Into the Desert

Timothy Gardner O.P.

11 December 2005
Third Sunday of Advent (Gaudete Sunday) (B)

fr Timothy Gardner asks whether we will recognise Christ when he comes into the desert of our lives.

The figure of John the Baptist is introduced solemnly by John the Evangelist in his Gospel in a manner that parallels the first verse, 'In the beginning was the Word.'

John appears in the prologue, underlining his importance in the mystery of salvation that the Son has accomplished, he 'who is in the bosom of the Father,' he through whom 'we have received grace upon grace.' John is the archetypal prophet, the voice crying in the wilderness, announcing the truth that the world seldom wants to hear. He is dressed in the grab of a prophet, camel hair and leather, and he eats locusts and wild honey.

But more significantly his natural habitat is the desert. The desert is traditionally a place of holiness and purity. Away from the cares and concerns of urban life, early Christian monks felt closer to God in their desert hermitages. The desert is a place of exile, and exile is a constant theme in the story of salvation.

The Bible begins, indeed life itself begins, with an exile --- from Eden. Joseph rises to greatness in his exile in Egypt and the entire nation of Israel is exiled in Babylon. In exile, the people of Israel sought to achieve a clarity and purity of faith which they had lost. As we read in the Psalms, 'Let my prayer come before you like incense, and the raising of my hands like an evening sacrifice.' Even whilst deprived of the Temple liturgy, worship in the desert of exile could be intense and meaningful.

Later, the infant Christ would be raised in exile in Egypt and he would begin his public ministry with a period of preparation in the desert. Throughout his ministry, Jesus constantly felt the need to escape the clamouring throng of people who gathered around him and 'withdraw to a lonely place.'

When we meet John the Baptist we are told that he is the precursor of Christ, bearing firm witness to him. The desert is perhaps a strange place in which to preach. There are, after all, few people to hear. Yet there are few competing voices, either, and the message may be heard in all its uncompromising clarity. John's message certainly was heard, for we read that the Priests and Levites sent messengers from Jerusalem to interrogate him. And his message certainly is clear and decisive. He is not Elijah, he is not the Christ, he is not the prophet.

We may be surprised that he says that he is not the prophet, for that is what we traditionally understand him to be. However, the other two occurrences of the word 'prophet' in Saint John's Gospel refer to Jesus, so it seems that all John is denying here is that he is the Messiah.

He does not only deny what he is not; he also clearly proclaims who he is. He is 'the voice of one crying in the wilderness, "Make straight the way of the Lord."' Thus he places himself in relation to an Other, whose servant-precursor he is, an Other whose name we know: Jesus.

From John's ministry and baptizing to Jesus's ministry, there is continuity and forward motion. The relation is that of witness to the Light and Light itself. John is explicit: 'There is one who comes after me, the thong of whose sandal I am not worthy to untie.' Of this one, John the Baptist says, 'There is one among you whom you do not recognise.' Not even John knew him until the day when he saw the Spirit descend like a dove and come to rest on him.

John the Baptists acted as an authentic precursor: he prepared himself to recognize and receive the Lord, while allowing the Lord to reveal himself. Even in the barren surroundings of the desert, Johns knows the joy of the sower who, in faith, participates beforehand in the merrymaking of the harvest.

John speaks to us today, in part because we live in a situation not unlike his own. The modern world can seem very much like a desert, our preaching can seem like a voice crying in the wilderness of apathy and materialism.

But his words can also serve as a rebuke: 'There is one among you whom you do not recognise.' That is something that Christians need always to remember. It is easy to accept God in wonder and awe when God comes to us as a bouncing baby or as the feeder of five thousand hungry people. But when God comes in the form of a criminal nailed to a cross, it takes strong faith to trust in his loving presence.

During these final days of Advent, may we welcome Christ as he comes to us in various ways, especially in the liturgy through the Sacraments and in life through our neighbour. We might reflect on these words of the Jesuit poet Dimitri Michaelides

The newly born is in his cradle not only near the side of the main altar or under our Christmas tree; you find him also in mud holes, cradles of the disowned, in the slums where filth is the crib for the newly born, on the litter upon which lies human misery . . . Christmas is the birth of God in your neighbour.

fr Timothy Gardner works in the Parish of Our Lady and St. Dominic, London.

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© Text 2005 Timothy Gardner O.P.
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