in the thunder and listens to it as it hovers over the waters in unimaginable creativity and wonder. The voice of the Lord is full of majesty. It can shatter mighty trees and it can cause us to dance for joy.
When was the last time such a voice was heard among us? Has the voice ceased to speak? Or have we forgotten how to listen? Truth be told, it is difficult enough to listen, even to one another, in the cacophony of the world in which we live. How is it that we can stop what we're doing long enough to listen for the voice of the Lord?
Not an easy call, is it? But there it is.
This psalm grabs us by the collar and calls us to focus upon God. This psalm bids us let go of our projects and our addiction to being in charge and calls the reader to give all the glory to God. In other words, God gets all the credit, not you or me. It is, after all, God who is the focus of our worship. And it is, perhaps within the wonder of such focus, that the voice of God becomes discernible.
How is it, then, that our communities can stop the business of projects and fund-raisers? How is it that the flurry of programs and ministries can be stilled so that a people might focus on hearing the "voice of the Lord"?
It could be, as this psalm indicates, "hovering over the water." It could also be in the wonder of our children, or in the joy of authentic community. This voice, this Word, that comes finally to us in the person of Jesus, is something that each person of faith needs to hear.
The trick, it seems, is learning how to listen.
So, too, did God's major offensive.
An integral part of the New Testament worldview is an understanding of opposing kingdoms. We get a glimpse into the situation when the devil shows Jesus all of the kingdoms of the world and offers to give them to Jesus (Matthew 4:8-9). If they are the devil's to give, then they are the devil's. And in John's gospel, Jesus makes several references to "the ruler of this world" (12:31; 14:30; 16:11), but he is not talking about himself or his Father.
So it is that when John the Baptist appears on the scene and declares, "Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near" (Matthew 3:2), he is announcing a kind of invasion. For the existing world was not God's kingdom: it was enemy-occupied territory. Now, suddenly, God was establishing a beachhead as the start of his grand, gracious, redemptive takeover. And his operation was going to come in waves.
Isaiah 43:1-7
This passage comes from the section of the book of Isaiah sometimes referred to as "deutero-Isaiah." Scholars observe a dramatic shift in tone and content from chapter 39 to chapter 40, and so these chapters are often attributed to some later author. But, whether they are from the hand of Isaiah in eighth-century B.C. Jerusalem, or from a later messenger during the exile, these chapters clearly sound a different note than the judgment messages that prevail through the first half of the book.
These words, appropriate to an audience in exile, are words of reassurance and promise. The judgment is past, and now restoration is at hand.
One striking feature of this set of promises is the particular sort of guarantee God gives his people in regard to danger. While the pilot of the passenger jet may explain over the public address system that they will be flying higher, or leaving later, or adjusting their route, in order to avoid some storm system, God does not promise to navigate around the turbulence. Indeed, he seems rather pointed about the certainty of their difficulties -- passing through the waters and walking through fire. Yet, in the face of that menacing prospect, God guarantees their safety.
It is one kind of mercy for God to steer his people clear of trouble (see, for example, Exodus 13:17-18). It is another, perhaps more remarkable, sort of mercy, however, for God to lead his people safely through trouble. This is the God whose servants did not avoid the den of lions or the fiery furnace, but rather survived them (Daniel 3:19-30; 6:1- 28). This is the God whose faithful followers do not live where there are no storms, but who withstand those storms (Matthew 7:24-25). And this is the God whose Son does not "come down from the cross" (Mark 15:29-32), but rather comes out of the tomb.
Anyone preaching this text this Sunday should be sure to include in the order of worship the marvelous eighteenth-century hymn "How Firm A Foundation." The hymn borrows some of its imagery from this passage of Isaiah, and it elaborates well on the spirit and message of the text.
The final lines of this passage feature the sort of themes and images that suggest an exilic audience. The woman who stands on the porch and rings the dinner bell on the farm summons family members from all parts to come to the table. They emerge from working in the field, from chores in the barn, from feeding the animals, from fixing the fence, and from every corner of the property, they hurry home for supper. Similarly, God is signaling that the moment has come for his children to return home. So he paints the beautiful picture of his people coming from every direction, returning to the land that he always intended to be their home.
It is noteworthy that God uses different means of retrieving his people. He will "bring," he will "gather," and he will "say." That may merely reflect a kind of Hebraic poeticism. On the other hand, it may instead reflect the versatility of God, for he works, rescues, and achieves his will in such a terrific variety of ways.
Finally, the image of God saying to the north, "Give them up," is a marvelously heroic one. It is, first, a portrait of authority. Like the Father creating with "Let there be" or the Son calming the storm with his word, here God achieves the release of his people by just giving the command. He does not need to roll up his sleeves or exert his force; he need only "say the word." And then, second, it is a portrait of resurrection. Just as Jesus called into Lazarus' tomb, so here the Lord calls in the direction of the place where his people wallow in captivity, and his word brings them out alive.
Acts 8:14-17
Before we move to a consideration of baptism and the Holy Spirit, we must first consider the human context of this passage.
"When the apostles at Jerusalem heard that Samaria had accepted the word of God," Luke reports, "they sent Peter and John to them." This brief report is a threefold delight.
The first cause for joy, of course, is in the report of any person or people accepting the Word of God. Whether they are Samaritans, Jews, Greeks, Egyptians, Romans, or what have you, the report itself is good news. After all, when even one sinner repents, the angels in heaven rejoice (Luke 15:10).
The second delight, however, resides in the particularity of the response. While it is good to hear that anyone has responded to the Word of God, these folks are not just anyone. Samaria was the neighborhood that the careful Jews drove around in order to avoid it. The Samaritans were the hated half-breeds -- the fact that gives teeth to Jesus' parable of the Good Samaritan, with its surprising hero. Yet there -- in the very region that most Jews religiously avoided, and where Jesus himself had been rejected along the way (see Luke 9:51-55) -- there they had accepted the Word of God. That is particularly delightful news.
Finally, the third delight is in the dispatch of Peter and John. The Jerusalem church had no more notable emissaries. Samaria did not receive second lieutenants. No, they were visited by two of the chief leaders of the church. And it was this same John, you recall, who had been so eager earlier to call down the fire of God's judgment on an unresponsive Samaritan town (Luke 9:54). Now he would be on site to call down a very different fire from God!
What happens when Peter and John arrive in Samaria is the subject of some debate, or at least uncertainty. And how we interpret the event there in Samaria is very likely informed by beliefs and assumptions that we carry into our reading.
The text recalls three different themes that are part of the larger book of Acts: 1) receiving the Holy Spirit; 2) baptism; and 3) the laying on of hands.
At the time the apostles arrive, the Samaritans are already believers and they have already been baptized, but they have not received the Holy Spirit. When the apostles lay hands on them, they receive the Holy Spirit. While the text does not explicitly reference speaking in tongues, conventional wisdom is that tongues was the sign that proved these Samaritan believers had received the Holy Spirit (see, for example, Acts 2:4; 10:44-46; 11:15; 19:6).
This occasion of receiving the Holy Spirit apart from the events of conversion and baptism creates a theological problem for some. They are tempted to strain and contort what is and isn't said in the episode in order to eliminate the problem. For others, the event is not a theological problem at all. They are tempted to turn the episode into a proof-text.
The event also adds a piece to the Acts' mosaic of the early church's practice and understanding of baptism. No water baptism occurs in the episode, but it is prominently mentioned. Specifically, the Samaritans' baptism is set in opposition to their receiving the Holy Spirit, making it clear that the Spirit does not automatically come at the time of baptism. Likewise, the later episode with Cornelius' household also illustrates that the Holy Spirit does not accompany baptism, for the Spirit's coming actually precedes the baptism event in that case (see Acts 10:47).
It is noteworthy that there is no apparent deficiency in the Samaritans' baptism. While the believers in Ephesus are identified with John's baptism, these Samaritans had been baptized in the name of Jesus, which is precisely what the apostle Peter calls for elsewhere (see Acts 2:38 and 10:48). And so the Samaritans do not need a different water baptism; they need to receive the Holy Spirit, and that came with the laying on of hands.
That laying on of hands is the third larger theme from the book of Acts represented here in our selected passage. It is used to set aside persons for certain dedicated service (Acts 6:6; 13:3), for healing (Acts 9:12, 17; 28:8), and to impart the Holy Spirit (Acts 8:17; 9:17; 19:6).
Simon, a magician in that region who had also come to believe, was particularly fascinated by this laying on of hands and its effects. The boundaries of our selected passage do not include his story. At a professional level, Simon was impressed by the mystical power wielded by Peter and John, and he made them an offer in order to purchase that same ability for himself. That evoked a harsh correction and condemnation from Peter.
Happily, our passage does not include the Simon element. We fairly presume from the larger context of the book of Acts that our attention should be on the Holy Spirit as the focal point of the event, rather than on Simon, the disappointing believer and unintentional villain.
Luke 3:15-17, 21-22
Expectation is a mixed bag.
On the one hand, expectation is a marvelously good thing. Expectation shows faith, and it lives in a condition of anticipation and hopefulness. Expectation tends to be better prepared for what comes. And when expectation is, specifically, applied to the things of God, then it is a very great virtue, indeed. For we always do well to expect from him.
On the other hand, expectation can be easily misled. It can even become delusional. Think, for example, of the frightened child at night who expects there to be monsters in the closet or bad guys outside the window. He will hear noises that confirm his fears: though he will be wrong. His fearful expectation turns shadows into goblins and tree branches into predators.
The people in John's audience were filled with expectation. And that was a mixed bag.
On the one hand, it was precisely that level of expectation that drew them to John, his message, and his baptism. The people who were complacently going about their day-to- day lives with no particular hopefulness about God or his kingdom were not the ones who came down to the Jordan. They no doubt heard about John; perhaps they gossiped with one another about him at the well; but they were not the ones who trucked down to the southern part of the Jordan River valley to see and hear him. It was the folks who were filled with expectation that were naturally drawn to John the Baptist, and thus their expectation was a virtue.
But it was also that level of expectation that made them see and suspect things that were not reality. They wondered if John might be the one: if he might be the Messiah. When you stand poised at the lookout, fully expecting the Messiah to come, then you run the risk of seeing him when he's not actually there.
John himself was quick to disabuse the people of their misplaced hope. He pointed beyond himself: "One who is more powerful than I is coming." And then he made a remarkable statement about his own standing in relation to that anticipated Messiah: "I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandals."
The image of unlacing another person's shoes, of course, is a picture of servitude. And so John is saying, in effect, that he is not worthy even to be the servant of the Messiah.
We mustn't mistake this for being a reflection on John's own temperament. He is hardly a shy, retiring personality. In every other episode, we see John as a bold and fearless prophet of God. And, specifically, when we see him condemning Herod, we are reminded of the Old Testament paradigm in which the true prophet of God was of the highest rank: higher than king and higher than priest. Yet in relation to the Messiah, John ranks lower than a servant.
The Messiah John anticipates is coming to judge. This is not inconsistent with our prevailing notion that Jesus came to save, for in the larger Jewish understanding of the Day of the Lord, the expectation was that God would set all things right. And that requires both salvation and judgment.
When Jesus appears on the scene at the end of the passage, he is baptized, though Luke does not report the event with the level of detail that Matthew offers. While Luke does not provide much fanfare for the baptism act itself, the event -- and the scene -- is punctuated by the brief, tangible manifestation of the other two persons of the Trinity: The Spirit appears as a dove, descending upon Jesus; and the voice of the Father is heard, speaking his word of identification and approval to his Son.
Application
Take a snapshot of the moment at the end of our gospel lection, and study that picture. For there we see embodied the several waves of God's marvelous offensive.
First, there is John. He is the first wave. John is the one who drops the leaflets, providing ample warning to the people about what is to come: "His winnowing fork is in his hand, to clear his threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary; but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire." And John is the air assault, preparing the ground for the coming invasion (see Luke 3:3-6).
Next came Jesus. He called, trained, and gave authority to his disciples, who became his witnesses. He lived his gracious life, preached the word, and accomplished his saving work on the cross.
Then came the Holy Spirit. He came with power, first upon Jesus, and then upon his followers. He enables the work of the kingdom, both in the church and in the world. He guides, teaches, and empowers.
Only one more wave of this liberation remains: the victorious return of that same Jesus.
In the meantime, see the other people in the background of that scene: people who wanted to repent and become part of the coming, growing kingdom. They came to John in waves. And they still come to join Jesus and the Spirit in the waters of baptism. One by one, they step into the waves.
Alternative Application
Luke 3:15-17, 21-22. "The One You've Been Waiting For." When I was about ten years old, after an NFL game that I had attended with my folks, I waited with other eager fans outside the team's locker room, hoping to see the players and get some autographs. When the players started to come out, however, I was surprised by how unfamiliar they were.
I was a pretty big fan, mind you, but this was before the day of 24-hour sports channels. It was not like today, when pictures of the players are flashed on television, along with their stats, every time they made a big play. It was before big screens and HDTV. Instead, I watched football games on a little black-and-white television, which depended on carefully positioned rabbit ears for adequate reception.
As a result, the players' faces were not nearly as familiar as they might be to a comparable fan today. And so, as a mob of us surrounded each player that came out of the locker room, we didn't all necessarily know who he was. However, we sought to get every autograph we could.
I still remember looking through my pages after that occasion and not even recognizing the names of some of the players who had signed my book. But who knew? We were all there with our pens and our items to be signed, and we were all "filled with expectation." Even though we didn't recognize who every player was, we collected all the signatures we could, hoping to land some of our favorite guys.
The crowds that thronged to John's riparian ministry were also filled with expectation. They didn't know exactly who was who, and they weren't sure precisely what the Messiah would look like. Consequently, some of them were confused, and they thought John might be the one. But John quickly rerouted their attention to Jesus. He was the one they were waiting for.
It is not an easy thing to decline attention. John is commendable in this respect.
The greatest thing John did was point the people to Jesus. And this continues to be our calling and challenge today. There are still crowds filled with expectation -- or at least longing -- and yet they don't know exactly who they're waiting for or what he looks like. They crowd around all sorts of lesser lights, while the star player walks by unrecognized.
Most of the fads, preoccupations, and distractions will not be as helpful as John; they will not redirect the longing crowds to Jesus. We must rise up and point the way, for we know the one they've been waiting for.
Preaching The Psalm
Psalm 29
Certain people have unforgettable voices. Among them are some of the great preachers God has sent us in recent years. The late William Sloane Coffin comes to mind, with his voice ringing out from the pulpit at Riverside Church in New York City. Here was a voice of power. His eloquence and clarity led a generation into faith-based work for peace and social justice. Anyone who ever heard him preach remembers his voice.
Of course, there is the voice of Martin Luther King Jr. The passionate cadence of his preaching led a movement that looms large in history. His spirit, infused with God's, flung his words to millions who responded by joining the good work for racial justice and peace.
There are many voices that have come to us over the years. Preachers, prophets, community leaders, and even a few politicians have stood out as their voices reached out to the multitude. The utterances are clear, recognizable, and filled with power. Remembering the sounds of these voices leads us into a reading of this psalm as we prepare to hear the "voice of the Lord." It is a voice that seizes us through the awesome panoply of nature. The psalmist hears it in the thunder and listens to it as it hovers over the waters in unimaginable creativity and wonder. The voice of the Lord is full of majesty. It can shatter mighty trees and it can cause us to dance for joy.
When was the last time such a voice was heard among us? Has the voice ceased to speak? Or have we forgotten how to listen? Truth be told, it is difficult enough to listen, even to one another, in the cacophony of the world in which we live. How is it that we can stop what we're doing long enough to listen for the voice of the Lord?
Not an easy call, is it? But there it is.
This psalm grabs us by the collar and calls us to focus upon God. This psalm bids us let go of our projects and our addiction to being in charge and calls the reader to give all the glory to God. In other words, God gets all the credit, not you or me. It is, after all, God who is the focus of our worship. And it is, perhaps within the wonder of such focus, that the voice of God becomes discernible.
How is it, then, that our communities can stop the business of projects and fund-raisers? How is it that the flurry of programs and ministries can be stilled so that a people might focus on hearing the "voice of the Lord"?
It could be, as this psalm indicates, "hovering over the water." It could also be in the wonder of our children, or in the joy of authentic community. This voice, this Word, that comes finally to us in the person of Jesus, is something that each person of faith needs to hear.
The trick, it seems, is learning how to listen.
