More Wine

January 19, 2025, Saint Barnabas Lutheran Church, Howard Beach, Queens, N.Y.

 Jesus is at a wedding. 

This is not strange because we know Jesus likes to party. He knows his critics call him a “glutton and a drunkard, a friend of tax collectors and sinners (Luke 7:34)” but it doesn’t stop him from eating and drinking.

It’s important to remember this aspect of Jesus’ life. It puts a wholesome perspective on Christian living. We are called to love God, love our neighbor, welcome the stranger, feed the hungry, free the prisoner, seek justice, take holy naps, and unwind with a pint of ice cream or a good chianti.

The latter, of course, in moderation.

So we must ask ourselves whether it’s a good idea to ask for more wine at a party after everyone has drunk their fill. Perhaps we have been guests at weddings where it would have been a good idea to close the open bar sooner rather than later.

After my tenure as an editor for American Baptists I spent three happy years as a reporter for a small Philadelphia daily. One night the editor received phone calls from guests at a wedding where a fight broke out. Not just a fight. A brawl. People were arrested and some called the local paper to make their side of the story was on the record. The editor told me to look into it.

I started making calls and, to my surprise, everyone wanted to talk about it. This is not how people normally react when a reporter calls.

I quickly pieced the story together. There was an open bar. The groom was from a large Italian family and the bride was a from a Philadelphia family with roots going back to William Penn.

“The bride’s family wanted the DJ to play Andy Williams music,” a member of the groom’s family told me. “Hey. Moon River at a party? No way!”

“They insisted on Frank Sinatra music,” said a member of the bride’s family. “Who did they think we were? Mobsters?

Unable to compromise, members of the wedding party started throwing fists. I thought this was an inauspicious start for the happy couple. But I wrote it up and the editor printed it under the headline, “Send In the Clowns.”

I think we can safely assume the wedding party at Cana was under better control.

But what would a wedding in Jesus’ day be like?

According to Msgr. Charles Pope of Washington,  D.C., the wedding at Cana would have taken place over several days and the entire village gathered for the celebration. That’s why it’s no surprise that Jesus, his mother, his family, and all his disciples were there.

“The bride was carried in a litter and in procession,” Msgr. Pope writes. “She was beautifully dressed and along the way people sang wedding songs that were traditionally known and largely drawn from the Song of Songs in the Bible: Who is this coming up from the wilderness like a column of smoke, perfumed with myrrh and incense made from all the spices of the merchant? (Song of Songs 3:6) When the procession reached the bridegroom’s house, his parents bestowed a traditional blessing drawn from scripture and other sources. After the prayers, the evening was passed in games and dancing and the bridegroom took part in the festivities. But the bride withdrew with her bridesmaids and friends to another room assigned for her.”

The next day was the feast, “a day of general rejoicing and a sort of holiday in the village,” Pope writes. Gifts were exchanged, songs were sung, and wine was consumed.

Given that the party took place over five to seven days, it makes sense that  all the wine jars would empty before the feast ended.

It’s at this point that John introduces Mary, the mother of Jesus, for the first time. There are no nativity stories in John. The writer of John would have known about the birth narratives in Matthew and Luke and may have assumed they were common knowledge.

And suddenly Mary appears to her son and declares, simply, “They have no wine.”

It’s not exactly a request for Jesus’ intervention, but we all know what she means. My mother would also state simple facts and I knew exactly what I should do about it. “This room is a mess.” “There are dirty dishes in the sink.” “There are muddy shoe prints on the kitchen floor.”

These are not simply declarative statements. They are calls to action. And Jesus knows what she is asking.

“Woman,” he says, using a term that sounds a little rude, “what concern is that to you and me? My hour has not yet come.”

Mary, in the style of mothers everywhere, turns silently away, a move calculated to prick the conscience of any first born. She calls the servants and says loudly enough for Jesus to hear it, “Do whatever he tells you.”

It may strike us as odd that the Mary we think of as a humble country girl is summoning servants and telling them what to do. Some scholars speculate that the happy bride and groom are part of Mary’s and Jesus’ family and she feels obligated to make sure the wedding feast goes without a hitch. 

So why does Jesus, the best son any mother could have, seem to hesitate?

Brian Peterson Professor of New Testament at Lutheran Theological Southern Seminary in Columbia, S.C., observes that Jesus sometimes said he would not so something and then do it.

“At the start of chapter 7 Jesus tells his brothers that he will not go to Jerusalem, but then he goes ‘in secret,’” Professor Peterson writes. “At the start of chapter 11 Mary and Martha implicitly ask Jesus to come and heal Lazarus (or at least come to be with them during this difficult time), but he waits for two days before leaving for their home.

“In our text, too, Jesus seems to resist the request of his mother before addressing the situation. In this pattern of behavior, Jesus distances himself from any kind of authority his family or friends might assume over him.”

So Jesus changes his mind. That’s okay. Flip-flopping is not a sin, and in many cases it pushes you in the direction you need to go.

When Jesus does decide to act at Cana, it’s not because he was under family or social pressure to do it. When he changes water into wine it’s an act of grace. And what a lavish act it was.

“The grace that Jesus shows in this scene is an act of overflowing abundance,” Peterson writes. “Though we don’t know how many guests were at this wedding celebration, we might reasonably assume that 120 gallons of additional wine after the guests have had a good deal to drink already (verse 10) was more than enough. The setting of a wedding already engages the imagination of careful readers. It is an event that points to deep relational bonds, intimate connections, and the establishing of family. Such intimacy will be echoed within John’s Gospel as Jesus talks about how the disciples and he will “abide” in each other and how the disciples will ‘abide’ in his love (15:4, 9–10).”

There are many times in our lives when we fall short of things we need. Our medical insurance doesn’t pay all our bills. We can’t afford to send the kids to college. Our employer “right sizes” and we are out of a job. 

The miracle at Cana is not a promise that if we have faith, all these shortages will be filled.

But it is a promise that Christ will be among us and will sustain us through all of life’s travails.

“The glory of Christ is revealed in love, in service, in community, in grace,” writes Professor Peterson. “There is no transfiguration story in John. Instead, Jesus’ glory is seen all through his ministry and is especially revealed as he is glorified in his death and resurrection.1 

“There the wine overflows for us too.”

Baptism of Jesus

January 12, 2025, St Barnabas Lutheran Church, Howard Beach, Queens, N.Y.

Can you remember your baptism?  Who was there? Who said, “I baptize thee…”? What was done later to celebrate your new membership in the family of Christ?

Certainly the majority of Lutherans were infants when they were baptized by the sprinkling of water on their tiny heads. If this was your experience you probably don’t remember your baptism. Some Lutherans, of course, are baptized later in life and, for them, the memory is a blessing.

As a former Baptist, the very idea of baptism tingles all my chords of memory.

Back when I thought Baptists had first dibs on the Kingdom of Heaven, I was convinced that the baptism of Jesus offered a model of what baptism should be.

He was as believing adult.

He was dunked fully in the river. (We have no real evidence of that, of course, but I challenge you to find a Baptist who doesn’t believe it.

In fact, we can even surmise that all the people who came to John’s baptistry to repent their sins were adults.

That’s about all the evidence Baptists need to declare baptism should be for believing adults who knew they were born again. Years ago, I remember the general secretary of the Baptist World Alliance, the late Gerhard Claas – a German who somehow missed being a Lutheran – declare, “I see no infants baptized in my bible!” That’s debatable, of course, because scripture tells us of whole families being baptized. But Baptists held firm to their beliefs, including the notion that Jesus turned water into grape juice.

There are other groups who believe in adult baptism, and it should be noted that this position was not taken lightly. Henry VIII burned anabaptists at the stake. Believers risked their lives to dunk.

Martha and I were both born into infant baptizing churches. Martha was baptized in the Roman Catholic Church in Havana, Cuba, and I was baptized by Presbyterians in Morrisville, N.Y. But as adults we fell among Baptists and thought it good to be re-baptized. 

Over the years as an American Baptist pastor, Martha baptized scores of adults, fully dunking them in church baptistries. One skill she has that you may never witness is her ability to stand facing abnormally tall people, lean them over backwards into the water, and return them to a standing position. It’s a marvel of physics. And a miracle that she never drowned anyone.

Needless to say, our views of Christian baptism have evolved. And I must say that the first time I saw Martha baptize an infant and carry the baby up the church aisles to present her to a Lutheran congregation, I was deeply moved.

Too, we now recognize that the Holy Spirit was powerfully present when we were baptized as infants and there was no need to be re-baptized.

As a member of the World Council of Churches staff I attended a meeting with Latin American Pentecostals in Costa Rica. An intensely evangelical group, Pentecostals have been aggressive in bringing lapsed Catholics into their fold. But a Pentecostal pastor reported that his church does not re-baptize converts who were baptized as infants in Catholic parishes. “The presence of the Holy Spirit is for all time,” he said. “The Holy Spirit does not expire."

For Martin Luther, baptism was an essential step to salvation. We’ve read his words in his Small Catechism: “Baptism works forgiveness of sins, rescues from death and the devil, and gives eternal salvation to all who believe this, as the words and promises of God declare.”

How can water do such great things?

“Certainly not just water,” Luther wrote, “but the word of God in and with the water does these things, along with the faith which trusts this word of God in the water. For without God’s word the water is plain water and no Baptism. But with the word of God it is a Baptism, that is, a life-giving water, rich in grace, and a washing of the new birth in the Holy Spirit, as St. Paul says in Titus, chapter three: “He saved us through the washing of rebirth and renewal by the Holy Spirit, whom He poured out on us generously through Jesus Christ our Savior, so that, having been justified by His grace, we might become heirs having the hope of eternal life. This is a trustworthy saying.” (Titus 3:5–8)

Luther declares, “St. Paul writes in Romans chapter six: ‘We were therefore buried with Him through baptism into death in order that, just as Christ was raised from the dead through the glory of the Father, we too may live a new life’” (Rom. 6:4)

The importance of baptism is founded on the fact that Jesus, who was without sin, demonstrated its importance by being baptized himself.

We know the familiar paintings that depict this scene: John standing awkwardly before Jesus protesting he was not worthy to baptize him; Jesus insisting that he do it anyway.

It’s worth noting, then, that John is strangely missing from Luke’s account. Why? 

Karoline Lewis, Professor and the Marbury E. Anderson Chair of Biblical Preaching at Luther Seminary in Saint Paul, Minnesota, says the answer is hidden is verses 3:18-20 that the lectionary omits. John is in jail. He has spoken truth to power and King Herod doesn’t like it. So he throws the Baptist into a dark hole and throws away the key.

So if John didn’t baptize Jesus, who did?

Of course it was John. The three other Gospels state this explicitly. Mark, the writer of the oldest Gospel, writes, “In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

That’s the old, old story we know so well.

But Professor Lewis believes it is important that we acknowledge John’s absence in this passage in Luke. 

“While John had a major role in the first chapters of the Gospel, including“ the story of his mother and father, his birth, his relationship to Jesus,” she writes, “now that Jesus will be baptized, it’s just Jesus, and there will be no confusing the two … John’s baptism is just with water. But Jesus? Well, that’s with the Holy Spirit and with fire (think Acts 2).

Professor Mitzi J. Smith, J. Davison Philips Professor of New Testament at Columbia Theological Seminary, Decatur, Georgia, also sees hidden meanings in Luke’s version of the story.

“Before Jesus has done anything,” she writes, “before he begins his public ministry in Luke, the voice from heaven publicly announces, ‘I am well pleased with you’ (3:22b). The only thing Jesus has done so far is to humble himself by submitting to be baptized by a man who describes himself as unworthy to untie Jesus’ sandals and who has lived in the margins of society.

Perhaps this demonstrates God giving value to the lowliest in a society where wealth is concentrated in the top 1–2 percent. Maybe this God gives value, purpose, belonging, and a sense of dignity and worth to persons born into social statuses relegated to the bottom of a society. This divine affirmation and confirmation will allow Jesus to unapologetically speak truth to power, to stand in the midst of hostile crowds, and to stand firm before religious and political leaders.”

Thus Jesus’ earthly ministry begins on a high note, with God placing him among the most common people of his time while instilling him with a power and authority that will change the world forever.

And it all begins in water, that is, “a life-giving water, rich in grace, and a washing of the new birth in the Holy Spirit.”

As preachers all over the world are admonishing each of us today, 

“Remember your baptism.”

Come on in. The waters are fine. 

When Magi Visit

 

January 5, 2025, St Barnabas Lutheran Church, Howard Beach, Queens, N.Y.

I have been fascinated by the Magi all my life, even dating back to my childhood when I thought they were “the Magee.” I also thought, as a child, thought the three kings were from an exotic country called OrienTAR.

Seven decades later I’m still intrigued by these peculiar men. In part this is because of the stunning contrast between these glittering guys and the crude farm shed where they bowed their gilded heads to the little peasant laying in a feeding trough. 

Growing up in a tiny hamlet in Central New York State, I know what it feels like when an awesome personage appeared miraculously in our midst. In my little village of Morrisville, Governor Malcolm Wilson stopped by on his way to Syracuse and, according to legend, had a piece of cherry pie in Sautter’s Diner. That was nearly six decades ago and we still talk about it.

But in 1930 a real magus came to Morrisville. Governor Franklin D. Roosevelt motored up route 20 to pay his respects to I.M. Charleton, the director of the Morrisville Institute (now Morrisville State College).

This little known event suggests Morrisville was not the least among the hamlets of Upstate New York. A future world leader discerned the importance of cultivating village intellectuals like I.M. (who, if not a Republican, was one of the few persons in the village who wasn’t.) History does not say whether Morrisville was at the top of FDR’s itinerary, or why he appears to have left the engine running as he sat in his car and charmed the local gentry.

In 1930, no one knew what Franklin Roosevelt’s future held. Still, he was important enough that I.M. Charleton thought it good to stand on the curb and chat with the Gov as he sat in the luxurious car. We know now, of course, that FDR’s paralyzed legs made it necessary for him to sit while I.M. stood, but in 1930 no one thought it was odd. The governor had perfected the art of charismatic sitting.

FDR’s visit may have been the most historic thing that happened in Morrisville during the Depression and possibly for all time. I surmise FDR’s visit was unequaled by anything else that happened in Morrisville and someday a plaque may be placed in the pavement where his oil pan leaked 92 years ago.

I think this isolated event in my home town gives us some small idea what it must have been like for the exalted magi to step nimbly over the hay mounds and sheep dropping to kneel before a lowly newborn. How mind-blowing! How marvelous!

On January 6, Christians around the world celebrate the Feast of the Epiphany, the twelfth day of Christmas that, along with twelve drummers drumming, marks the arrival of the Magi at the manger where Jesus was born. In our household, we observe the traditional Latino celebration of El Día de los Reyes and exchange small gifts in honor of their kingly largesse. But this is not a practice I grew up with in Morrisville, and it is not a universal observance.

Views as to who the kings are, in fact, as varied as the Christendom itself. Some sects, including Jehovah’s Witnesses, excise references to the Kings because they were regarded as sorcerers of Satan. That’s a minority viewpoint, but it does tempt you to look a little closer at these guys.

A handful of scholars believe los tres reyes were precocious astronomers who mapped the stars and studied the passage of planets, but that would have placed them several hundred years ahead of their time. Most observers are convinced the kings were garden variety astrologers, a possibility supported by the fact that they not only looked at stars but believed that celestial bodies had something to tell them – and, more than that, they followed one star for hundreds of miles to find out what it wanted them to know. 

Of course, the moving star of Bethlehem was more likely a migrating planet than a fixed star, but who knew about such realities of astrophysics back then? One thing seems certain: the first thing the kings would have checked in Entertainment Weekly was their horoscope.

The term magi, from magus, is a reference to the priests of Zoroastrianism, who studied the stars and planets and made elaborate charts to work out what their movements portended in the currents of human life below. The three magicians from the east didn’t become “wise men” until the 16th and 17th century, when scholars who wrote the King James Version of the bible decided to call the magi “Wise Men.” Elsewhere, the drafters of the bible used the same word to denote “sorcerer” or “sorcery,” notably in reference to Elymas in Acts 13:6-11, or Simon Magus in Acts 8:9-13.

Matthew does not identify the three kings, or magicians, or wise men, but thanks to long standing church tradition, we call them by name: Melchior a Babylonian scholar; Caspar (also Gaspar, Jaspar, Jaspas, Gathaspa, and other variations), a Persian scholar; and Balthazar (also Balthasar, Balthassar, and Bithisarea), an Arab scholar.

Everything else we know about the kings is circumstantial. One reason we know they were important is that when they dropped by the palace to pay their respects to King Herod, the King took time to meet with them. This was either a professional courtesy to his fellow kings, or – as Matthew tells it – Herod had heard the rumors that a king of the Jews was about to the born and he invited the three sorcerers in to find out what they knew. The wily Herod asked the three to let him know when they found the lad, “so that I may go and pay him homage.” 

But the kings were smart enough to know Herod was setting a trap for the baby – Matthew says they were warned in a dream – and they “left for their own country by another road,” evading Herod and his agents. Herod realized he had been duped by the kings and, according to Matthew, ordered the death of every new born male child in Bethlehem.

No one knows what happened to the kings after they returned home, although there are many interesting legends. Some believe one of the magi was baptized by St. Thomas, the “doubting Thomas” of Scripture, while he was en route to his missionary tasks in India. Both the Mar Thoma Church and the Malankara Orthodox Syrian Church of India trace their origins to the first century visit of St. Thomas to South Asia.

But it was Saint Gregory the Great, who reigned as pope from 590 to 604 C.E., who placed the traveling wise men in their proper historic perspective. In one of those rare sermons that is remembered for 1,500 years, Gregory stressed the fact that the wise men, having searched for and discovered the Christ, took a different road and never retraced their route.  

“Having come to know Jesus,” he said, “we are forbidden to return by the way we came.”

Despite all the mystery and speculation about whom they really were, the three magi continue to preach a powerful message across the millennia. They were three non-Jews whose minds and spirits were open to powerful spiritual currents, including cryptic indications that a powerful monarch was about to be born to the Jews, a group they might have dismissed as a relatively minor sect in the Roman and eastern worlds.

When the three sorcerers perceived a unique sign in the heavens, a bright object that appeared to move ahead of them, they followed it out of intellectual and metaphysical curiosity.

As they pondered the heavenly sign that moved before them, they consulted their charts and concluded it was leading them to a rendezvous with an infant whose power and significance exceeded all they ever knew.

En route to Bethlehem, they decided to mark the occasion with significant gifts to the baby king: gold as a symbol of kingship on earth, frankincense as a reminder of God’s presence, and myrrh, an embalming oil, as a symbol of the death that would be required to bring the prophecy to fruition.

When they arrived at the end of their journey, these wise men born to riches did not hesitate to enter a rude, odiferous barn, because they knew the power and glory that resided in the human baby resting in an old feeding troth.

They came from afar and they knew who they were seeking and when they arrived they worshipped the baby in the troth.

When they met Jesus, they knew their lives must be changed forever. And they chose a new road for passage, having decided that they must never again retrace the steps that had brought them to this radical encounter with the son of a God they were only just beginning to know.

The very presence of these three splendid strangers must have amazed the parents of Jesus and astonished other witnesses in area. The visit of the obviously important Magi would have been regarded as a sign that something big was happening – just as Franklin Roosevelt’s 1930 appearance in Morrisville was a sign of something big.

But the glistening kings knew something that may have temporarily eluded others: they knew the magi were not the most important presence in the tiny barn.

That honor belonged to the smallest person in the room, the feeble infant still struggling to find the strength to lift his head.

It was the baby that the wise men came to see, and once they had seen him, their lives were changed forever.

And as we watch them in our minds eye, three kings stepping out on history’s stage, choosing a new route of enlightenment and understanding, may we all be eager to follow them and the star that brought them to God’s salvation,

westward leading,
still proceeding,
guide us to thy perfect light.

Scaring the Shepherds

Christmas Eve, First Lutheran Church of Throggs Neck, Bronx, N.Y.

We are so consumed by the joy of this wonderful night that we sometimes forget that terror was the predominant reaction of the people who lived it.

I’ve never been a shepherd but I can almost feel what it was like for them on that night of nights.

On one bleak mid-winter night long ago, I was walking on a deserted beach in England. A fellow airman and I, both teenagers, had just dropped off our dates after a not entirely satisfying evening. We had less than an hour to catch a train back to the base so we walked quickly on the brightly lighted beach. 

Suddenly, everything went black.

I was terrified. Had I suddenly passed out? Dropped dead? I could see nothing. I could have used an angelic voice telling me to fear not but all I could hear was the rapid breathing of my companion.

“Oh, yeah,” my friend said with a slightly shaky voice. “I forgot. The beach lights are automatically shut off at midnight.”

“Of course,” I said. Our eyes slowly adjusted to the darkness and we walked on.

But I never forgot the fear I felt that night. 

And this night I try to imagine what the shepherds felt when they had an opposite experience: when the comfortable darkness that surrounded them became blinding light. Of course they were sore afraid. And so, I surmise, were the sheep.

Angels scare people. That’s why they announce themselves with an abrupt “fear not” while they wait to see if people will require a change of underwear.

And make no mistake: in the presence of God and the angels, it is good to be terrified. The shepherds are encountering the awesome power that breathed the universe into being and human beings are ill equipped to  comprehend it. 

Whether God speaks to you in a still small voice or in the roar of angels, it’s terrifying. Even when the news brings “great joy for all the people: to you is born this day … a Savior, who is Christ the Lord” (Luke 2:10-11) Still trembling with both fear and joy, they make their way to the manger to behold the miracle. “So they went with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the child lying in the manger.” (Luke 2:16)

And what else did they find there? A cozy refuge from the capriciousness of the world? A tender scene of motherly love?

Possibly. What did Mary have to fear?

Well, quite a lot, actually.

As we have seen, the fact that she was unmarried and with child created grave dangers for her. She was literally saved by Joseph, who, thanks to the intercession of the angel, stepped in to marry her.

But there were other things to fear. In first century Palestine, the infant mortality rate was 40 to 50 percent. Even knowing that the child in her womb was of God, Mary would be aware that half the women she knew lost their babies. This must have weighed on her mind as she and Joseph made the rough journey to Bethlehem.

And what else was there to fear?

Mary was a first-time mother who birthed her baby alone, far from her mother, far from experienced women who could tell her that it was normal for a baby to cry, and burp up, to fill his diapers with a yellowish mess. 

Some women here know what Mary was experiencing. A little over a year ago, we watched from a distance as our youngest daughter in Atlanta gave birth to a healthy baby.

Separated from her mother by more than 700 miles, our daughter felt devastatingly alone. She and Martha were on the phone at all hours as our daughter asked desperate questions. Was she doing the right thing? Should she let the baby cry herself to sleep or pick her up and cuddle her? Was something wrong if the baby cried? Was something wrong when she stopped crying? Was our daughter was doing something wrong? “I don’t think I’m cut out for this,” she said, weeping. 

Martha flew to Georgia for a week so our daughter and her wonderful husband would have the support they needed. Gradually our daughter’s anxiety subsided. Martha assured her that there was no such thing as a perfect parent. “Be a ‘good enough’ parent,” she said. “That’s all we can do.”

A year and two months later, our daughter is a self-assured, loving, and nurturing mother to her toddler, who is already running around the house. Like all mothers, she quickly learned how to be a “good enough” parent, and now she stands ready to support and advise other new mothers.

We celebrate all our daughters who have had the experience of being mothers for the first time. We feel their joy. We celebrate God’s love and miracles of new life.

On this night of nights, we also celebrate the miracle that Mary brought into the world.

But as we gaze on her pious and contented face in a myriad of manger scenes and art, we remember that her placid surface may well hide a myriad of fears and anxieties.

We may never understand all Mary went through to deliver the savior unto us. But we rejoice that she went through it with faith and courage.

“My soul magnifies the Lord,” she said, “and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior.”

Tonight in carols and candles, our spirits also rejoice in God our Savior.

We rejoice in those who were not deterred by their fears from bringing this holy night to the world.

Happy Birthday, baby Jesus. 

And Merry Christmas to all.

Mother Mary, Untangle Us

December 22, 2025, First Lutheran Church of Throggs Neck, Bronx, N.Y. 

 “My soul magnifies the Lord, and my spirit rejoices in God my Savior, for he has looked with favor on the lowliness of his servant. Surely, from now on all generations will call me blessed; for the Mighty One has done great things for me, and holy is his name.

His mercy is for those who fear him from generation to generation. He has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty. He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants forever.” Luke 1:46b-55

Great stuff. It’s hard to believe this speech was uttered by an illiterate 14-year-old who has just been told she is pregnant. In her unmarried state, extra-marital sex and pregnancy could get her stoned.

“Oh, crap,” would be a more understandable response.

But it is foolish to underestimate Mary. With titles like Queen of the Universe, Queen of Heaven, and Mother of God, she is a major player God’s drama.

Less known but equally important is her title, “Untier of Knots.”

Indeed, some of the thornier knots she faces can be detected in the Magnificat, one of the scripture readings designated for the fourth Sunday in Advent. There are no greater tangles than the pride that makes people think they are greater than God, or the arrogant power of politicians who oppress the poor. But the little peasant girl perceives that no imbroglio is beyond the power of God, who casts down the powerful, lifts up the lowly, feeds the hungry, and sends the rich away.

But we all have painful knots in our lives, and one tradition of the church is that Mary has been given the power to loosen, unravel, and untie the bonds which paralyze us. In the words of a novena for Mary:

Mary, my Mother, God has charged you
With untangling the knots in the lives of his children;
Into your hands I place the ribbon of my life.
No one, not the evil one himself,
Can deprive it of your merciful assistance.
There is no knot that cannot be untangled by your hands.

Anyone who has spent a morning detangling a gnarled spaghetti of Christmas lights or computer cables knows that untying knots requires patience. Untying knots is a persistent trial-and-error of inserting ends through likely snags, un-inserting them when the knot tightens, gingerly reinserting in the hopes of loosening the kinks, and resisting the temptation to cast the jumble aside and walk away. Any time a knot is untied, it's a miracle.

If Mary has the power to untie knots, it’s no wonder she’s the Queen of Heaven. 

Sometimes the knots we get in our lives seem beyond untangling.  We sendan email to a trusted friend, complaining about a colleague, and accidentally send it to everyone in the office. We drink too much at an office party and the boss discovers us asleep beneath her desk. We forget to set the emergency brake of our car and it rolls down the driveway into a passing police car. 

But most of our personal knots are less dramatic. We say cruel words to a friend that cannot be unheard. We get overwhelmed by the complexities of our jobs and can’t get out of bed in the mornings. We shun family members because of imagined slights and can’t figure out how to start talking again. We are angry and frustrated by friends or relatives whose political views we regard as neo-Nazi and we build emotional barriers between us. We fall into a morass of boredom and ennui and don’t know how to restore meaning to our lives. 

As a Lutheran with a Baptist background, I know enough to pray to the Lord when these predicaments appear, and I know how to do it: “Lord, we just pray that you will help, and we just pray Lord that you will just make things good again, and we just pray …” In my tradition, the word “just” is used the way “selah” is used by the Hebrew Psalmist. It gives us a sense of timing and sometimes makes us feel better.

Certainly Jesus loves us and understands our pain. But sometimes I wish we Protestants hadn’t forgotten how to pray to an untier of knots who knows what it’s like to be a loving and a long-suffering mother.

Unfortunately, many Protestants have cast Mary aside as if she was a remnant of archaic papist habits we have rejected, like making the sign of the cross or saying vain and repetitious prayers or imbibing actual wine during the Lord’s Supper.

Mary remains, however, an important character in our Christmas pageants. In our little community church in Morrisville, N.Y., we’d find a blonde girl who looked cute with a white towel draped over her head and give her the role of a lifetime: gazing adoringly at a 40-watt light bulb portraying the baby Jesus in the manger.

Even so, one has to wonder why low-church Protestants have been so unaffected by Mary’s charisma. She was, after all, the mother of Jesus. We can't ignore that, but neither do we regard her with the same high status and deep respect as our Roman Catholic and Orthodox sisters and brothers.

Given what we know about Mary, we have vastly underestimated her. She was, among other things, a peasant girl. She was born into a patriarchal culture where girls counted for naught, and her family had to contend each day with an occupying army that regarded the Jews as superstitious bumpkins.

Mary and other girls were inconsequential members of their families, valued only for their cooking and cleaning skills. Mary was not expected to read, have opinions, make decisions, or fall in love. She did not go out and choose her husband because she liked his limpid brown eyes and sinewy pecs.

Joseph, like everything else in her life, was assigned to her by her father. Joseph, one might even say, was forced upon her. Based on what we know about the culture, Mary would have been between 12 and 14 when she was betrothed, which probably happened shortly after her first menstrual period.

What happened next must have been terrifying. Look at it from her point of view. She’s 14. She’s engaged to a stranger. She’s innocent of the ways of the world. She may not even understand what sexual intercourse is, but she’s old enough to know that if she does it before she is married, her parents and her neighbors will drag her out of the house and kill her with rocks.

Then one day Mary is told she is pregnant. That could not have been good news, even if it was delivered by an angel. Her first thought must have been that the angel was delivering a death sentence.

And even when the angel sought to reassure her that everything was all right, it’s hard to imagine she was in any sense relieved. With child, you say? With child? by God? You wouldn’t believe it today if someone said you or your daughter was pregnant by God.

This moment at which Mary was informed of her pregnancy – the Annunciation – has been portrayed in literature, song, Frescoes, statuary and art for two thousand years.

Certainly a miracle has happened, and throughout its history the church has seen it this way: a virgin has conceived by the Holy Spirit, God knoweth how.

But, according to Luke, a new miracle of equal power began to unfold. Once the shock wore off and Mary caught her breath, this 14-year-old peasant girl, this cipher who can’t read and has been told never to think, commences to utter one of the most revolutionary statements in human history.

God has shown strength with his arm; he has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty. He has helped his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy, according to the promise he made to our ancestors, to Abraham and to his descendants for ever.’ (Luke 1:51-55, NRSV)

Overthrow the powerful?

Raise up the peasants?

Feed the hungry?

Reject the rich?

The angel must have been as shocked as Mary was when she was informed she was pregnant. No sooner than she opens her mouth than she begins untying the cosmic knots she sees around her.

From the very beginning, demure little Mary far exceeded the expectations of her family and culture.

In the same way, she obviously exceeds the expectations of Baptists and others who set her aside along with the high liturgical trappings and arbitrary hierarchies of the oppressive churches we escaped. 

Ironically, as we can detect from her opening speech, Mary is the one thing we should have held on to.

Many low-church Protestants shed a lot of high-church trappings that reminded us of the Church of England and other oppressors. 

Given the importance Mary’s son assigned to his last supper, for instance, it seems almost heretical that some denominations - and here I'm thinking of Baptists, my former tribe - limit their communion ordinance to once as month. They've abandoned the beautiful litanies and liturgies of the Book of Common Prayer because they think it’s holier to pray from our hearts. And despite their eagerness to be transparent witnesses of our faith, we tossedsaside the most visible demonstration of what we believe: making the sign of the cross when= we pray.

Baptists have also exchanged priests, bishops and hierarchs for soul liberty and the priesthood of all believers, and who can say they are not better off?

But when you consider the importance of Mary to the church and to Jesus, I they we had not been so quick to set her aside.

Mary’s first utterance, as recorded by Luke, sets the scene for all that is to come. She quickly grasps what is happening: the God everyone expected to come in shock and awe is actually coming as a mewling, puking boy. But that counter-intuitive revelation preceded the turning of the universe on its head. And with Jesus still zygotic in her womb, Mary knew it all.

But more than that, it was Mary who nursed him, guided his first steps, toilet trained him, and whispered in his ear the Godly secrets that would change the world. 

In a sense better understood by our higher church sisters and brothers, Mary is also our own mother in that she symbolizes a side of God we rarely acknowledge: God’s feminine side.

Years ago I attended the funeral of a good friend on the American Baptist staff. He was young and energetic and his sudden death from a cerebral hemorrhage was a devastating shock.

As we sat sadly in our pews, my late friend’s wife was surrounded by her young children. The children, confused and frightened, began to cry. And their mother reached out her arms to them and hugged them tightly, whispering comfort in their ears.

The minister who officiated at the funeral pointed to the widow.

“Here we see how God comes to us as a mother,” he said. “God shares our grief, our sense of loss, but the Mother God’s first instinct is to embrace and console her children.”

Sometimes we need a divine mother, a goddess, who knew something Jesus didn’t: the experience of motherhood.

One thing the angel did not reveal to Mary at the Annunciation is that giving birth to God’s son would not be all gold and frankincense.  That message fell to a dying old man when the baby Jesus was presented in the temple.

Then Simeon blessed them and said to his mother Mary, “This child is destined for the falling and rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed – and a sword will pierce your own soul, too. – Luke 2:34-35, NRSV)

Throughout history, when a woman is overwhelmed by the joys of motherhood, or when the sorrows of motherhood break her heart, the mother of Jesus understands with an intimacy that transcends the experience of fathers and sons. “I’m a mother so I pray to Mary,” many women say. “She was a mother, too.”

Sometimes I wish I was as comfortable as many of my Catholic and Orthodox friends in relying on Mary as an eternal reminder that God whom we call Father has another dimension we rarely call on: the Goddess. God the mother.

And precisely because she is a mother, Mary has the spiritual and moral power to be the untier of knots.

Advent is a perfect time to remind us of the crucial role this peasant woman played in the life of Jesus and in the foundation of the church, and give her the honor she is due.

Mother Mary, come to us, speaking words of wisdom. Untie our knots. 

Let it be.

Unquenchable Fire

 

First Lutheran Church of Throggs Neck, Bronx, N.Y., December 15, 2024

In today’s Gospel, Luke is running hot and cold.

“[The Messiah] will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire,” John the Baptizer declares. “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.” (Luke 3:16-17)

Oh boy. 

That’s harsh. And as a sinner, I must ask myself: am I wheat? Or am I chaff? Am I a nourishing member of the community? Or am I a scourge of the gluten intolerant.

Luke continues:

“So, with many other exhortations, [John] proclaimed the good news to the people.” (Luke 3:18)

Excuse me? Which part of that was good news? The winnowing or the unquenchable fire?

On this third Sunday in Advent it’s hard to think about fiery Jesus. We’re focused on the tiny babe in the manger, gentle Jesus meek and mild, the Jesus who looks upon us with love and calls us “little flock.”

But just a few chapters later, Luke’s narrative runs hot again:

Jesus said: “I came to bring fire to the earth, and how I wish it were already kindled! I have a baptism with which to be baptized, and what stress I am under until it is completed! Do you think that I have come to bring peace to the earth? No, I tell you, but rather division! From now on five in one household will be divided, three against two and two against three; they will be divided father against son and son against father, mother against daughter and daughter against mother, mother-in-law against daughter-in-law and daughter-in-law against mother-in-law.” (Luke 12:49-53)

Oh, boy. 

Once Jesus is calling us “little flock” and assuring us it is the Father’s good pleasure to give us the kingdom. (Luke 12:32). Now he’s bringing fire and division to the earth, and he describes a household that sounds like an extended family’s combative Thanksgiving dinner.

We know Jesus’ life on earth was replete with many opponents and divisions. The devil challenged him in the wilderness, The members of the Nazareth synagogue tried throw him off a cliff. The Pharisees tried to catch him in legal conundrums. His own family thought he was crazy and tried to have him taken away. 

Now he is telling his disciples that the divisions will get worse as he brings fire – presumably a metaphorical fire, but who knows? – to the earth.

How we wish Jesus was still offering words of comfort to his “little flock.”

But if we look back on two millennia of church history we see he has a point. Since the earliest days, division and fire have been the most constant threads in church history.

So it was when his mother Mary realized what God was saying in her womb: 

“He has scattered the proud in the thoughts of their hearts. He has brought down the powerful from their thrones, and lifted up the lowly; he has filled the hungry with good things, and sent the rich away empty.” (Luke 1:51b-53.)

So it was when the baby Jesus was presented in the temple and Simeon declared to Mary, 

“This child is destined for the falling and the rising of many in Israel, and to be a sign that will be opposed so that the inner thoughts of many will be revealed – and a sword will pierce your own soul, too.” (Luke 2:34-35)

So it was years later when the first of Jesus’ followers came to loggerheads over whether uncircumcised gentiles could be Christians.

So it was during the Catholic Church’s Western Schism in the 14th century when popes and antipopes competed for power in Europe.

So it was when Martin Luther’s 95 theses led to the Protestant reformation in the 16th century, forever dividing the church.

And so it was when Lutherans splintered along ethnic lines: German Lutherans, Norwegian Lutherans, Swedish Lutherans, liberal Lutherans, Missouri Synod Lutherans.

Is it possible that God’s plan for growing the church is schism?

I spent several years on the staff of the World Council of Churches and the U.S. National Council of Churches. For both councils, Christian unity was an idealistic goal. The staffs spent much of their time preparing resources for the Week of Prayer for Christian Unity, an event that is observed each January in concert with the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops.

The prayers for unity have not been entirely successful. It has never been possible for all Christians to sit down together at the Lord’s common table to celebrate the Lord’s Supper. Catholic churches will not allow Protestant Christians to receive the Eucharist. Most Orthodox churches, even those who are members of the World and National Councils, will never sit down with other members to receive the blood and body of Christ. And as we all know, many Protestant churches and congregations bar non-members from the communion table.

Too, the churches cannot agree on styles of baptism – dripping or dunking – and Catholics, Orthodox, Pentecostals, and others refuse to ordain women as pastors and bishops, no matter how clear the call of the Holy Spirit may be.

The divisions are exhausting.

But are they exhausting because, as Jesus said, we do not know how to interpret the present time? (Luke 12:56)

It is a maxim of our time that our country has not been so divided – politically and spiritually – since the Civil War.

What do we make of the rising clouds, the south wind, the scorching heat that are signs of our times?

For many years we have been feeling the scorching heat:

The heat of sisters and brothers in many of our churches who support political views based on lies, white supremacy, racism, antisemitism, islamophobia, and ethnic hatreds.

The heat of racially motivated attacks and mass shootings aimed at African Americans, Muslims, Sikhs, Asians, Jews, and others.

“I came to bring fire to the earth,” Jesus said, “and how I wish it were already kindled. I have a baptism with which to be baptized, and what stress I am under until it is completed!” (Luke 12:49-50)

When Jesus talks about fire, we know very well he is not referring to the glowing logs in our fireplaces on a cold night. That kind of fire soothes us and makes us sleepy. It lulls us to quiet inaction when we are surrounded by threats and dangers all around us.

Could it be that Jesus is calling us to feel fire in our hearts – a burning commitment to be witnesses for justice?

Professor Troy Trofrgruben of Wartburg Seminary in Dubuque, suggests that when John calls his listeners to repentance, he’s not merely addressing unrepentant sinners. He’s not leaving anyone out. 

Sure, he’s calling out devious and corrupt politicians. 

Sure, he’s calling out unscrupulous landlords who won’t waste money turning on the heat and leave their tenants to suffer in the cold. 

Sure, he’s calling out drug dealers who profit on the suffering of their customers. 

Sure, he’s calling out health insurance providers who make billions in profits while denying their customers what they need to fight their diseases. 

Sure, he’s calling out American oligarchs for spending billions to send their rockets into space while so many people – including their own employees – live on the edge of poverty.

But John is also calling out the Church Lady – and thank you, Lorne Michaels for bringing her back – who has lost her passion for faith and judges those around her with a dismissive, “Isn’t that special?”

He’s calling out hard-working dudes who keep their faith a secret among their co-workers and sleep in in Sunday mornings instead of going to church.

He’s calling out those who stay quiet as persons of different races, ethnicities, faiths, and sexual orientations are ridiculed or abused by bullies.

He’s calling out you. He’s calling out me.

But if he’s asking all of us to face our sins, where is the good news?

Professor Trofrgruben writes, “In today’s world, where polarizing caricatures of others are easier and more self-assuring than nuanced appreciations of their humanity and experience, the audiences who respond to John—and the way he takes them seriously—invite us to lay our stones down. The good news in Luke’s Gospel is for all—even those we deem threatening.  While a call to repent may not seem like “good news,” it marks an invitation to a life better aligned with God’s purpose—and on that path, there is joy.”

The call to repentance may truly be good news. It invites us to take practical steps toward aligning our lives more squarely with God’s purposes—not just in theory, but in practice. “

The call to repentance is for us to reignite the fire in our own hearts, the fire that inspires us to celebrate that while we were in sin, Christ found us. The fire that compels us to live Christlike lives. The fire that compels us to do justice, and to love kindness, and to walk humbly with our God.

Henry M. Nouwen wrote: 

“Jesus’ whole life was a witness to his Father's love, and Jesus calls his followers to carry on that witness in his Name.  We, as followers of Jesus, are sent into this world to be visible signs of God’s unconditional love. Thus we are not first of all judged by what we say but by what we live.  When people say of us:  ‘See how they love one another,’ they catch a glimpse of the Kingdom of God that Jesus announced and are drawn to it as by a magnet.”

It’s not going to be easy. There are still going to be people we can’t stand. There are still temptations we can’t ignore. There is still the potential that we will make terrible mistakes.

But “in a world so torn apart by rivalry, anger, and hatred,” Nouwen writes, “We have the privileged vocation to be living signs of a love that can bridge all divisions and heal all wounds.”

It takes fire in out hearts to assume that privileged vocation. It takes the unquenchable fire that will burn away the chaff in our hearts and set us on the path top discipleship.

Professor Jerusha Matsen Neal quotes the poet Mary Oliver in her book, What I Have Learned So far.

The fire that Jesus brings “is a fire that, like Simeon’s piercing prophecy to Mary, tests the heart – revealing the thoughts of many and calling for a baptism of commitment.

As we strive to represent God’s truth and Jesus’ love amid the divisions and dangers of our times, may God give us the courage to be ignited.

As Oliver says:

“’Be Ignited or begone.’”

Advance Prophet

December 8, 2024, First Lutheran Church, Throggs Neck, Bronx, N.Y.

As many Christians observe the second Sunday of Advent, we find ourselves re-reading beloved stories of Jesus’ coming and the appearance of John the Baptist.

(John) went into all the region around the Jordan, proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, as it is written in the book of the words of the prophet Isaiah, “The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth; and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.’” (Luke 3:1-6)

John the Baptist appears in all four Gospels, and he is mentioned by a first century historian, Flavius Josephus, in his Antiquities of the Jews. The Romans knew more about John than they knew about Jesus.

John was, to put it in modern terms, the greatest second banana in history.

We know from practical experience that second bananas are not always content with (to expand the metaphor) their second fiddle fare, nor are they enamored with their charismatic superiors in whose shadows they musty dwell. Examples of resentful subordinates abound in history.

As Lin-Manuel Miranda has reminded us, Aaron Burr was so outraged by Alexander Hamilton’s obvious superiority that he became “the damn fool who shot him.”

Vice President Thomas Jefferson smiled sardonically as his followers accused President John Adams of having a “hideous hermaphroditical character, which has neither the force and firmness of a man, nor the gentleness and sensibility of a woman.” Jefferson may not have used the words, but he could have said, “I’m Thomas Jefferson and I approve this message.”

During the Second World War, British Field Marshall Bernard Law Montgomery dismissed his superior, General Dwight D. Eisenhower, with four words: “Nice chap, no soldier.” More than once, Monty tried to usurp Eisenhower’s job as allied field commander in Europe.

Vice President Harry S Truman described his boss, President Franklin D. Roosevelt, as “the coldest man I ever knew,” and “a faker.”

Vice President Richard Nixon, who owed everything to President Eisenhower, called Ike “devious,” although he added a Nixonian qualification that he meant the word in its “best sense.” 

Vice President Lyndon Johnson hid his contempt for President John F. Kennedy, whom he regarded as a callow playboy who was physically not up to the job. According to his biographer Robert Caro, LBJ would put his thumb and forefinger together to demonstrate the circumference of JFK’s ankle, suggesting Kennedy was neither physically nor temperamentally fit for power.

Historically, Second Bananas had a bad habit of knocking First Bananas off their pedestals. In England, Prince Stephen usurped the throne from Queen Matilda in 1135; Henry IV from Richard II in 1399; Edward IV from Henry VI in 1461; Richard III from Edward V in 1483; Henry VII from Richard III in 1485; Mary I from the legally designated Queen Jane in 1553; and William III and Mary II from James II in 1689.

In fact, virtually every empire and geopolitical entity in the world has had its usurpers. Second Bananaship inevitably fuels a drive to the top job.

Church historians and cynical observers have wondered if John the Baptist was content with the role. Did he, in fact, actually think of himself as a Second Banana?

The biblical and historic record suggests he was an extraordinarily gifted man with a magnetic personality who attracted thousands to his watery warren in the Jordan River and acknowledged no authority but God’s. He had innumerable disciples who followed him faithfully.

John’s father, Zechariah, foresaw a starring role for the boy:

“And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways, to give knowledge of salvation to his people by the forgiveness of their sins. By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.” (Luke 1:76-79)

Later, Luke introduces John with historical precision, marking for posterity the time and place he first appeared:

In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, and Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and Lysanias ruler of Abilene, during the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, the word of God came to John son of Zechariah in the wilderness. 

If there was ever a religious or political leader qualified to think of himself as number one, it was John the Baptist. He is one of a small handful of bible characters who appear in accounts outside the bible. In addition to his appearance in Josephus’ histories he plays a prophetic role in the Qur’an. According to the Encyclopedia of Islam, Sufi Muslims hold John in high regard because of the Qur’an’s account of his astute wisdom, unfailing kindness, and sexual purity.

John’s significance as a prophet and first century evangelist has led some scholars to theorize his Second-Banana-to-Jesus status was an after thought made up by uneasy Christians seeking a credible cover story. The fact that Jesus was among several thousand who came to John for baptism suggests to some – including scholars who work so hard to destroy the faith of innocent seminarians – that Jesus initially thought of himself as a disciple of John. All the prophetic references casting John in the role of the “voice crying in the wilderness” to prepare the way for the Messiah came later, these cynics say, to explain why Jesus was baptized by John, a mere Second Banana. 

There is even biblical support for the notion that John was never fully persuaded of Jesus’ messianic role: “He sent word by his disciples and said to (Jesus), ‘Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?’” (Matthew 11:3).

So John had moments of doubt. So do I. So do you. Christian writer Frederick Buechner said, “Doubts are the ants in the pants of faith. They keep it awake and moving.”

And the testimony of Holy Scripture always reveals the truth. John knew who he was, and he knew who Jesus was. 

When crowds came to him asking if he was the Messiah, John put them straight.

“I baptize you with water; but one who is more powerful than I is coming; I am not worthy to untie the thongs of his sandals. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire.” (Luke. 3:16)

We may find it hard to respect Second Bananas, or to trust them to be loyal to the person at the top. History is too full of Second Bananas who were driven to push their bosses aside and snatch the power away.  

And the markedly loyal Second Bananas we know were hardly threats to the throne. I remember with fondness Andy Divine’s “Jingles” who rode with Guy Madison’s Wild Bill Hickock, or Gabby Hayes’ humorous subservience to Roy Rogers and Hopalong Cassidy, or Leo Carrillo’s Pancho who rode with Duncan Reynaldo’s Cisco Kid, or – lest we forget – Ed McMahon who loyally laughed at Johnny Carson’s funniest – and weakest – ripostes. 

Ideally, Second Bananas should not threaten their bosses. And John the Baptist was no comical sidekick, so some scholars have had difficulty thinking of him as a number two.

The skepticism is understandable because it is so difficult to accept the logic of Jesus’ oxymoronic declaration: “So the last will be first and the first will be last.” (Matthew 20:16)

Jesus also made it clear what happens to Second Bananas who seek to usurp power:

“You know that the rulers of the Gentiles lord it over them, and their great ones are tyrants over them. It will not be so among you; but whoever wishes to be first among you must also be your slave; just as the Son of Man came not to be served but to serve, and to give his life as a ransom for many.” (Matthew 20: 25-28)

Perhaps no one in history had a more important supporting role than John the Baptist.

“The voice of one crying out in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight. Every valley shall be filled, and every mountain and hill shall be made low, and the crooked shall be made straight, and the rough ways made smooth; and all flesh shall see the salvation of God.’” (Luke 3:1-6)

He was, by his own declaration, not the Messiah. His role was to prepare the way, to call people to repentance, to remind them of the preeminence of God in human lives, and to open their hearts and minds to the coming of Jesus.

That may be only a supporting role, but it’s a great one.

John the Baptist is no Messiah but neither is he a Second Banana. 

In the eyes of God and all who seek to emulate his role every day, his status in the divine hierarchy is clear.

John the Baptist is banana number one.