The Hinge of History
Sermon
Reading The Signs
SERMONS FOR ADVENT, CHRISTMAS AND EPIPHANY (SUNDAYS IN ORDINARY TIME)
Henry Ford said that history is bunk; but history has gotten its revenge on the pioneer auto maker. It has made Ford himself a benchmark of history, at least in its industrial and economic phases. Ford effectively disproved his own statement when he established Greenfield Village, which is probably one of the half-dozen favorite historical sites in our country.
Some of us love history, but even those who don't had better be ready to admit its significance. We want to know where we've come from and how things came to be as they are. When a driver slows his coach to point to some slabs in a field and tells the American tourists that they are looking at the oldest recorded writing on the British Isles, people quickly click their cameras. We want a record, fleeting and blurred though it may be, of our heritage.
By the same token, we like to feel that we are helping to make history. "I was one of the founders of the Student Council at that junior high school," a man told me as we drove through his town. It seemed a limited reason for pride in a grown man, but I understood it. All of us want to feel that we are making some mark on history, however small it may be. I dare to venture that this is some of the motivation in the youngster who etches his initials in fresh concrete. He might not verbalize it in such philosophical terms, but he's wanting to leave his mark behind. He hopes someday - maybe only a week from now, but we measure time differently when we're young - to show somebody his Kilroy evidence.
We Christians are part of a faith which has respect for history. As the New Testament writer puts it, "We did not follow cleverly devised myths"; rather, first century Christians "were eyewitnesses" of Jesus Christ and his ministry. (2 Peter 1:16)
That first generation of Christians were very conscious of the historical integrity of their faith. They were surrounded by hundreds of gods and theologies - all based on fables and myths. But Christianity proudly pointed to its roots in actual, historical events. Just as the Jewish faith looked back to its deliverance from Egypt, the first Christians spoke of one who had been born in a certain village during the reign of particular rulers; and who had been crucified in a given place after being tried before a specific Roman official.
The New Testament is so precise about this that its writers seem almost to be throwing down a challenge. "We offer you names, dates, and places," they seem to say. "Now, give us some hard facts regarding your gods and your beliefs."
Such is the style with which Luke's Gospel introduces us to the person and ministry of John the Baptizer. He identifies the opening of John's ministry by naming seven individuals who were filling government or ecclesiastical posts at the time.
Their identification is as all-encompassing as Tiberius Caesar, to such regional officials as Pontius Pilate or Lysanias, and to two religious figures - Annas and Caiaphas - whose role mattered only to the Jews.
All of this marshaling of history was to give us a setting for a Jewish prophet - John, the son of Zechariah and Elizabeth! John was unique, no doubt about it. He was a man so rare that he scorned the palace steps, from which some of his prophetic predecessors had delivered their messages, and proclaimed the Word of the Lord in the howling wilderness near the Dead Sea. He is a prophet who left behind no body of literature to compare with Isaiah, Jeremiah, Amos, Hosea, or even Obadiah. All the words recorded from his lips would hardly constitute three paragraphs in our daily paper, or the time of a long commercial on television. Yet his role is so significant that the Gospel writer lists seven historical figures to identify the time when his ministry began.
Today the situation is reversed. Only Tiberius Caesar has a place in history on his own; even his place is not dramatically significant. The six other personalities are remembered because their names are associated with Jesus or with John the Baptizer. If the tetrarchs of ancient Ituraea and Abilene matter today, it is because they touched human history at the same time as John, so that the Gospel writer recorded their names in association with the wilderness preacher.
For John was a hinge of history. When he declared, "Prepare ye the way of the Lord," he closed a door on the old and ushered in the new.
It sometimes seems that God shows his sense of humor with history. Halford Luccock once noted that Nero was sure that the most important happenings in Rome were the words he said, the laws he enacted, and the things he did. As a matter of fact, the biggest events in Rome at the time were some prayer meetings which were being held secretly in the catacombs. The Medici, he observes, must have seemed the key figures in Renaissance Europe, with their palaces, art galleries, and political power. Yet they are overshadowed by "a little boy playing about on the docks of Genoa," who would eventually open the seaway to the Americas.
So it was in John the Baptizer's time. One can easily imagine the pomp and circumstance with which Herod tramped about as tetrarch of Galilee. Wherever he went, people scraped and bowed. They waited for a disdaining nod and dreamed of some act of preferment from his hand. Herod was, indeed, a big man in Galilee in the first century. Today, all his pomp is simply pompous, and all his circumstance only circumstantial.
But John the Baptizer! - a great human being. He headed out into the wilderness, disregarding his safety in a land infected by natural perils. With his talent, he could probably have made a place for himself in the king's court where he could have been "clothed in soft raiment." (Luke 7:25) Instead, he covered his body with camel's hair and a leather girdle and subsisted on a wilderness diet of locusts and wild honey. His message was as rugged as his garb and his diet: "a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins." (Luke 3:3b)
He became a hinge of history. I think the common people discovered him first, especially those whose hearts longed for a deeper knowledge of God. Soon, people by the hundreds were beating a pathway to the wilderness to see and hear this man who seemed to fear no one. There, far from the conventional centers of power and influence, he declared the advent of a new age.
What made John a hinge of history? I could easily beg the question by saying that it was an act of God. But many people feel that usually God chooses his instruments with some logic. What is the logic in John?
Probably the biggest secret is this: John was pointing beyond himself. His goal was not personal advancement or position. He was
"The voice of one crying in the wilderness:
Prepare the way of the Lord,
make his paths straight." (Luke 3:4)
He was not a name to be reckoned with, but a voice to be heard. He was not building a kingdom for himself, but preparing the way for another.
And when that Other came, John had the ability to slip off center stage gracefully. Some of his friends pointed out, probably with devoted concern, that the crowds were now flocking to Jesus. John quickly reminded them that he had said all along he was not the Christ, but he had been sent before him. He described himself as "the friend of the bridegroom," who waits patiently until the bridegroom appears, then "rejoices greatly at the bridegroom's voice." (John 3:29)
A less-committed person could not have made such an exit. Praise and Public recognition are intoxicating. They can make drunken fools of the most solid and reasoned human beings.
John had been lionized for months, perhaps even several years. He was accustomed to curious crowds and dedicated disciples. Now, almost overnight, all was lost.
Fortunately, John knew who he was, and he liked his role. He knew that his job was to prepare the way; not to be the Messiah who would travel on that way. He was not unhappy being the friend of the bridegroom. He was ready to play second fiddle.
If John had become carried away with his success and resisted the coming of Jesus, he would have been a pathetic footnote of history rather than its hinge. He would have been an absurdity. Not many of us can realize that when we see an opportunity to bask in the spotlight. A primary secret of John's greatness was his commitment to something and Someone beyond himself.
John's style does not fit well in our hype-and-publicity age. The late Andy Warhol said that we live in a time when everyone will be a celebrity for fifteen minutes. When we see how easily the media makes public figures and how Humpty-Dumpty-like they smash when they are ignored, Warhol's prediction seems rather true. The lifestyle of our times seems to justify self-promotion. "If you've got it, flaunt it," is the counsel of the cynical.
But don't be deceived. John's way is still the secret of greatness. The self-promoters come and go, but they make no lasting impression on human lives. How can they, when they are themselves all fluff and bluster? There was a toughness of spirit in John the Baptizer, demonstrated not so much by his wardrobe and diet as by a mind that could say, "I don't give a hang what happens to me, if only I do the job I was called to do."
Someone has said that no one can estimate how much good could be done in our world if no one cared who got the credit. Any local congregation can testify to the truth of that sentence, and so, too, can any community enterprise - from a scout troop to a peace caucus.
But it isn't easy to be so self-effacing. I have no trouble giving credit to others for what they have done; indeed, I find pleasure in honoring them. Yet something in me bristles when someone else takes credit for what I perceive to have been my accomplishment, without even a nod of the head in my direction. I'd like to say that it's just my sense of fairness which is offended, but I fear it's also my ego. It's pleasant to be recognized for what we have done, and it's hard not to seek such recognition.
John the Baptizer had a goal higher than himself. By nature he must have been a man of strong ego - he could hardly have preached such a demanding message otherwise, nor have put himself in such a perilous ministry. But he had such a high commitment to the purposes of God that he could submerge his powerful temperament into his mission. In doing so, he became a hinge of history.
Now it is our turn. What will you and I do with that piece of history in which we live? Few if any of us expect to be a hinge for even a modest opening of history's door. Still, we shouldn't rule out the possibility. We may play a key role for some girl or boy who will develop some medical discovery which will bless the whole human race, or one who will write legislation which will make a strategic difference in the way human beings live. We never know, really, what greatness is residing very near us.
But we do know that God is constantly looking for people like John the Baptizer, who will gladly pave the way for God's grand purposes. And we know, too, that there is much work yet to be done and great causes still to be advanced.
These are great days to be alive. We are needed, my friends; you and I are needed. Our times need a new introduction to the Lord Christ, and you and I are favorably situated to be the introducers, the way-preparers. There could hardly be a more auspicious and challenging time.
We will not be dressed like John the Baptizer nor will we follow his diet - matters for which most of us are probably grateful. But we can commit ourselves to the same Lord, and with the same greatness of purpose. While we may not be the hinge on which the grand door of history will swing, we can serve at our own special, contributory place. If it be a place where God can use us, and where we can bless others, we can ask no greater place. Whatever that place may be, let us commit ourselves, like John, to prepare the way of the Lord. And we will leave history's hinge to the Lord of history.
Some of us love history, but even those who don't had better be ready to admit its significance. We want to know where we've come from and how things came to be as they are. When a driver slows his coach to point to some slabs in a field and tells the American tourists that they are looking at the oldest recorded writing on the British Isles, people quickly click their cameras. We want a record, fleeting and blurred though it may be, of our heritage.
By the same token, we like to feel that we are helping to make history. "I was one of the founders of the Student Council at that junior high school," a man told me as we drove through his town. It seemed a limited reason for pride in a grown man, but I understood it. All of us want to feel that we are making some mark on history, however small it may be. I dare to venture that this is some of the motivation in the youngster who etches his initials in fresh concrete. He might not verbalize it in such philosophical terms, but he's wanting to leave his mark behind. He hopes someday - maybe only a week from now, but we measure time differently when we're young - to show somebody his Kilroy evidence.
We Christians are part of a faith which has respect for history. As the New Testament writer puts it, "We did not follow cleverly devised myths"; rather, first century Christians "were eyewitnesses" of Jesus Christ and his ministry. (2 Peter 1:16)
That first generation of Christians were very conscious of the historical integrity of their faith. They were surrounded by hundreds of gods and theologies - all based on fables and myths. But Christianity proudly pointed to its roots in actual, historical events. Just as the Jewish faith looked back to its deliverance from Egypt, the first Christians spoke of one who had been born in a certain village during the reign of particular rulers; and who had been crucified in a given place after being tried before a specific Roman official.
The New Testament is so precise about this that its writers seem almost to be throwing down a challenge. "We offer you names, dates, and places," they seem to say. "Now, give us some hard facts regarding your gods and your beliefs."
Such is the style with which Luke's Gospel introduces us to the person and ministry of John the Baptizer. He identifies the opening of John's ministry by naming seven individuals who were filling government or ecclesiastical posts at the time.
Their identification is as all-encompassing as Tiberius Caesar, to such regional officials as Pontius Pilate or Lysanias, and to two religious figures - Annas and Caiaphas - whose role mattered only to the Jews.
All of this marshaling of history was to give us a setting for a Jewish prophet - John, the son of Zechariah and Elizabeth! John was unique, no doubt about it. He was a man so rare that he scorned the palace steps, from which some of his prophetic predecessors had delivered their messages, and proclaimed the Word of the Lord in the howling wilderness near the Dead Sea. He is a prophet who left behind no body of literature to compare with Isaiah, Jeremiah, Amos, Hosea, or even Obadiah. All the words recorded from his lips would hardly constitute three paragraphs in our daily paper, or the time of a long commercial on television. Yet his role is so significant that the Gospel writer lists seven historical figures to identify the time when his ministry began.
Today the situation is reversed. Only Tiberius Caesar has a place in history on his own; even his place is not dramatically significant. The six other personalities are remembered because their names are associated with Jesus or with John the Baptizer. If the tetrarchs of ancient Ituraea and Abilene matter today, it is because they touched human history at the same time as John, so that the Gospel writer recorded their names in association with the wilderness preacher.
For John was a hinge of history. When he declared, "Prepare ye the way of the Lord," he closed a door on the old and ushered in the new.
It sometimes seems that God shows his sense of humor with history. Halford Luccock once noted that Nero was sure that the most important happenings in Rome were the words he said, the laws he enacted, and the things he did. As a matter of fact, the biggest events in Rome at the time were some prayer meetings which were being held secretly in the catacombs. The Medici, he observes, must have seemed the key figures in Renaissance Europe, with their palaces, art galleries, and political power. Yet they are overshadowed by "a little boy playing about on the docks of Genoa," who would eventually open the seaway to the Americas.
So it was in John the Baptizer's time. One can easily imagine the pomp and circumstance with which Herod tramped about as tetrarch of Galilee. Wherever he went, people scraped and bowed. They waited for a disdaining nod and dreamed of some act of preferment from his hand. Herod was, indeed, a big man in Galilee in the first century. Today, all his pomp is simply pompous, and all his circumstance only circumstantial.
But John the Baptizer! - a great human being. He headed out into the wilderness, disregarding his safety in a land infected by natural perils. With his talent, he could probably have made a place for himself in the king's court where he could have been "clothed in soft raiment." (Luke 7:25) Instead, he covered his body with camel's hair and a leather girdle and subsisted on a wilderness diet of locusts and wild honey. His message was as rugged as his garb and his diet: "a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins." (Luke 3:3b)
He became a hinge of history. I think the common people discovered him first, especially those whose hearts longed for a deeper knowledge of God. Soon, people by the hundreds were beating a pathway to the wilderness to see and hear this man who seemed to fear no one. There, far from the conventional centers of power and influence, he declared the advent of a new age.
What made John a hinge of history? I could easily beg the question by saying that it was an act of God. But many people feel that usually God chooses his instruments with some logic. What is the logic in John?
Probably the biggest secret is this: John was pointing beyond himself. His goal was not personal advancement or position. He was
"The voice of one crying in the wilderness:
Prepare the way of the Lord,
make his paths straight." (Luke 3:4)
He was not a name to be reckoned with, but a voice to be heard. He was not building a kingdom for himself, but preparing the way for another.
And when that Other came, John had the ability to slip off center stage gracefully. Some of his friends pointed out, probably with devoted concern, that the crowds were now flocking to Jesus. John quickly reminded them that he had said all along he was not the Christ, but he had been sent before him. He described himself as "the friend of the bridegroom," who waits patiently until the bridegroom appears, then "rejoices greatly at the bridegroom's voice." (John 3:29)
A less-committed person could not have made such an exit. Praise and Public recognition are intoxicating. They can make drunken fools of the most solid and reasoned human beings.
John had been lionized for months, perhaps even several years. He was accustomed to curious crowds and dedicated disciples. Now, almost overnight, all was lost.
Fortunately, John knew who he was, and he liked his role. He knew that his job was to prepare the way; not to be the Messiah who would travel on that way. He was not unhappy being the friend of the bridegroom. He was ready to play second fiddle.
If John had become carried away with his success and resisted the coming of Jesus, he would have been a pathetic footnote of history rather than its hinge. He would have been an absurdity. Not many of us can realize that when we see an opportunity to bask in the spotlight. A primary secret of John's greatness was his commitment to something and Someone beyond himself.
John's style does not fit well in our hype-and-publicity age. The late Andy Warhol said that we live in a time when everyone will be a celebrity for fifteen minutes. When we see how easily the media makes public figures and how Humpty-Dumpty-like they smash when they are ignored, Warhol's prediction seems rather true. The lifestyle of our times seems to justify self-promotion. "If you've got it, flaunt it," is the counsel of the cynical.
But don't be deceived. John's way is still the secret of greatness. The self-promoters come and go, but they make no lasting impression on human lives. How can they, when they are themselves all fluff and bluster? There was a toughness of spirit in John the Baptizer, demonstrated not so much by his wardrobe and diet as by a mind that could say, "I don't give a hang what happens to me, if only I do the job I was called to do."
Someone has said that no one can estimate how much good could be done in our world if no one cared who got the credit. Any local congregation can testify to the truth of that sentence, and so, too, can any community enterprise - from a scout troop to a peace caucus.
But it isn't easy to be so self-effacing. I have no trouble giving credit to others for what they have done; indeed, I find pleasure in honoring them. Yet something in me bristles when someone else takes credit for what I perceive to have been my accomplishment, without even a nod of the head in my direction. I'd like to say that it's just my sense of fairness which is offended, but I fear it's also my ego. It's pleasant to be recognized for what we have done, and it's hard not to seek such recognition.
John the Baptizer had a goal higher than himself. By nature he must have been a man of strong ego - he could hardly have preached such a demanding message otherwise, nor have put himself in such a perilous ministry. But he had such a high commitment to the purposes of God that he could submerge his powerful temperament into his mission. In doing so, he became a hinge of history.
Now it is our turn. What will you and I do with that piece of history in which we live? Few if any of us expect to be a hinge for even a modest opening of history's door. Still, we shouldn't rule out the possibility. We may play a key role for some girl or boy who will develop some medical discovery which will bless the whole human race, or one who will write legislation which will make a strategic difference in the way human beings live. We never know, really, what greatness is residing very near us.
But we do know that God is constantly looking for people like John the Baptizer, who will gladly pave the way for God's grand purposes. And we know, too, that there is much work yet to be done and great causes still to be advanced.
These are great days to be alive. We are needed, my friends; you and I are needed. Our times need a new introduction to the Lord Christ, and you and I are favorably situated to be the introducers, the way-preparers. There could hardly be a more auspicious and challenging time.
We will not be dressed like John the Baptizer nor will we follow his diet - matters for which most of us are probably grateful. But we can commit ourselves to the same Lord, and with the same greatness of purpose. While we may not be the hinge on which the grand door of history will swing, we can serve at our own special, contributory place. If it be a place where God can use us, and where we can bless others, we can ask no greater place. Whatever that place may be, let us commit ourselves, like John, to prepare the way of the Lord. And we will leave history's hinge to the Lord of history.
