Walk with Light. See You Next Sunday. John 1: 6-8, 19-28

Grace to you and peace from God our Father and from our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ. Amen.

There are two men named John that we hear of this morning. The first you know as John the Baptizer. He’s the camel-coat wearing, leather-belt tying, locust-eating, honey-dipping son of Zechariah and Elizabeth. He’s a second cousin of Jesus – their mothers were cousins – and he made a name for himself out in the wilderness by preaching and baptizing and calling out the Jewish leaders with such cute nicknames as “brood of vipers.” Ah, yes – the anti-Dale Carnegie of how not to win friends. His boldness would wind up costing him his life when he calls out King Herod for his sin of adultery with his brother’s wife and the woman’s daughter, quite literally, asks for John’s head on a platter in revenge.

The second John is the Evangelist, the apostle, the one whom Jesus loved. This John was one of the twelve called by Jesus to follow as a disciple and then be sent out as an apostle into the world. He’s part of the dynamic duo with his brother James, also named the Sons of Thunder, who foolishly think they can sit at Jesus’ right and left sides. This John wrote the Gospel and the epistles that bear his name as well as the book of Revelation. John is the only one of the Twelve to die a natural death, an old man exiled on the island of Patmos, separated from the congregations he helped begin years earlier.

John the Baptizer; John the Evangelist. Two distinct and different men whom God used in distinct and different ways for the same goal of pointing the world to the good news of Jesus.

First, the Baptizer. I can’t say I blame the Jews, the priests and the Levites who thought that John the Baptizer was a prophet in the line of the Old Testament greats. Like Elijah, he spoke the Word of the Lord with clear forth-telling, “Thus saith the Lord,” calling God’s people to repentance. And, like Moses, the greatest prophet of all, Elijah thundered with the very voice of God himself out in the wilderness.  Likewise, the Baptizer was the last of the Old Testament prophets, in a way, the last one to fore-tell of the One to come after Him whose sandals he would be unworthy to untie.

Nor could you quite blame them for thinking John might be the Christ. With his teaching, his preaching, his baptizing, and his unique flair he certainly did appear to be anointed as a servant of the living God. He most certainly command attention.

But, on the other hand, these are the religious leaders of the people. Priests and Levites have the responsibility to serve as an intermediary, an intercessor, a go-between between God and man, between man and God. They are the ones who are to be students of the Scriptures, searching out the truth of God’s Word for His people. They are the ones – more than anyone else who might be out in the wilderness, watching and listening to John – they are the ones who ought to be watchful, waiting, well attuned to just who and what the Messiah will be, what his message sounds like, what he will behave like, who he will be. If anyone should have even an inkling of an idea of who Messiah is, it should be the Jewish leaders. While they seem to be aware, at least on the periphery, that this is a Messiah-like person doing Messiah-like things, or at a minimum, a prophet-like person doing prophet-like things – if they were in my Bible class, I might call this a purple star moment – they miss the gold-star mark. Messiah-like is not the same as Messiah. Prophet-like is not the same as prophet.

John, however, was quick to identify that he was, in fact, neither the Christ nor Elijah nor Moses reincarnate. Unique, yes, but he was neither prophet nor Messiah. John’s job is to prepare, to set the stage, for the one who is arriving. The Jews, the priests and Levites don’t recognize John the Baptizer for who he is and what he is doing. They’re worried about his authority – who said you could do this, they wanted to know.

So, in a twisted sense of irony, the Jews, the priests and Levites not only don’t realize John the Baptist isn’t the Messiah, or Elijah, or Moses, they also don’t yet realize that the Baptizer is also the first of the New Testament evangelists – the Good News tellers – who will both confess that which is believed and testify to who he knows. And, they don’t recognize the one whom John the Baptizer points to: Jesus, who is the Christ, the Son of God, standing among His own. They can’t see because they’re trapped in the darkness.

The darkness. The darkness is scary space. Two weeks ago, I was driving home late in the evening, after 8pm. It was a dark night, overcast, so there was no moon to illuminate the night’s sky, no stars that twinkled in the distance teasing a romantic fool’s thoughts. It was just dark. I didn’t notice it in town – there are street lights and house lights and car’s lights and business lights and traffic lights and even the lights of a flashlight while someone walked their dog. Poor substitutions for the light of the sun, that’s for sure, but at least these lights let you see what’s in front of you, what’s behind you, what’s next to you, where people are, giving direction to you and fellow travelers. But outside of town, and then onto 447, it didn’t take long and I was swallowed into the darkness. Headlights only penetrate the darkness so far at 60 miles per hour. And, at 60 miles per hour, if something comes at you from out of the darkness – a frightened deer, an ornery hog, a lost dog – things don’t end well.

John, the evangelist, does not mean the Jewish leaders are trapped in the darkness that is opposite daytime. He is talking about the darkness that is absent the light of Christ. They are lost in the dark. Lost, absent Christ, that is a scary space. Things don’t end well for those without the Light of life.

Not so the Baptizer – he knows who His cousin is. He knows Jesus is the Light of the world, the One whom darkness cannot overcome. He knows that the darkness despises this Light, but he, John, will bear witness to that Light so that the Light shines.

Yet, John knows his place. Although Jesus will, later, say that John is the “greatest of all the prophets,” John says of himself that he is unworthy to untie Jesus’ sandals. That is such a menial task that historians tell us that, in that day, not even servants were tasked to untie a master’s shoes. Yet, John sees himself as below even the most menial of servants. He has the greatest of respect, the highest levels of awe for Jesus. After all, Jesus is Immanuel – God among us, God in the flesh, God enfleshed, but God nevertheless: God who spoke everything into existence with “Let there be,” God whose voice made the mountains shake and the waters roar and the thunder crash, God who sent prophet after prophet into the world to prepare the way for His Own. Jesus is the Light of the World.

But if you want to see the power of God in the person of Jesus, there is a strange place to look for Him. Not out in the wilderness, in plain sight, with John’s bony finger pointing, calling others to follow the Lamb of God. You see the power of God, the power of Jesus, in the darkness. Not just any darkness, though. On God’s Friday, on a small mountainside outside Jerusalem, called Golgatha, the light of the sun was blacked out and creation shook in recognition that the Light of the World was quickly dimming. The darkness of men’s evil was on full display. Men, who truly were not worthy of untying Jesus’ sandals, stripped Him naked and crucified Him for that which He did not do because they did not know Him, receive Him, welcome Him, or love Him. These men raised the Light high, not in glorious praise and recognition, but in mockery and dishonor.

Jesus doesn’t wait for their recognition. There in the darkness, the Light shines forth, for this moment – His crucifixion and death – is where His glory is seen, in fulfilling His Father’s plan for the salvation of the world.

The Baptizer’s witness and confession pointed people to Jesus. The Evangelist’s preaching and writing of the Light of the World shone into the darkness so that others, too, might see and believe.

And, then, there’s you. We’re living in strange times. All around us, people are living in darkness, absent the light of Christ. For some, it’s a deliberate decision to not know Him. For others, it’s ignorance. For others, it’s an admixture of reasons, excuses really, to not receive Him – I’m too busy, it’s inconvenient, Christianity is boring, Jesus is so irrelevant, I can do this myself. This is the world in which we live. Yet you, who have received Jesus by grace through faith, believe in His name, you who are children of God, you walk in the Light.

Your confession follows the witness of both John the Baptizer and John the Evangelist, and in your words and in your actions, the Light continues to shine. These last days of Advent, as the world muddles and wanders in the darkness, be bold with your confession of the Light. Speak of Jesus who came in time, who comes in Word and Sacrament, and who will return. As others lament the sadness and sorrow and confusion of the time, speak of He who is the Light of Life. When others talk about feeling helpless, show them wherein is the Light of hope. Put your faith into loving action and let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify the Father in heaven.

My advisor at Concordia Lutheran College in Austin was the Rev. Dr. Milton Reimer. Although he was listed as a professor of English, he was first and foremost a theologian, a pastor. Dr. Reimer would end every class with the phrase, “Walk with light. See you next class.” I asked him once why he did that and his answer was simple: to remind each student, in a subtle but consistent way, that their journey in this world is guided by faith in Jesus Who is the Light. When I finish Bible class, that’s how I end as well. Partly as a tribute to my advisor and friend; mostly as encouragement.

So, walk with Light. See you next Sunday.

In the name of Jesus.

Amen.