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Phil Blackwell

“Transparent Faith”
John 1:6-8, 19-28

2011-12-11-sermon

Every Sunday before our worship service we have a prayer together . . . the leaders of the service – clergy, seminarians, the lay reader of the gospel. We all are scurrying around in the office, tending to last minute things – copying the Communion prayer, straightening stoles, getting the lectern Bible, checking bulletins, confirming assignments. But we always stop to pray before we hurry off to line up at the back of the aisle.

When I am the one praying, I often will say, “Dear God, use us this morning so that people will see through us to you.” Our role is to be transparent. Yes, we are conspicuous on Sunday mornings. We are up front here in the chancel, the clergy are dressed in garb that represents the role we play in the congregation, we have microphones, we lead the prayers. But it is not about us; it is about the love of God as it shines through the light of Christ. “Dear God, use us this morning so that the people will see through us to you.”

That is a “John the Baptist Prayer.” There is that brief interrogation of him by the religious officials who are questioning his authority. In verse 19: “Are you the Messiah?” “No.” “Are you Elijah?” “No.” “Are you a prophet?” “No.” “Then, what do you say about yourself?” And John answers by quoting Isaiah, “I am the voice crying in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way of the Lord.’” He is not the light of the world, but he has come to testify to the light. He has come so that all might believe through him. Transparent faith.

This all is preliminary to the major event which we celebrate at Christmas, the coming of the true light into the world. For what are the verses which open the Gospel of John and precede our encounter with John the Baptist? The cosmic birth story of Jesus, being God’s divine self, existing from the very start of everything. The opening verses of the gospel tie Christmas to the first words of the Bible in Genesis, “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God. He was in the beginning with God.” And then, what image does the writer use to describe this cosmic Christ? “What has come into being in him was life, and the life was the light of all people. The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it.”

You and I are not Jesus Christ; we are not the light of the world. Nor, are we called to be. But we are called to bear that light into our shadowy world by being transparent in our faith. “It is not about me,” John the Baptist tells the interrogators, as if he were on trial. “It is about the savior of the world. It is not my light that shines, but the light of the one who shines through me.” John is the prism through whom the pure light of Christ is revealed in its rich range of colors.

It is not about us; it is about him. We are called to live transparent lives so that others might see through us to the true source of light.

Jesus does not heal the blind man and then turn to us and say, “Go and do likewise.” He does not quell the stormy sea or feed the multitudes with a few loaves of bread and then say, “Go and do likewise.” He simply says, “Faithful people, let your light shine; don’t hide it.” And when we look honestly within ourselves, we discover that our light is his light. That he uses us as the Body of Christ in the world to do his work, to shed a light of hope that even the darkest despair cannot extinguish.

There are people here today through whom the light of Christ shines brilliantly. I will not identify you by name because you would be embarrassed to death, and those whom I would not name would be terribly disappointed. Isn’t that the way – the true saints we see around us are the least likely to know it, and the ones who are certain of their piety can be insufferable.

So, let me share with you this moment of seeing the light of Christ shine through another person, one of whom many of you remember. Years ago I was visiting a member of the congregation who was in the hospital, St. Joseph’s Hospital just north of Lincoln Park. It was evening, and natural light from the east-facing window was gone. There only was a dim lamp on next to the bed. Chuck, who just had had surgery, was lying in the bed, his wife, Portia, was standing on one side of him, and I was standing on the other, with my back to the window and my face toward the door.

We were talking softly when a person appeared in the doorway. Because the light in the hallway was brighter than that in the room, I only could make out the silhouette of a man. He said, “May I come in?”

“Yes, please do.”

“I was just down the hall visiting my mother, who has been here for a few days. And I wonder if it would be okay if I offered a prayer for you, too.” He now stood in the light at Chuck’s bedside, and I recognized him, it was Joseph Cardinal Bernadin. None of us had ever met him before, but we knew who he was, the leader of the Catholic community in Chicago, and in real terms, the whole Christian community.

He took Chuck’s hand in his hand, and Portia’s with his other, and he soothingly offered a prayer of healing, a simple prayer. He said, “Amen,” smiled gently, blessed us all, and left.

I saw the light of Christ that night in that darkened hospital room. It was not about Cardinal Bernadin, but he was wonderfully transparent.

Can we remember what was the passage of scripture that Jesus read when he began his ministry? Recall that he went into the synagogue, and the leaders handed him the scroll of the prophet Isaiah, and he fixed his attention upon the opening verse of Chapter 61, and claimed for himself, “The Spirit of the Lord God is upon me, because the Lord has anointed me; he has sent me to bring good news to the oppressed, to bind up the brokenhearted, to proclaim liberty to the captives, and release to the prisoners; to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor . . .”

That is the light coming into the dreary, overcast world, a world very much like our own. It is not our obligation to generate the light ourselves by our own good intentions. Heaven knows, that light soon would be snuffed out. But, it is our calling to stay close to Jesus so that the divine light of God’s love will shine through us.

And that means that we faithfully engage in his work – by his self-description, the work of bringing good news to the oppressed, binding up the brokenhearted, proclaiming liberty to the captives, releasing prisoners, and sharing the good news of God’s favor, God’s love. In a dark and dingy world that is a light most desperately needed.

But, lest we become too idealistic here, let us remember what happened to John the Baptist: he had his head delivered on a platter. It is suggestive for us to understand that when the gospel writer says that John the Baptist bore “witness” to the true light, the Greek word for “witness” is “marturia,” which is the root for our word, “martyr.” Even transparently conveying the light of Christ can be dangerous business. The gospel says, “The light shines in the darkness, and the darkness did not overcome it,” but not for a lack of trying. The shadowy forces of the world always are trying to extinguish the true light, the light of truth. Shining light into the dark corner of human connivance is never welcome.

Remember Cardinal Bernadin. He was falsely accused of abuse. He went through a terrible time of unsubstantiated suspicion. He paid a price for being such a public bearer of Christ’s true light. No, our calling, our Christmas calling, is not to be answered casually.

We all love a baby. We all are moved by the image of a humble family and scruffy onlookers gathered around the infant Jesus lying in the feedbox of a donkey. We all stir to the sound of a choir of angels singing a cantata.

But Herod did not love it, and he was moved to an ethnic cleansing that sent Joseph and Mary and their infant into Egypt, as Luke’s version has it, only in due time for them to return to the land beyond the Jordan, much in the image of Moses leading the people on the exodus out of Egypt. Herod, the power of darkness, could not stand the light coming into the world. But he, in all of his murderousness, could not extinguish it.

The good news from John the Baptist is that it is not about us; it is about the one who shines through us. Transparent faith. Let us be brave and let the light shine so that others might be drawn to the source through us. Amen.