Luke 3:1-6

A Voice from the Wilderness

Luke is good about giving us temporal markers to help us situate the narrative he’s telling within the larger political and cultural milieu. In fact, a little less than half of the words in this week’s pericope are given to describing who was in power at the time. Other than helping us set the stage for both John and Jesus’ ministry (and perhaps, the pronunciation land mines present for the poor soul assigned to read this lection), what homiletical good are verses one and two? Should we skip over the Emperor Tiberius and Philip, the ruler of Ituraea and Traconitis?

Perhaps not. While there might be a few in our churches who would enjoy a rousing explication and description of each ruler and what they accomplished during their reigns, it would be ill-advised to do so. We must, however, grant that verses one and two have significance for today’s passage, beyond being mere markers of time and based solely on the fact that so much space is given to them. Biblical writers were not in the habit of wasting space on a page.

It may be that verses three through six can offer us some clarity. It has been a while since Luke has mentioned John, the baby whose birth is foretold at the beginning of the work. Last we saw John, he had just been born, and his father, again able to speak, offers us a song of praise. Zachariah has faded from view, though, while John comes rolling toward us like a locomotive from the wilderness. We’ll have to wait until next week to get to John’s proclamation, but Luke tells us what John is and will be doing: baptizing people for the forgiveness of sins.

Baptism was not unknown in John’s Day; it would have been one of the rituals a gentile would need to go through to convert to Judaism. As such, it was seen as an outward ritual signifying the washing away of sins. Like other similar Jewish ritual washings, the symbolic action would have been deemed ineffective without a corresponding change in inward attitude and external behavior. The way that Luke frames John’s baptism gives it a bit more heft. By quoting Isaiah 40:3-5, we’re transported back to the turmoil of exile. The context of Isaiah 40 is the hope of Israel’s return home from living in a land not their own. The past was bleak, and the future was uncertain. Safety and stability were not a part of the general mood.

Yet, there was hope for Israel. God promises to prepare the way for Israel to return home. The path shall be straight and even. The journey will be long, but it will not be filled with potholes. This is God’s promise and proclamation to Israel; homecoming is on the horizon.

Luke modifies Isaiah’s beautiful picture of return to suit John’s preparatory function. The voice in the quote isn’t God’s; now it’s John’s. John cries out for the people to participate in preparing the way for the Lord, for the Messiah, the one who will lead them home once more. Salvation is coming, the salvation which all flesh, not just Israel, will see.

Let’s turn our attention back to the opening two verses, paying close attention to the names of the rulers mentioned. We’ll notice they aren’t very Jewish sounding—Emperor Tiberius, not a Jew. Neither is Pontius Pilate. Herod, half-Jew, perhaps, but the memory of his family’s reign is not pleasant and is still fresh in Israel’s memory. Of course, we have Annas and Caiaphas, but at this time, the Jews did not have complete autonomy in who the high priest would be. The Romans could reject any candidate not docile enough to pose a threat.

The picture Luke paints is one of exile at home. Israel may reside mainly within the bounds of the Promised Land, but so much of their lives are out of their control. Israel aches and longs for God’s salvation to come again. And John is here to proclaim it.

Since we know the end of this story, we know that Israel’s ache for salvation will lead them to hope that Jesus, as the Messiah, will undo the grip those foreign rulers have and make Israel great again. Consequently, the crowds will easily mobilize to participate in making the paths straight for the Lord. But when Jesus fails to fulfill their expectations, the masses will turn on him.

I wonder if these brief verses serve as a warning for us. The language of exile has been freely tossed about to describe the church in North America. Protestant political power isn’t what it once was. America isn’t “Christian” anymore. You’ve heard this same song sung in every imaginable key. And, I dare say, there have been modern-day John the Baptists who have called the church to participate in preparing the way for the coming of our modern-day messiah(s). As a consequence, the crowds are easily mobilized.

As we ache for God’s salvation in our world, it is easy to concentrate on the powerful movement of God to radically change the landscape to bring about homecoming, without emphasizing enough the fact that the way we participate in our own salvation, as well as God’s mission in the world, is through repentance.

I think this is what those who rejected Jesus did. They wanted salvation without repentance. I believe this is what many in our congregations wish for, too. We want God to remake our land into something moral and upright again, but we don’t want to repent of our own complicity in its decline. So, as we continue to anticipate the coming of our salvation this Advent, as we ache for God to move in and among us, let us first confess that our exile is our own doing. Let us repent and walk in a different direction. Let us begin to bear the fruit of our grateful response to God’s constant love and fidelity.