SCRIPTURE: Isaiah 61: 1-4, 8-11 and John 1:6-8; 19-28
©Rev. Alison J. Buttrick Patton

Once upon a time, there was a man named John. You may know him as John the Baptist, but in the Fourth Gospel, he is referred to neither as the Baptist (that’s the Gospel of Matthew), nor as the Baptizer (as in the gospel of Mark), nor as John, son of Zachariah and Elizabeth (like in the Gospel of Luke). He is not the ‘one who lived in the wilderness.’ When the temple officials interrogate him, John tells them that he is not the messiah, not Elijah, not the prophet. Not, neither, nor. The Gospel remains coy concerning the identify of this man. The details, it seems, don’t matter. When pressed, John finally answers by quoting the prophet Isaiah: “I am the voice.” He says. “The voice crying out in the wilderness.”

In the Fourth Gospel, John is a witness, an announcer, a story teller. He’s the one who sets the stage, paints the picture, draws in the audience – like a costumed street performer he calls to passersby – all those bustling folks distracted by to-do lists, lost in thought, tromping through December slush with eyes cast down, rushing here and there (“How many errands can I get in before the shops close? There’s still the tree to cut, the roast to order and stamps to buy…”). “Hello there!” He cries out, waving a white-gloved hand. “Have you heard? Someone’s coming! I am not worthy to tie his shoes…but I’ve heard that ‘worthy’ hardly matters to him. I’ve heard that his favorite companions are outcasts and oddballs; children and invalids, vagabonds and, well, maybe even street performers! When he laughs, this man – and he laughs often, I’m told – his face lights up like the North Star. Who am I? I am just Ursa Major, the Big Dipper, that constellation that points to the North Star. That’s me; just showing the way. There! Look over there! Just keep an eye on the road and get ready. You can’t miss him when he comes…”

Maybe it strikes you as odd – even irreverent – to compare John to a street artist, a glorified clown. But ask yourself this: What does it take to get our attention, to stop us in our tracks as we race through life and root us in the present moment long enough to really hear? What does it take to captivate our hearts? I’ll tell you what: it takes a compelling story told by an enthusiastic performer – like the one who appears unexpectedly on the street corner, catches your eye and makes you smile, despite yourself. His painted face is animated; he can hardly contain his joy; he dances down an imaginary road, clearing it of imaginary stones. He stops short and bows low, as if to a stranger he has just encountered. He drops to one knee and pretends to tie the stranger’s shoe. But wait: the expression on his face transforms: the stranger has invited him to lunch! The street performer sits on an invisible chair, and laughs as they toast invisible glasses, until you wish you were invited to the party, too.

That’s John… At least, that’s how I imagine him today: As the one who captures our attention, provokes us to see something that we might otherwise miss. “I baptize with water. [John said.] Someone greater stands among you, whom you don’t even recognize. Set down your shopping bags for a sec; pull up a bench. Let me tell you about him.”

So we lean in. We listen. He begins to tell the story, “Have you heard?” There’s an organization called The Moth, which is dedicated to the art of storytelling. They host public storytelling events all around the country – always true stories, told in the first person without notes in front of a live audience. Craig and I went to a story slam once, at the Bitter End, the oldest rock club in NYC. When you arrive, you can put your name in a hat if you’d like to tell a five minute story. Ten names are drawn from the hat. Ten stories in one night. We just went to listen. We scored a table right up front by the stage. We heard a story by a Pepsi fan who worked for Coca Cola; a story about a fortune teller who predicted someone’s death – she thought it was the client’s but it turned out to be her own. There was a story about getting lost, and another about being found. And so it went…

Listening to those tales made me wonder: What stories do I have to tell? Listening to John makes me wonder: what stories do I have to tell about Emmanuel – God-With-Us, the one to whom John pointed, the one he called the Light. Where have I encountered that Light, the Light of Christ, in my own life? If I was standing on a street corner, or in the middle of crowded room, for that matter, could I draw someone in with some account about God in my life? Could you? It doesn’t have to be a story with grand special effects; no miracles required. In fact, sometimes, the best stories are about the smallest moments.

It was just after dawn on a midsummer morning. I was maybe six. My parents were still sound asleep. I woke up earlier than usual, with a nagging sense that I was being invited to go outside and play… with God. Still in my nightgown, barefoot, I crept quietly out the door, down the steps and across the dew-soaked lawn, to a big old tree in my backyard. A wooden swing hung from that tree; the seat had been red once, but the paint was mostly chipped off. I sat in that swing, gently swaying, and felt as though I was hanging out with the Divine, like we were holding a secret meeting, God and my 6-year-old self. I felt welcomed and a bit conspiratorial. It’s a moment that has always stayed with me.

I was twenty-two, outdoors again. This time: standing at a podium in the cool, open air just after dark, in front of gathering of about 30 Chilean young people in Curicó, Chile. We were worshipping together, as we’d been doing for months. Only that night something happened, as I looked out on the faces of strangers who had taken me in and become my friends during my year-long sojourn with the Pentecostal Church of Chile. Ever since I had landed in their midst, I had wrestled mightily with the differences between their church and mine, their more literal way of reading the Bible and my more progressive views. But that evening, I looked out at the sea of faces and saw thirty different versions of the face of Christ, looking back at me. There, and there, and over there. Our theological differences didn’t disappear, but suddenly space opened up, enough space to accommodate their way of being Christian and mine. One Body in Christ, and all members of it. It’s a moment that has always stayed with me.

The more I consider, the more stories bubble up. There’s the one about the bald eagle I encountered on my morning walk, who gifted me with a sense of calm in the midst of some personal turmoil; there’s the homeless man who once stopped at my car window and introduced himself as Jesus; and the sixty-five year old woman who clung to my hand as she lay near death, and told me that she was afraid; and the words I was given to comfort her.

There’s Emmanuel, God-with-us. There. And there. Some of my stories are really about other witnesses, other people whose courage and compassion stand as evidence to God’s transforming activity in the world. Perhaps you have a list of them, the people who have helped you to see the Light of Christ. My list includes: Sister Helen Prejean. Archbishop Desmond Tutu. Bishop Gene Robinson. Maya Angelou. My professor Dr. Dow Edgerton. And Malala Yousafzai.

It was last Thursday. I sat at my computer and watched a video of 17-year-old Malala delivering her Nobel Peace Prize acceptance speech in Oslo. Malala is a Pakistani woman, Pashtun, and an outspoken advocate for girls’ education. In 2012, she was shot in the head by a member of the Taliban. She survived. Astonishingly, she emerged from the hospital even more determined to promote the rights of girls to be educated. She’s been called ‘the bravest girl in the world.’ Last Wednesday, she stood at a podium before the Nobel Prize committee and guests, a slight 5’2” tall in high heels, her head covered by a delicate salmon-colored scarf, and gestured to several girls in the audience who’d come along to support her:

“I am not a lone voice.” she said. “I am many. I am Malala. I am Shazia.
I am Kainat Riaz.
I am Kainat Somro.
I am Mezon.
I am Amina. I am those 66 million girls who are out of school. And today, I am not raising myvoice, but the voice of those 66 million girls.”

“There it is again,” I thought: A voice crying out in the wilderness. Make the way straight…

Like John, Malala is a witness with a powerful story to tell, one that stops me in my tracks and captivates my heart. Both compel me to listen; both help me to see God at work in our midst. Both remind me that God still enlists the most ordinary extraordinary people to help transform the world.

How about you? What’s your story? What have you seen? What have you heard? … Because here’s the thing: we are the witnesses now, inheritors of John’s role. The scene is set; the stage is ours. We get to be like the Big Dipper, helping travelers to locate the North Star. There’s the Light, and there! It’s up to us to point it out, up to us to tell that compelling story about light in the darkness, hope in the face of despair. It seems to me that the world needs to hear that story more than ever. Don’t you think? This week, even as we light the joy candle, we are surrounded by tales of pain and suffering in our own communities and around the globe: children shot and killed; neighborhoods torn apart by deep distrust between black folks and white folks; families dismantled by economic stress, violence or addiction…. This world urgently needs to hear the Good News of God’s transforming love.

And we, we’ve heard it proclaimed – haven’t we? By a teenaged girl named Mary, by shepherds in the field, by John in the wilderness, by the prophet Isaiah: Someone’s coming! Why? To bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners; 2 to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all who mourn… to give them a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit.

If you’ve ever felt the truth of that promise, even for a moment; if you’ve ever seen even a glimmer of the Divine, a flash of that Light, a hint of God’s presence; if you’ve ever been inspired, comforted, compelled, provoked, renewed…well: now’s the time to tell it.

Maybe it’s hard to get started. Talking about faith, putting words to our experiences of God, Holy Mystery, Emmanuel – whatever name you call Her – It’s not something we do every day. Maybe you’ve never thought of yourself as a story teller; maybe you think you lack John’s flare for the dramatic. Only, that doesn’t matter, really. What matters is that the story you tell is your own, that it has touched your heart somehow. You could start like this: “I was walking down the street one day/standing in my kitchen/drinking coffee with a friend/watching the news/protesting on the bridge/lying in the hospital… when I saw something/felt something/heard something holy. I’m not even sure what to call it, but it filled me with joy/it gave me hope/it stirred up my courage/ it helped me make a really hard decision or take the next step/or, it made me smile. That moment has stayed with me ever since. Maybe it even changed me.”

That’s how you do it. Just tell it like it is. Of course, story-telling gets easier with practice. So maybe start with people you know best, the ones who will love you even if you feel a bit like a clown. Maybe take time at dinner to consider the question as a family, ask each other: where did you see God today? Go around the table. See what you come up with.

Stick with it, even if it’s hard at first. For this I do believe: that we all have voices; we all have stories worthy to be told. The question is: what story is being born in you this season? And who needs to hear it? Costumes and makeup are optional. Just invite someone to pull up a chair. God be with you. Amen.

Scripture Texts

ISAIAH 61: 1-4, 8-11 – COMMON ENGLISH BIBLE TRANSLATION

1 The spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me; he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners; 2 to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor, and the day of vengeance of our God; to comfort all who mourn; 3 to provide for those who mourn in Zion – to give them a garland instead of ashes, the oil of gladness instead of mourning, the mantle of praise instead of a faint spirit. They will be called oaks of righteousness, the planting of the Lord, to display his glory. 4 They shall build up the ancient ruins, they shall raise up the former devastations; they shall repair the ruined cities, the devastations of many generations…

8 For I the Lord love justice, I hate robbery and wrongdoing; I will faithfully give them their recompense, and I will make an everlasting covenant with them. 9 Their descendants shall be known among the nations, and their offspring among the peoples; all who see them shall acknowledge that they are a people whom the Lord has blessed. 10 I will greatly rejoice in the Lord, my whole being shall exult in my God; for God has clothed me with the garments of salvation, and covered me with the robe of righteousness, as a bridegroom decks himself with a garland, and as a bride adorns herself with her jewels. 11 For as the earth brings forth its shoots, and as a garden causes what is sown in it to spring up, so the Lord God will cause righteousness and praise to spring up before all the nations.

JOHN 1:6-8; 19-28 – COMMON ENGLISH BIBLE TRANSLATION

6 A man named John was sent from God. 7 He came as a witness to testify concerning the light, so that through him everyone would believe in the light. 8 He himself wasn’t the light, but his mission was to testify concerning the light…

19 This is John’s testimony when the Jewish leaders in Jerusalem sent priests and Levites to ask him, “Who are you?” 20 John confessed (he didn’t deny but confessed), “I’m not the Christ.” 21 They asked him, “Then who are you? Are you Elijah?” John said, “I’m not.” “Are you the prophet?” John answered, “No.” 22 They asked, “Who are you? We need to give an answer to those who sent us. What do you say about yourself?” 23 John replied, “I am a voice crying out in the wilderness, Make the Lord’s path straight, just as the prophet Isaiah said.” 24 Those sent by the Pharisees 25 asked, “Why do you baptize if you aren’t the Christ, nor Elijah, nor the prophet?” 26 John answered, “I baptize with water. Someone greater stands among you, whom you don’t recognize. 27 He comes after me, but I’m not worthy to untie his sandal straps.” 28 This encounter took place across the Jordan in Bethany where John was baptizing.