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You can tell Christmas is on the way when the catalogs start arriving in the mail. Long before the first snowflake falls, there is an avalanche of slick paper flyers. They come as gifts from merchants with toll-free phone numbers, all in the hope that we will buy what they have to offer.

Last year the first catalog came from a company that specializes in Christian home decorations. Like other catalogs, there were smiling snowman doormats and weatherproof gift-wrap for covering the mailbox. On page three, the religious emphasis was revealed in a variety of porcelain créche scenes. Following that, there was an eight-page section of angels, some of which looked a bit pudgy. The catalog showed advent wreathes and hundred-watt stars. And to nobody's surprise, there was absolutely no John the Baptist merchandise.

John is an intruder in our holiday preparations. He splashes cold water on our festivities. Caterers do not serve his favorite menu at our office parties. At a time of year when people dress in their finest clothes, John the Baptist puts on a coat of ragged animal skins. When he speaks, he always interrupts, and then we have to ask him to turn down the volume. If it weren't for the lectionary readings for Advent, we probably wouldn't allow John the Baptist into our sanctuary.

Nevertheless John cries out, "Prepare the way of the Lord! Make his paths straight!" He reminds us of the ancient Advent promise that all flesh shall see the salvation of God. With the clear voice of a prophet, John tells us how to prepare for the coming of God. Straighten the path! Remove the rough spots! Lower the mountains! Lift up the valleys!

It's not that we mind the message -- just the messenger. Given the choice, we might want someone else, thank you very much. The most curious thing about the text for today is that Luke insists this message did not come through somebody else.

"In the fifteenth year of the reign of Emperor Tiberius, when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea, when Herod was ruler of Galilee, and his brother Philip ruler of the region of Ituraea and Trachonitis, and when Lysanias ruler of Abilene ... the word of God came to John."

What a strange contrast! Luke lists five of the most influential leaders of the known world. He gives us a "Who's Who" of first century politics. When God sent the Word to prepare for the coming of Christ, the Word did not go to the halls of power and influence. The Word went to John.

We might want somebody else. Just think: If God had spoken to Tiberius Caesar, the world would have been shaken awake. If God would choose to speak to the powers and the principalities, to the leaders of nations who mobilize armies and pass the laws, if God would only speak to Herod and Philip and Pontius Pilate, we could have a new political order.

Before a national election a few years ago, somebody handed me a "Christian Voter's Scorecard." As he explained, "This score-card sizes up political candidates on the issues that really matter, like abortion, the freedom to bear arms, and school prayer." The brochure announced that the best candidates said "no" to abortion, "yes" to bearing arms, and "yes" to re-establishing official school prayer. The writers of the scorecard assumed if we could elect the right Christians to office, we could change the government upside-down.

That scorecard saddened me for a number of reasons, not least of which was the assumption that every Christian will vote the same way on those issues. What was even more troubling is remembering the strategy has been tried before and it hasn't worked. We elected Jimmy Carter, a Sunday school teacher and a faithful Southern Baptist. In my opinion, President Carter didn't become an effective statesman until he was voted out of office. Only then he was able to accomplish anything of lasting humanitarian value.

"In the fifteenth year of Tiberius Caesar," the Word of God didn't go to Tiberius Caesar. Perhaps an emperor is too involved in running the empire, defending borders, increasing taxes, or voting himself a raise. Those who believe they are in charge of the world are usually too busy to hear the Lord.

No doubt about it, we are experiencing an absence of God in our public life. We speak the Name, but do little to prepare for the Presence. Theological words have been traded for simple slogans, and candidates attend prayer breakfasts only when they want to secure votes. Generally speaking, church attendance continues to decline, and there is nothing any political official can do to reverse the trend. Once you get behind all the technological glitz, you realize there is a deep spiritual void in our land which cannot be filled politically.

Luke says, "The Word of God did not go to the world's politicians ... it went to John."

What Luke goes on to say is even more of a shocker: "During the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas," the word of God didn't go to the priests. It went to John. That comes as something of a shock, because people like Annas and Caiaphas handle holy things, think holy thoughts, and perform holy services. Yet God didn't speak to them.

It is a remarkable claim. Annas was the most influential priest of his generation. He cast such a prominent shadow over the Temple that five of his sons attained the office of high priest. So did his son-in-law, Joseph Caiaphas. Together Annas and Caiaphas led the religious life for the entire country of Israel. Wouldn't we expect the Lord to speak to people like them? After all, they serve in the Temple. They light the candles and fiddle with the paraments. They devote their lives to keeping God's commandments and translating them into proper religious deeds.

Yet the Word did not go to them. The very message of God's impending arrival was not entrusted to the priests in the Temple.

How can we explain it? I don't know. It frightens me, for the obvious reason that I have a job like Annas and Caiaphas. Like the priests in the Bible, the people of God expect me to have some measure of ease in handling holy things. It is my job to break the bread in plain view and pour the cup without spilling it. I offer professional guidance to the acolytes, and tell them to light the first two purple candles on the Advent wreath. When nobody else is around, I walk around these holy spaces and never worry about being struck by lightning.

I can't speak for Annas and Caiaphas but I can tell you how it can be behind the stained-glass facade. Did you know it is possible for a minister of God to go through the motions? To act religiously? To merely find the right book, thumb through the pages, and read the right prayer? It is not difficult. In fact, it's fairly easy.

As Eugene Peterson claims in one of his books:

For a long time I have been convinced that I could take a person with a high school education, give him or her a six-month trade school training, and provide a pastor who would be satisfactory to any discriminating American congregation. The curriculum would consist of four courses. Course 1: Creative Plagiarism. I would put you in touch with a wide range of excellent and inspirational talks, show you how to alter them just enough to obscure their origins, and get you a reputation for wit and wisdom. Course 2: Voice Control for Prayer and Counseling. We would develop your own distinct style of Holy Joe intonation, acquiring the skill in resonance and modulation that conveys an unmistakable aura of sanctity. Course 3: Efficient Office Management. There is nothing that parishioners admire more in their pastors than the capacity to run a tight ship administratively ... Course 4: Image Projection. Here we would master the half-dozen well-known and easily implemented devices that create the impression that we are terrifically busy and widely sought after for counsel by influential people in the community.1


As one preacher speaking to others, Peterson is poking fun, of course, but he is also speaking a hard truth. The clergy always run the risk of merely putting on a good show. Ministers like me can grow so accustomed to the absence of God that we lose our vocabulary for naming God's presence. And we fill the vacuum by heaping up empty prayers and tuning up the religious machinery.

The one thing we need is a Word from God. The one gift we cannot purchase out of a catalog is the Word that names us, claims us, judges us, and redeems us. We do not live by bread alone, but by every word that proceeds from the mouth of God.

In the fifteenth year of Tiberius Caesar, God didn't speak to the politicians. During the high priesthood of Annas and Caiaphas, God didn't speak to the religious functionaries. No, "the word of God came to John, son of Zechariah, in the wilderness."

And people knew it. When John the Baptist spoke, it was as if God was speaking. They could sense the power. Farmers left their plows in the fields. Merchants left their stores unattended. Everybody came to hear the strange prophet cry out that God was at hand. When they heard John, they knew in their bones that it was true.

Walt Wangerin tells about a woman named Miz Lillian. He never knew what to expect when she shook his hand after worship. On many Sundays she said, "Well, you taught us today." On other Sundays she looked him in the eye. "Hooo, Pastor," she said, "you preached today."

One Sunday, when she reached to shake his hand, Walt held on. "Miz Lillian," he said, "sometimes you say I teach."

"U-huh."

"And sometimes you say I preach."

"Mmm-hmm."

Walt said, "Is there a difference?"

Miz Lillian raised one eyebrow, as if to say, "Didn't they teach you this in seminary?" She said, "Yes, there is."

"What's the difference?"

She said, "When you teach, I learn something for the day. I can take it home and, God willing, I can do it. But when you preach, God is here. And sometimes he's smiling, and sometimes he's frowning."2

The Word of God came to John. When he preached, everybody knew God was at hand. Sometimes God was smiling and sometimes God was frowning. John's preaching had a profound effect on everybody who heard his voice. "God is at hand," John shouted, and the people knew they could not keep living casual, carefree lives. When you believe God is coming to set things right, you remove the roadblocks to your heart before God blasts them away. When you discover God has something to say, you cannot pretend you are the final authority on anything. For God is coming! The valley of shadows will be lifted up. The mountains of pride will be bulldozed to the ground. God will untangle the crooked ways of the heart and polish the rough edges of every available life.

The Word of God came to John. It did not go to the palaces of power where politicians act as if they are in charge of the world. It did not fill the temples of institutional religion, where bored clergy play it safe and nervous worshipers spray extinguishers on holy fire. The Word of God went to the wilderness where winds howl, souls are parched, and hurts are yet unhealed. God spoke where God was needed ... and it made all the difference in the world.

We can hear this Word if our hearts are hungry. We can hear God's promises to give us life and heal our wounds. We can take the bread and drink the cup, and remember how God has made the ultimate sacrifice to claim us for himself.

"All flesh shall see the salvation of God." That's the ancient promise during these days in Advent. It is a Word we can count on. We shall see the salvation of God ... as long as we pass by John the Baptist.

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1. Eugene Peterson, Working the Angles: The Shape of Pastoral Integrity (Grand Rapids: William B. Eerdmans Publishing Co., 1987), pp. 4-5.

2. Walter Wangerin, Jr., Miz Lil and the Chronicles of Grace (New York: Harper and Row, Publishers, Inc., 1988), pp. 35-37.