Matthew 11:2 - 11
When I was young, growing up in
Montana, we Catholics were aware of two things: we were different
from our neighbors – we almost had a separate culture, with our own
schools and Catholic organizations like the Knights of Columbus who
dressed up in great costumes for special church occasions; and of
course nuns in habits in hospitals and schools. In my town there was
even a separate hospital run by the Sisters of Charity. The other
thing we knew was that we were on the winning side. We could see new
churches being built, new priests being ordained and new sisters
being consecrated. We had so many priests in the Diocese of Helena
that our Catholic college was staffed with diocesan priests who had
degrees in economics and mathematics and science; they lived in their
own residence, taught in the college, and said mass on one of eight
small altars on the first floor of their residence. And we were told
that someday the whole world would be Catholic.
I read the other day that only one
third of the millennial generation identify with any religion, let
alone Christianity or Catholicism. Churches are being closed.
Scandals are happening. Vocations seem to be drying up. Dioceses
are declaring bankruptcy.
Zachary, the father of John the
Baptist, knew that his son was called to be the forerunner of the
Messiah. Elizabeth, his mother, knew that John’s conception had
been impossible. John by rights should have become a Jewish priest,
because that was sort of hereditary. But I’m pretty sure from the
time he was able to understand, he knew from his parents that he had
a special destiny. And John seemed to embrace this destiny. He was
to prepare the world for the Messiah. He put on the clothing of a
prophet, he called people to repentance, he gave advice as to what to
do to prepare for the Messiah, and when he saw sinful behavior, he
called it out. And when he baptized Jesus, he heard a voice from
heaven -- “This is my beloved Son, in whom I am well pleased” and
that must have been a moment when John knew he had made the right
choice as to how he would spend his life.
But now he is in prison, and knows
that getting out of this alive is not going to happen. And he
wonders -- maybe he made a mistake. Maybe Jesus wasn’t the
Messiah. After all, the Messiah, according to the scriptures, was
supposed to take over David’s throne; he was supposed to free the
Israelites from foreign domination; he was to lead the people of God
to a future full of peace and prosperity, and all the earth would
stream into Jerusalem to learn what God wants for every people. The
coming of the Messiah was supposed to be splashy and triumphant. And
so John sends his disciples with the question, “Are you the one who
is to come, or should we look for another?” In other words, “Is
everything I devoted my life to false?”
Jesus, of course, reminds John of the
prophecy of Isaiah, but doesn’t give a straightforward “yes” or
“no” answer. And Jesus, of course, compliments John to those who
are around him. But John is off in prison, and hears none of this,
and goes to his death wondering, because his question to Jesus was
not answered. Because there were people around who were healers, as
there had always been. It seemed. Elijah, Elisha, even Moses had
healed with God’s power, and they weren’t the Messiah. And there
were people around who preached good news to the poor -- Jesus wasn’t
the first. In fact, just as is true today, there were
revolutionaries in Jesus’ time who started movements with the
promise of overthrowing the Roman rulers and bringing on a new
political system where those at the bottom would switch places with
those at the top. And they weren’t the Messiah, because they had
all been killed by the Romans.
What can we learn from John? These
were, after all, his last recorded words. Another John, Saint John
of the Cross, wrote a mystical poem -- some people think it was a
revelation from God rather than something he composed himself. John
went on to write two rather long books about the poem, which sort of
favors the idea that John didn’t think up those lines himself. The
poem, to which we have given the name “The Dark Night of the Soul”
John explains is about the soul approaching its destiny, God Himself.
And as the soul gets closer, more and more is stripped away -- all
the attachments that we love so much; and this is painful. And
finally, certainty itself is lost, and we are in the dark night,
where the only thing that sustains us is faith. John of the Cross
commented that every soul has to go through this, some in this life,
most in the next. And we can’t possibly become one with God unless
we go through this. And maybe that is what we see in John the
Baptist -- as he goes through his life, told by his parents that he
has a special call; having this confirmed by his success at bringing
people to repentance; having the mystical experience of hearing the
Father Himself identify Jesus as “Son”, and then having his whole
world crash, his followers dispersed, he himself locked in prison,
soon to die, and nothing Messiah-like is happening, and at some point
John like all of us, had to make the choice -- do I believe even
though everything seems to be going wrong? Do I trust that God will
carry out his promises? Is Jesus really the Messiah? John is the
greatest born of woman up to that time; and John had doubts. We are
living in a time where faith is greatly challenged; some of our
shepherds have turned out to be wolves; can we trust our priests; my
children don’t go to church anymore; they just closed the church in
which I was married. And we are called into the dark night, where
only faith sustains us.
