The Nativity of St. John the Baptist
Luke 1:57-67 [68-80]
PJinNJ

I suspect that many of you are scratching your heads this morning.

“When WAS the last time we celebrated the Nativity of St. John the Baptist? Funny, I don’t ever remember our doing that … “

To be honest, I don’t have a recollection of ever having observed this day before either, but then, June 24th seldom falls on a Sunday. I checked. Not since 1990.

I don’t know about you, but I cannot speak with any certainty about ANYTHING that happened in 1990, let alone if the Lutheran church observed the Nativity of St. John the Baptist— you see, in 1990 I was still dabbling in yoga and crystals— I hadn’t even come back into the fold yet.

Anyway, on this midsummer day in June, we celebrate the birth day of St. John the Baptist. It is one of only two birth days the church observes— the other, of course, being that of Jesus.

I find it interesting that we celebrate the birth of Christ at the time of the winter solstice, that point in time in our northern hemisphere from which the days get increasingly longer … and we celebrate the Nativity of St. John the Baptist at the SUMMER solstice— which occurred this past Thursday— from which point the light of our days will begin to diminish— just as John came to prepare the way for one who was yet to come, to step aside to make way for One whose sandals he was not worthy to untie.

This day is like a bit of Advent in June. Our first reading from Malachi also served as the appointed first reading for this past December 10th— a reading in which the Lord announces that a messenger shall prepare a way for the sudden coming of the Lord.

Our Gospel reading serves as the ‘rest of the story’ to the reading we heard on the last Sunday in Advent, when Elizabeth was pregnant with John, and, as you may remember, feels the baby leap in her womb at the sound of Mary’s voice.

She then greets Mary, the mother of Jesus, with the words: “Blessed are you among women, and blessed is the fruit of your womb,” and then makes her own prophetic confession of faith: “why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me?”

That Elizabeth is pregnant at all is part of a miracle story that today’s reading concludes. In the first part of the story, we meet Zechariah, a priest in the temple who is doing his priestly duties when he is visited by the angel Gabriel.

Gabriel tells Zechariah that he and his wife’s prayers have been answered. Elizabeth would bear a son and they are to name him John. But Zechariah protests: “How will I know that this is so? For I am an old man, and my wife is getting on in years…” The moral of this first part of the story is: never doubt the word of an angel— for as a consequence of his doubt, Zechariah lost his voice until what the Lord promised would come true.

Which brings us to today’s gospel. Elizabeth of course, does become pregnant, and when the time came for her to give birth, she bears a son. On the eight day they come to the temple to circumcise the child, and all their neighbors and friends are certain they are going to name the child Zechariah after his father, according to custom.

Elizabeth says no: “his name will be John.” Zechariah is consulted. Still unable to speak, he writes on a tablet: “His name is John.” And immediately his speech is restored and, filled with the Holy Spirit, he begins the prophetic song of praise that has been sung in the church for centuries. Our hymn of the day will be a paraphrase of Zechariah’s song but you can also find it, on page 134 of the Lutheran Book of Worship— as part of Morning Prayer, a service that begins with the words: “O Lord, open my lips, and my mouth shall declare your praise.”

And yes, Zechariah’s lips were opened, and declare the Lord’s praise, he did: “Blessed be the Lord God of Israel, for he has looked favorably on his people and redeemed them. He has raised up a mighty savior for us in the house of the servant David … And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways…”

It was to be as Malachi had prophesied. The messenger had come to prepare the way of the Lord … St. John the Baptist … who would appear in the wilderness proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. “I baptize you with water;” John will say, but one more powerful than I is coming … he will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire.”

“One more powerful than I is coming…” “why has this happened to me, that the mother of my Lord comes to me?” …”you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High; for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways…”

Zechariah, Elizabeth, John. A family of prophets. A family of faith.

We don’t hear about them much. A couple readings in December and again on rare occasions such as today when the 24th of June actually falls on a Sunday. But I can’t help but think that they would have wanted it that way— it seems they never did want themselves at the center of attention. Each one in his or her own way, always pointed to the One who was yet to come— to Christ Jesus our Savior and Lord.

These readings provide a powerful reminder for all of us— but especially for us pastors. It is so tempting to take credit for the work that God is doing among us. If attendance is up, it must mean the pastor’s a pretty good preacher. If someone or another felt especially comforted in a time of crises or need, it must mean the pastor’s a pretty good care giver. If a few new Christians are baptized and join the church, it must mean the pastor’s a pretty good evangelist.

All and all, we pastors prefer being considered “pretty good” than the obvious alternatives. But when we get HUNG UP on how favorably or not we are thought of, we begin to lose track of why we have been called: to prepare the way; to proclaim the coming of our Lord Jesus Christ.

As I alluded to at the very beginning of this sermon, the last time we would have had the opportunity to observe The Nativity of St. John the Baptist, I was still estranged from the church.

It would not be until the following year, during the season of Advent, as a matter of fact, that I returned to the Lutheran faith.

Those first years seemed crowded with miracles— my experience of forgiveness and healing, the incredible outreach ministries of that congregation, our overcoming what seemed like insurmountable obstacles. It was tempting to give all the credit to the pastor— and tempting for her, I am sure, to want to take a little of it. But over and over she’d remind us WHOSE church it was. Not hers. Not even ours. That we are able to experience mercy and accomplish anything at all was ONLY because God is gracious.

That is what his name means by the way. John means: God is gracious.

“He has shown the mercy promised to our ancestors, and has remembered his holy covenant … that we, being rescued from the hands of our enemies, might serve him without fear, in holiness and righteousness before him all our days.”

“By the tender mercy of our God, the dawn from on high will break upon us, to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death, to guide our feet into the way of peace.”

Amen.