The Baptist

John’s adam’s apple bobs, a noticeable sign of his discomfort when he sees who stands waiting next in line to be baptized. He swallows hard when his eyes meet his cousin’s. This man is family, and yet, they have never spoken. But John knows instantly who it is that waits so patiently amidst the crowd. And it is not just a long lost cousin. His big, confident hands start to shake.

John’s a strong man – a sure one. All of his life he’s been certain of his calling, set apart by the voice in his heart guiding him. Set apart by his mother’s faith, his father’s training, his upbringing in the desert with the Essenes. He grew up apart from the masses, trained from childhood to be who he was. A tuning rod. Everything in him is about making as wide a swath as he can through religious hypocrisy, through blindness, through the hardness of a people lost and desperate.

His entire vision has been focused on awaking Israel’s spirit, raising a cry in their hearts for more. To turn their gazes back to the presence of the unseen. He’s been preparing the way.

Until this moment.

Until right now, when he is knocked off his feet by the recognition clanging through his soul of the Son of God standing right there before him. Innocence spilling out in light that floods the spiritual world.

Everything in John trembles. For the first time ever he is uncertain of his words. Cautious. Why is this Power standing in line like a common Jew? They have not spoken before now, though they have both been aware of each other. Though they have caught sight of each other, and John’s spirit had cried out “Lamb of God.”

They were each a comfort to the other in the distance, though John does not realize the way he bolsters Jesus. And in this moment John’s disciples notice his stillness, his hesitation.

He hasn’t done enough, John’s thinking. He’s fought day and night to make some kind of headway in the sea of endless indifference for the Messiah’s arrival, and John is convinced with every fiber of his being that he hasn’t made a dent in it. And now this Person stands before him, with so much understanding in his eyes. With so much camaraderie. As if they are in it together. As if it’s done and John can rest.

”You cannot mean for me to baptize you!” He finally bursts out, his voice hoarse as Jesus steps down the bank, wading into the water towards him. “Not when you should be baptizing me.”

Jesus is silent as he steadily walks closer. There is a seriousness to his gaze. As if he knows how difficult an ask this is. I can feel him mulling over what to say and how to say it in a way that relieves John’s spirit. This man has been wading through the trenches for him for years. John doesn’t see it, but Jesus’ hands shake a little too, both in relief at being near John’s authenticity – the safety of a man who sees him for who he is in the sea of those who don’t. But, also, there’s this beacon burning in his chest. It’s almost all he can feel right now – the fire of it pulling him forward.

He can feel his Father calling. The pull to complete the law. To take this step down the path laid out before him. He can feel too, the held breath of the world around him as he stands at the cusp of accepting who he is yet again.

So much is going on in this exchange, I can barely breathe through the knot in my throat. They are being watched by the crowd, but neither of them is aware of it. Holy Spirit is hovering over this moment between them and the intensity of it is saturating the air between them. They have not spoken to each other before today and both are a little unsure of how to proceed. Two strong men that look like any other. But between them, Love and awe and the recognition of each other are bouncing back and forth … and the unspoken awareness of what is coming.

John doesn’t realize how much comfort he gives Jesus. How much it means to Jesus that he’s there working alongside him for his Dad. The baptist is too caught up in awe at the light that pours out of Jesus, spilling through the universe though the crowd cannot see it. And John is barely standing under the enormous weight of this moment – this sudden culmination to his entire life’s work. Here is the gift his dad was struck mute over, here is the promise Yahweh spoke through the prophets, the rescue that would free his people from their unceasing, endless brokenness and pain.

Jesus grabs John’s arms, keeping him upright as John’s knees threaten to buckle, offering strength in that silent support he always gives. It’s a familiar touch between brothers, cousins… friends – and John doesn’t know how to handle it. I can see him fighting tears, his big hands still shaking, his breath shuddering out in that I’m about to break down kind of way.

For a man as certain as John is in his task, he’s one of the humblest. The thought of baptizing the Son of God feels like an outrageous overstep of his authority. He’s searching for a way around it. He’s convinced it can’t be right for a clumsy, awkward, desert man full of mistakes and pride to baptize the Light of the world. And everything in him yearns for Jesus to baptize him instead, to clean him from his own sins.

“Lay it down, John.” Jesus says quietly, seeing the way John wants to buckle under the intensity and the knowledge of his own limits. Seeing the yearning. Jesus is asking him to put down the weight of their differences. To set aside his protest and his asking for now.

Jesus tugs me forward then, out from where I hid behind him, my hand held safe in his. As if to show John and I why. Why he must prepare Jesus, allow him this act of anointing. I am just as reluctant and feel just as awkward and uncertain as John to be part of this moment. Just as out of place to be the motivation behind Jesus’s acceptance of what is to come. But Jesus is determined to bring us both in past those boundaries – past that distance we instinctively try to put between us and his Goodness. John can’t see me, but there’s a flicker of knowledge in his eyes of Jesus’ task. Of why this is important to him. Of who Jesus carries with him into the water.

Jesus speaks just for the two of them, his voice low and fervent as he seeks to instill courage into his cousin. “Stand together with me in this, John. It is right for us to fill righteousness full – to complete and finish it.”

John nods, unable to speak. That Jesus would include him in this task. That he would be invited in and given this honour. All the pieces are tumbling into place, nearly blinding him. What this means – and why Jesus might be called the lamb of God. He grips Jesus’ shoulders and lowers him into the water. His eyes close and tears spill down his cheeks as Jesus disappears beneath the murk. And when his cousin stands immediately, water cascading off him, hand clasping John’s shoulder tightly, his eyes caught somewhere far away in communion with his dad, John stands sturdy beside him. He feels the warmth of Yahweh’s voice resounding through them, the rush and embrace of Holy Spirit’s delight, caught in and between the three of them as Love spills through Jesus and onto John and over me too.