Sally A. Brown, Professor Emerita, Princeton Theological Seminary
No Gospel writer devotes more attention to the figure of John the Baptist than Luke. Matthew, Mark and John bring John the Baptizer onto the scene abruptly, without preamble. He appears in the wilderness along the Jordan River, preaching the imminent coming of the reign of God and baptizing the repentant. By the time that scene opens in Luke (today’s reading, Lk 3:1-6), we are already familiar with details of John’s priestly parentage, his extra-ordinary conception and birth, and his christening (Lk 1: 5-24, 57-80). The lectionary wisely suggests that we read Luke 1:68-79, Zechariah’s oracle concerning his infant son’s destiny, in place of the customary psalm on this date. Together, these readings from Luke alert us that God’s redemptive interruption of history will unfold far from the halls of power, political or religious, in the remote Judean wilderness. That is good news in this Advent season for many a world-weary congregation. Three interpretive paths beckon this week.
First, Luke’s staging of John the Baptist’s ministry against a backdrop of powerful figures, political and religious, reflects more than an interest in historical detail. The figures Luke names will all play a role, ultimately, in the deaths of either John or Jesus. Yet, says Luke, “the word of God”—the word of God’s reign drawn near, a Word with the power to change not merely the world map, but the fundamental structure of reality—came not to Caesar, nor even to leading authorities of the temple, but to the ascetic prophet John in a remote corner of the Judean wilderness. The Year C Lectionary will not bring Mary’s revolutionary song, “Magnificat” (Lk 1:46-55) into the Advent soundscape until Advent 4; yet Luke’s readers have already heard it; and we have, too. Mary sings of a world turned upside-down. The very instrument of death that the Empire uses to terrify its subjects into submission—the cross—will become, by God’s design, the instrument of death’s undoing.
Second, “the word of God came to John in the wilderness.” Some say that it’s only the density of the information universe that makes us feel that fires and storms, drought and famine, are more widespread than ever. Some say that violence, local or state-sponsored, only seems to be engulfing civilization because it fills our screens. However that may be, people of all classes across the globe find themselves staggering, literally or emotionally, through a dystopian landscape filled with suffering, hate, ruin, and uncertainty: in short, wilderness. In scripture, “wilderness” is a place that exposes human fragility; yet it is also the place of divine-human encounter and robust faith renewed.
Third, John, like Isaiah, adjures us to trust the promise of God’s ultimate renewal of all things (“the salvation of God,” v 6). That renewal will be an act of new creation, not to be confused with the vows of politicians (or, for that matter, preachers) who glibly promise to purify the nation by removing and destroying all “bad actors” who resist their roadmap toward religious conformity. John himself will be imprisoned and executed for speaking truth to the powers of his historical moment. Down centuries, people of faith have trusted that no executioner on the payroll of empire, no army’s tanks and missiles, no preacher in the hip pocket of worldly power, no politician who foments hate in the name of God, can thwart God’s determination to dethrone the self-important, lift the defenseless, and bring about a new heaven and earth. Even in the wilderness, like Mary and like John, we can focus on that far horizon where light is breaking. Until that light fills the sky, we seek, in every moment, to bear into the world God’s ways of compassion, truth-telling, and justice.
Insights into Biblical Greek Grammar and Syntax 