Isaiah 49:1-6 Acts 13:22-26 Luke 1:57-66,80
Even though John the Baptist grew to be the most formidable ascetic in the Bible, we have every right to celebrate his birthday by throwing a big monastic party, with a full liturgy followed by plenty of rich food and wine in the refectory. We have every right to do this regardless of whether he himself would have approved of it or not. Why? Because that's our way of getting back at least some of the joy that we produce, as it were, by trying to follow in his footsteps. One of the few legitimate ways of clawing a little bit of it back for ourselves. It stands written in the Book of Deuteronomy: “You shall not muzzle an ox as it is treading out the grain” (25:4). It happens to be one of my favourite verses in the Bible.
Let me explain what I mean. There is all this talk of joy surrounding the birth of John. But whose joy was it? “And you will have joy and gladness, and many will rejoice at his birth”. But who is the “you” and who are the “many”? His parents, Zachariah and Elizabeth, of course, in the first place. But then later the multitude of true Jewish believers, mostly poor and insignificant, who will be delighted that God revived the spirit of prophecy among them after it had been dormant for centuries, and still more excited about the message: the long-awaited Messiah is finally coming! These people, they will all rejoice, because John “will be great in the eyes of the Lord. And he will be filled with the Holy Spirit, even from his mother's womb, and he will go before the Lord in the spirit and power of Elijah, to make ready for the Lord a people prepared” (cf. Lk 1:14-17).
John was like an ox treading out joy for others. It must have been a delight to know that he was out there, running loose in the wilderness, living radically “under the gaze of the divine onlooker”, baptizing, stirring things up with his fiery sermons and denunciations. But how was it like for him? He did leap in his mother's womb when the Holy Spirit entered his life, true, but I can't quite see him leaping for joy much after that, to be honest. I may be wrong, but toughing it out in the wilderness, especially in your childhood and adolescence, with this constant sense of being watched by God? And then the public ministry, calling out the mighty and the powerful, risking your own life in the process, shouting at and offending those who thought themselves decent, respectable people, while yourself appearing unbalanced or downright crazy at times? And all that under the divine compulsion, all that the bread and butter of being a prophet, as we well know from the Bible.
Not a single prophet before John enjoyed himself particularly while at it: just read Jeremiah! Or poor Amos: all he wanted was to be “a herdsman and a dresser of sycamore figs”, mind his own business, keep his head down. “But the Lord took him from following the flock, and the Lord said to him: go, prophecy” (7:14-15)! And that was it. We have just heard what Isaiah thought: “I have laboured in vain; I have spent my strength for nothing and vanity” (Is 49:4). And John, a reference point for countless others, a pillar supporting the sky in the wilderness, at the height of his influence, was also plagued with doubt: “Are you the one who is to come, or shall we look for another” (Mt 11:3)?
As for being “great in the eyes of the Lord”, you only need to open the Book of Job to learn what that is like. “Have you considered my servant Job?” Satan is asked by the Lord, “there is none like him on earth”. A few chapters later there is a brilliant moment when, addressing God, Job is deliberately alluding to the exuberantly joyful Psalm 8: “I loathe my life”, he says, “I would not live for ever. Leave me alone, for my days are a breath. What is man that you make so much of him, and that you set your heart on him, visit him every morning and test him every moment? How long will you not look away from me, nor leave me alone till I swallow my spittle” (7:16-19)?
Yes, if that is what being great in the eyes of God means, then maybe it's better to be small, enjoy yourself while you can, and then die and disappear into nothingness, like an animal? Why should my sins, my thoughts, my actions matter to God? Turn away and leave me alone... And John was greater than Job, in fact “among those born of women there has arisen no one greater than John the Baptist” (Mt 11:11).
“If this is how you treat your friends”, St Theresa of Avila famously said to the Lord... Well, just like her, I say all these things tongue-in-cheek, of course. John must have had some share in the joy he brought about, he couldn't have been completely muzzled, as that would be against God's own Law. But the point I'm trying to make, which must be obvious by now, is nevertheless still valid. It's not easy to be chosen by God, to put it mildly. It's not easy to be set aside, singled out for a special vocation. Perhaps especially when it is something along the lines of what St John the Baptist was asked to do: and our monastic vocation is definitely one such thing. Why is it not easy? Because it's not easy to be loved, to let yourself be loved, even by a human being, let alone by God! The other, the one who loves you, puts you in the centre of their universe and builds his or her life around you. It's a terrible responsibility, it makes you awfully self-conscious, and it goes wrong at times. Love is this constant, unrelenting gaze directed at you.
Unless you are a complete narcissist (thinking yourself intrinsically lovable, worthy of all this attention and admiration, while somehow managing to take on none of the responsibility that comes with it), then it is a terrible thing, awe-inspiring and terrifying. I repeat, it's a terrible thing to be loved by God as we are here in this monastery! Every now and then we have to let ourselves off the hook a little. We are like oxen treading out joy and peace for the Church, for the world, often enjoying precious little of what we release from bondage. Joy and peace, export products, as we call them. Yet we are not completely muzzled, thanks be to God. This is how we should view today's feast and all monastic feasting, as occasions to lower our heads and munch on the grain a little. Plus, John went before the Lord, but he also went before us, monks. We can rejoice in him, just as others rejoice in us. Let us give our great heavenly patron a big spiritual hug today. He will not like it, rough man as he is, but so what? Let us hug him anyway, squeeze out even more joy out of him, something just for ourselves. Because we follow in his footsteps and therefore what happened to him, one way or the other, happens to us, too. But what's in it for us, I ask? There must be some compensation!
DSP