The Never Ending Dream

John 1:29-42
January 20, 2008
Rev. Dr. Judith Kaye Jones

The baptism of Jesus in the Gospel of John is a complicated story. We may—and have, approached it from several points. John recognizes Jesus as the lamb of God—the suffering servant who has come at last to redeem Israel. It is the occasion of the calling of Andrew, apparently one of John's followers. It leads to the calling of Simon, renamed and proclaimed Cephas, the rock. But this morning I want to talk about a different point, one that follows up on all the witness messages we have heard and participated in throughout Advent. For John, in this passage, steps aside from the primary leadership role in a call to renewal, steps aside and names himself not leader but witness. John is the witness, the first human witness to the coming of the Messiah, the suffering servant, Jesus who will redeem Israel.

The suffering servant is a term imbedded in the Book of Isaiah. This morning's reading is the second of the servant songs from that great book of prophets. It comes from second Isaiah, written during the time of the captivity in Babylon where the people of Israel dwell in exile, longing and waiting for release. Second Isaiah writes this song in promise and praise of the coming of the long-awaited one, the one who will re-establish Israel. But there is something very important imbedded in these servant songs. The long-awaited one is not described here as Wonderful counselor, mighty God, everlasting Father—Prince of peace, words we are most familiar with from First Isaiah. This song lifts up a messiah who "labors in vain, who is deeply despised, abhorred by the nations, the servant of rulers." This song is pointing the way to the suffering servant, the one who will be broken and humiliated that Israel might be healed by his wounds. This image of the suffering servant more perfectly prophesies the coming of the one we name Christ, the one we call Messiah, Jesus, than the great and gorgeous list of Kingly titles we sing at Christmas. This, after all, this suffering one, is Jesus. The one who answered the call at his Baptism, witnessed by John, the one who struggled with his call and acceptance of his destiny, the one who lived and suffered that other's might live and be reconciled to God. This describes the one we serve and witness to, Jesus.

Throughout the Book of Isaiah, as with the other Justice prophets, the sins of Israel are lifted up. And it is not the sin of whoring after other Gods, or sinful personal behavior as we understand it—theft, adultery, criminal behavior that has grieved God and separated Israel from God. No, Israel's great crime is injustice. Isaiah proclaims, as do Amos and Micah, that to wallow in wealth, to recline on silken couches and eat the fruit of other's labor, to enjoy all that is sweet and pleasant in a world where others go hungry, where others die from lack of healthcare, where others make possible the wealth enjoyed by the privileged—this is the sin of injustice, and this is the great sin for which Israel must pay, pay with its tears and its blood and the loss of everything it holds most precious—the promised land, the temple of the Lord, and the sure covenant with God. Injustice is the great sin, and it will be paid for.

The entire Old Testament is a hymn to the Shalom of God, created perfect and pure in the Beginning, the Shalom of God, peace and justice woven into the very fabric of creation. And humankind has raveled the web, has acquired the sins of selfishness, of greed, of prejudice. All the great prophets are calling for the Shalom of God to be reestablished in the land. When Isaiah and others prophesy the reestablishment of the kingdom, wherein all nations will come to the Holy Mountain, and wealth and joy will once again flow, they are not promising the individual people of Israel a cushy, privileged life. They are not promising the reestablishing of the pyramid of power with a few at the top, and the suffering masses at the bottom. They are pointing to a time when God's shalom will be reestablished. This is not history—this is theology. The prophets, particularly Isaiah, look to a time when Israel shall be a light to the nations. He is not talking about the light of commerce, the blinking neon light of wealth flowing and ruthlessness governing every aspect of life. He is talking about the light of justice, justice, that foundation upon which God built the covenant with Israel—remember and care for the widows and orphans and sojourners in your land, for you were once sojourners—slaves in the land of Egypt, and in compassion I reached out and saved you! It is a very clear, very specific quid pro quo—I saved you with love and compassion, you must save others. It's not just part of the covenant—it is the covenant. And it is the one part of that binding soul deep relationship between Israel and God that was never kept.

But Isaiah does not give up—none of them do. They keep on sending out the word to the people, now humiliated and lonely and desperate for the hills and valleys of home—they keep on promising renewal, restoration. But at a price. Oh the land will be restored to them—or rather, they will be restored to the land, for Cyrus will crush Babylon and will send the captives home. Oh, they will build again, and acquire again. But unless they mortar ever stone with justice, it will all to be done again. Until the suffering servant comes and shows humankind how to build with compassion, and love, and self-sacrifice. Until the light comes. Until the Messiah comes.

The baptism of Jesus in the Gospel of John is unique in that nowhere does it actually say that Jesus stepped into the river and was baptized by John. Unlike the other Gospels, where you have Jesus rising up out of the river to meet the descending Spirit, or the voice of God proclaiming him Son. In John's gospel John witnesses the spirit descending and knows him for who—and what he is. Even as Jesus will baptize with the Holy Spirit instead of water, it seems that God baptizes Jesus with that Spirit. Because in this Gospel it is central that John’s power to baptize with water be contrasted sharply with Jesus' power to baptize with spirit, a power direct from God. And Isaiah is there, too—for John quotes Isaiah when he describes himself as a voice, crying in the wilderness. Come to call the people of Israel to make straight the way of the Lord. John is a witness to the Christ, the one who will bring back to Israel the Shalom of God. For that is what Jesus' ministry will be about. Justice. And it will unfold in his ministry. What, after all, does Jesus not forgive? Adultery—neither do I accuse you, go now, and sin no more. Theft—this day, you shall be with me in Paradise. Extortion—Zacchaeus—come down out of that tree, I'm coming to dinner! Everywhere in the Gospels Jesus summons the sinners, and yes, calls them to repentance, but so gently, so easily—no fire, no brimstone—just "come." Except for injustice. The Pharasees he names "whited sepulchers"—whitewashed bone boxes filled with rotting death—because they live on, and perpetuate injustice. In the grand old tradition of Isaiah, Jesus indeed calls for the restablishment of God's shalom—justice, justice, justice. Jesus accepted the call of God, though he would struggle with it in life and in death. For to accept God's call is dangerous, and to demand justice is dangerous. For John, for Jesus, for Andrew, for Peter, it would be fatal.

Today we celebrate the life of Dr. Martin Luther King. He began as a new preacher in Montgomery Alabama at age 26. It was early December, 1955. Rosa Parks had just been arrested for not giving up her seat on the city bus. A bus boycott had been called by the NAACP and young Martin was asked to lead the effort. His name wasn't changed to Cephas, but he would indeed become the rock of the civil rights movement. In 1957 he was elected president of the newly formed Southern Christian Leadership Conference, the vanguard of the nonviolent struggle for justice in the South. This contemporary 'lamb of God' was spit upon, ridiculed, jailed, fire-bombed, yet he kept on moving—across the South, then on to Washington for his famous "I have a dream" in August of 1963, and then to Oslo, Norway, where he was hailed by the world as the Nobel Peace Prize recipient for 1964, somewhat as Jesus was hailed as he entered Jerusalem riding a donkey, on that last, fateful journey. Jesus came, calling for, demanding God's shalom, demanding Justice. The more threatening Jesus became to those in power in Jerusalem, the more they plotted to end his life. Dr. King's voice, too, became to loud, to threatening—not because he promised violence or hatred or retribution—but because he demanded justice. He left that moment of glory in Oslo and responded to God's call to become an even bolder prophet for justice and peace. His vision and struggle was expanded to include all victims of poverty and violence. It was his "poor people's campaign" headed toward Washington, and his condemnation of the war in Vietnam that probably led to the fatal bullets on the balcony of the Lorraine Motel in Memphis on April 4, 1968. Dr. King didn't know his commitment to justice and peace would make him a lamb of God, a sacrificial lamb for the cause of God's Shalom, but he embraced the call from Jesus to live his faith as fully as he could, each day, no matter where it would lead.

But we are not focusing so much today on the end of the journeys of Jesus, Andrew and Peter, and Dr. King, as on their beginnings. Each was summoned. Each had to make a decision to answer God’s call. Each struggled. But each accepted their place in God's great march towards Shalom, toward justice.

We are reminded as we look at the great panoply of history, that many many people have answered God’s call. Many have stood in the path of death proclaiming justice, courageous people who confronted violence and injustice wherever they found it. And we are called to do the same. We are called, here in our safe little lives, to challenge prejudice, cruelty, and injustice. We can do things to make our world better. We can challenge unfair public policies that leave the burden of poverty and helplessness upon the shoulders of the poor and the disenfranchised. We can examine our political process and use our voting power to demand justice and equality for all people. We can reject consumerism and greed in our personal lives, and on behalf of our economic practices at home and abroad. We can work for gun control. We can speak out against unfair laws that use fear as the excuse for curtailing liberty and equality.

God has been calling for the reestablishment of Shalom—peace and justice, ever since Cain murdered Able. The call for justice is woven throughout the Old and new testament, a dream of justice. It is God’s dream. It was Martin's dream. It must be your dream, too, and mine. And we must never stop working and praying for the never-ending dream of peace and justice to be made real. God sent Isaiah, calling for justice. God sent John. God sent Jesus. Jesus sent Andrew and Peter. And Jesus calls us. We can all, each of us, follow our Jesus toward a life of God's Shalom.