Something that's neither sermon nor poem; but reflective verse (if that's a thing) for Advent 3. The readings were Isaiah 61: 1-4, 8-11 and John 1:1-6, 19-28
John’s face
Detail of St. John the Baptist Preaching by Rodin at the Museum of Modern Art, July 2007
There was a man sent from God.
His name was John.
This is his testimony, his witness.
It begins with a question.
Who are you?
This man was sent from God.
His name was John.
But who was he?
This one who knew who he was not;
who invited all to come to the river.
Other prophets may have addressed kings;
walked in the streets amongst the people;
rebuked them publicly;
used visuals to make their point;
cried out for justice, mercy and peace.
Instead, this man
goes into the wilderness.
He went and stood on the banks
of a river,
and waited.
John looks at us:
John the Baptist: Jacob Jordeans (Columbus Museum of Art)
Who are you,
this man who is sent to us:
who looks at us in the wilderness
and breaks the desert silence
with a confession?
He confessed
and did not deny it,
he confessed:
I am not the Messiah.
What then?
Elijah? No.
A prophet? No.
We must have an answer:
who are you?
What do you say about yourself?
This man was sent from God,
to be a voice.
A voice crying out in the wilderness:
Make straight the way;
prepare for the one to come.
John like us:
Saint John the Baptist II: Kehinde Wiley (Museum of Art, Duke University)
And is he like us?
Are we to be like him?
Adopting this pose,
knowing who we’re not,
yet knowing whose we are?
Are we drawn by the same thread of love,
the same birth; the same breath?
Through water and wilderness,
darkness and light,
pointing to the one who is not yet known.
We too are called by name,
each one of us called
to witness, to testify, to confess
the name of the one who is among us
as love.
We’re not dressed in camel’s hair, but in our own clothes.
Yet do the gestures our body language prompt the question?
Who is this God of love
of whom you speak, to whom you point,
the one you praise?
John at the river:
Baptism of Jesus 2: Dr. P. Solomon Raj
John baptises with water,
inviting us to see our need for new birth.
To turn, listen, repent;
to open our hearts to a Kingdom were
justice and mercy flow.
There was a man sent from God
pointing to the one who
brings light;
the one standing among us.
Unknown.
This one is coming
of the Father’s love begotten.
Alpha and Omega,
source and ending.
He whom the prophets promised.
John says he’s not worthy
to untie his sandal.
Yet this one stands with us in our humanity.
Love divine in manger and mud,
wilderness and water.
City:
John took up the mantle of the prophets;
the greatest and yet the least.
A voice.
Crying out.
Prepare, get ready, listen.
See the light;
listen to the Lord’s anointed.
Proclaim good news.
Proclaim liberty.
Proclaim the year of the Lord’s favour.
The voice cries:
for the broken-hearted
for the sick and the grief stricken.
For the ruined, desolate cities
and fearful generations wanting normality back.
The voice cries:
for love of justice;
for freedom;
for comfort;
for blessing.
Blooms:
Image detail: David Hockney
For the earth will bring forth new shoots.
Seers, prophets and witnesses
foretold and confessed:
that of one highly favoured lady,
Emmanuel, God with us, the Christ was born.
A voice cried out in the wilderness:
for the light of love casting out fear;
the day spring from heaven, the anointed one;
warming hearts, blessing earth;
breathing life, destroying death.
John came to witness to light:
yet the world still weeps;
lives bearing the cost of
power’s privilege and
sin’s selfishness and separation.
A voice cries out in the wilderness:
a new day dawns.
He came, he comes, he will come again with justice.
Emmanuel. God with us.
Love’s unbroken thread; to mend a broken earth.
There is joy in this,
and comfort’s strength.
Who are you, are we, am I?
But fragile bodies, bearing love in flesh;
Voices, crying; hearts, opening; hands, repairing.
Spirit-led and refusing to lose hope in what is
just and beautiful, and good and true.
© Julie Gittoes 2020
