Lent 2016 - Day 15: February 24 (Luke 9:11-27)

The disciples are home! Fresh from a successful missions trip, they are eager to tell Jesus about all they’ve seen and done. Jesus, for His part, seems a little subdued. The disciples may not know it at the time, but Jesus has just learned that His cousin John has been beheaded on a whim. Now that the last and greatest prophet of the Old Covenant has been killed in a most symbolic and despicable manner, the New Covenant – and the New Kingdom – can enter in. It is a bittersweet moment for Jesus. 

Despite the need for debriefing and introspection, there is neither time nor opportunity. The crowd is here yet again. It is particularly telling that, on this occasion, the crowd is so hyper focused on its immediate need for healing that they forget or fail to bring food. Always short-sighted and ravenous, the crowd cannot see beyond its next meal. No wonder they will prove themselves so fickle in just a few months’ time.

The disciples are feeling pretty accomplished. Flush with their recent success (“We got this!”), they put their newfound administrative skills to work, set up an ad hoc committee to survey the crowd and complete a feasibility study in short order. 

“Here’s what we know,” they tell Jesus. “They’re hungry.”

“So feed them,” says Jesus. 

“We can’t! Well, that’s not quite true. We have two options: send them away to fend for themselves or feed only a few with the five loaves and two fishes we have. OK, three options. If we absolutely have to, we can go shopping and set up a soup kitchen.”

What the disciples have to say sounds perfectly reasonable and rational. The need is too great for the resources at hand. They cannot possibly do this, which is all the more reason why Jesus seizes the opportunity to remind them that – a very short time ago – God granted them with power and authority over all demons and to cure diseases. Surely God can feed a few thousand Israelites in the wilderness, can’t He? 

What happens next sounds like a simple communal meal – except no meal was prepared. There are no cook tents to be set up, no pots and pans to wash, no cook fires to be tended and no wrappers to be collected. Just food – sudden, miraculous food. And with a nod to those Israelites in the wilderness, the provision is not only abundant – it is perfect. The people are fed to their satisfaction and the disciples – who’ve been pressed into service – are left with perfectly sized individual portions (happy meals, indeed) of their own.

At what point, we wonder, does the miracle take place? Is it when Jesus blesses the food and begins to distribute it? Or is it when the disciples, full of faith, keep returning to Jesus for more food to distribute? Or do the baskets remain full as they are passed around? We don’t know, and it doesn’t really matter. What matters is that the disciples didn’t question Jesus’ plan even though it directly contradicted their understanding of the situation. Instead, they just kept coming to Him in faith and in so doing, found satisfaction.

There’s another echo here of another time, another prophet, and it comes at a propitious moment. Elisha performed a similar feat on a smaller scale early in his ministry. While, admittedly, he was no Elijah, he was no slouch, either, and he was given a double portion of Elijah’s spirit. There are signs here to be read for those who have eyes – words to be heard for those who have ears.

It’s time for Jesus to ask his disciples what they’ve seen and heard – what they’ve figured out – and to uncouple them from their affinity for the crowd. It’s time for a serious reality check.

Looking up from prayer, Jesus asks: “Who do the crowds say that I am?” It seems a casual question, and yet it was one that Jesus prayed about before asking. Therefore, it is a question that is carefully asked. 

The disciples tick off the possibilities on their fingers: John the Baptist (ouch), Elijah, one of the prophets of old (Elisha). None of these are anywhere near the realm of possibility, nor do they coincide with scripture. The crowd, drunk on its own need, is clearly not thinking nor is it considering Jesus as anything more than a faith healer who puts out an occasional meal.

“But who do you say that I am?”

And Peter answered, “The Christ of God.”

(Judas, looking up from his hourly perusal of the moneybag, scowls at Peter and mouths the words, “Suck up!”)

Elsewhere, Matthew tells us that Jesus praises Peter for this statement. Luke, however, focuses on the fact that Jesus does not want them to be deceived. Being the Son of Man, the Christ of God, is not like being Homecoming King. It’s not a popularity contest, because the Kingdom of God is not a popular movement. It’s not a political office, because the Kingdom of God is a spiritual kingdom – not a physical one. 

In fact, Jesus tells them. Being the Son of God – the Christ of God – means He will suffer many things, be rejected by the very people who have been waiting and looking for Him, be killed and then be resurrected from the dead.

The disciples can be heard flipping through their pocket-sized copies of the Torah muttering, “I don’t get that at all from reading this…Where is that again?”

But wait, says Jesus, there’s more.

If you thought I was calling you to become giants in your community, generals of troops whose honor and privilege it is to restore the nation of Israel to its former glory and to usurp Rome as the world superpower…if you thought I was at the head of a revolution to tear down the oligarchy and redistribute their wealth to ourselves first and then to the poor…if you thought that by following me you would have power, wealth, security, popularity and the approval of others…you were wrong. Really, really wrong.

I am being called to suffer, to be rejected, executed and resurrected. And because you are my disciples, I am calling you to be the same.

(There’s a loud thump in the back as Judas – digging deep into the moneybag for what he’s sure is a denarius – knocks a lamp off a table.)

Jesus, the first, last and best prophet of the New Covenant, tells them plainly: I will be tried on trumped up charges by the priests and scribes, turned over to the Gentiles and killed. It will not be a glorious death. I will be executed as a criminal. I will be crucified. Are you ready to walk this path with Me?

Sadly, you can hear the crickets chirp. No one says a word. And then, from the back, you can hear Judas jingle a few newfound coins in his greedy, grubby hand.

Lent 2016, Day 14: February 23 (Luke 9:1-10)

Today is an important day. Jesus is starting to take the training wheels off. A number of important signs and events are about to take place, and Jesus is racing against the clock to shape the disciples into The Apostles. Time is running out. The question “Who is Jesus?” is about to be asked, and Jesus needs to make sure the disciples have all the information they need to answer it correctly.

“Enough theory!” says Jesus. “It’s time now for you to get out and do.”

Jesus gives them a specific short-term assignment: heal the sick, cast out demons and – most importantly – proclaim the kingdom of God. In giving them this task, Jesus wants to make them rely on God for all their needs, so He strips away all the physical support they might expect to carry along with them. “Don’t take anything with you,” says Jesus. “I want you to look – and live – like you just stepped out your front door for a walk around the block. Find God’s peace and provision in this moment and then carry that moment forward with you.”

Jesus then couples and complements their physical need with spiritual power by giving them authority over demons and disease. Like a one-two punch, it gives the disciples an added boost of effectiveness and confidence. Truly, they know that God is with them – who can stand against them? Jesus is commissioning His Freedom Fighters for their first solo mission. What could be more exciting?

This is also an ominous day. Luke reminds us that Jesus’ ministry – while growing in power and influence – is not operating in a vacuum. Like it or not, Jesus has stepped into a very crowded, dangerous and political ring. Alliances between the Pharisees and the Sadducees are liquid at best, and already there is talk that the priesthood is for sale. Later, when they reject Pilate’s offer to give them Jesus in favor of Barabbas, that invoice will come due.

Even as Jesus foments spiritual revolution, political revolution is on many minds and many lips, and spies are ever present. Out on the fringes of the crowd, someone is observing Jesus and reporting back to Herod. But because they are clearly not “in the know,” the information Herod receives is spotty, incorrect, and confusing at best. Faced with almost daily conspiracies to fuel his raging paranoia, Herod feels besieged. It seems that every time he kills a prophet, another takes his place. Little does he know that Jesus is busy training nearly a dozen to rise up after Him.

The Pharisees, too, spy on Jesus – openly – as they walk beside Him, recording everything He says and examining every word for opportunities to corner Him, condemn Him, and manipulate Him against the Romans and one another. Jesus is wary and aware but not afraid. He knows the time has not yet come for open betrayal, and He works to reach as many of the old guard as He can. Many of these men are Godly men – accomplished scholars and true disciples of Moses who are eagerly awaiting the Messiah’s Coming and determined to daily examine the Scriptures for the necessary proofs. Others, sadly, are not. Instead, they regard Jesus as a game piece to be moved across – or removed from – a vast board that stretches all the way to Rome.

Jesus isn’t worried about the Pharisees or Herod – that old fox – despite the Pharisees’ warnings. As Jesus sends the disciples out with power, it’s those closest to Him that occupy His thoughts and prayers. It’s the men of the knife – the sicarii – and one in particular (ish sicarii) that He has His eye on.

Lent 2016, Day 13: February 22 (Luke 8:40-56)

The crowd is both a good thing and a bad thing for her. It is good in that she can easily conceal herself within it. No one pays much attention to women in the first place, she thinks, and her modest attire helps amplify her anonymity. It is bad in that if she is not careful in all this jostling, the blood will blossom on the front of her robe and she will cause a panic. How ironic that a culture steeped in blood has such an institutionalized fear of it.

Thanks to her condition, she lives a highly compartmentalized life. It doesn’t really matter how she got it – the doctors have never been able to pinpoint a cause, much less a cure – but she has made it her life’s work to find healing. Seminars, self-help books, workout tapes, juicing – nothing has worked.

She has adopted her illness as if it were a child, making a space for it in her life and providing for its every need. Each outfit, every activity, all social interaction is carefully planned. Every waking moment is spent in hyper vigilance to ensure that no one sees, no one suspects. As a result, she is frustrated and broke and desperate beyond belief.

She has kept this secret for 12 years now, sharing it only with the most expensive of doctors within the sanctity of the diagnostic confessional. Should her secret become widely known, she would be forcibly expelled from her community and even her family. She is well skilled at dodging commitments and activities that might expose her (“Visit the mikveh? Oh no, I can’t. I’m much too shy!”), but after 12 years the excuses are wearing painfully thin. And she is so very, very tired.

The stress of living a double life has only served to increase her illness and her isolation. She is friendless, alone, defensive and cornered. Quite frankly, she just wants it all to be over. Jesus is her last (and best) hope.

She does not begrudge Jairus his request. She knows him from the synagogue (she sits in the back), and he has even tried to be kind to her on occasion. “If he only knew!” she chuckles. “How horrified he would be to learn that he’s been unclean all this time!” She checks herself – that’s not very kind. If she were him, she’d be horrified too. In fact, it’s her horror of her uncleanness that has driven her to such desperation.

Jairus unwittingly serves as an excellent distraction, which allows her to improvise a plan: wait until Jesus is on the move, squeeze between the two disciples to His right (John and Andrew), pretend to trip (or faint) if necessary, and reach out to touch Him to steady herself. It’s a perfectly innocent-seeming gesture, especially in this boiling crowd (she’s already had her foot stepped on twice).

In the end, it’s the dismount that is her downfall. It was supposed to be so easy! Smash and grab! Hit and run – a perfect 10! But, wouldn’t you just know it? He felt the healing at the same instant she did, and there was no escaping the lightning connection between them. She is whole, but she is undone. In a way, this moment of public scrutiny is far more painful to her than the past 12 years of private shame.

"Who touched me?" Jesus asks, looking her right in the eye.

 Taking her cue from Jairus’ earlier request, she throws herself at Jesus’ feet. And suddenly it’s all too much. She has had enough. Tapping into hidden reserves of strength – the righteous product of years of suffering – she openly (almost defiantly) declares “I did it – it was ME! Don’t ask me to apologize because I’m not sorry. It took the last bit of strength and courage I had to come to You for help, to reach out to You for healing. But I’m whole now, and I’m glad I did it.”

Jesus, always generous, never judging, helps her to her feet. “I’m glad, too. Now go in peace.”

Lent 2016, Day 12: February 21 (Luke 8:26-39)

Dry land at last, thank God. The disciples tumble out of the boat and hug the ground, grateful to be on terra firma and still greatly unnerved by the intensity of the storm and the relative ease with which Jesus has calmed it. They don't have a chance to catch their breath, however, because another storm is racing down the hill to meet them.

"Aw, c'mon," Peter groans. "Can't we catch a break?"

Part naturist, part demon, part man and not just a little crazy, the demoniac and the setting are everything a righteous Jew should abhor. Not only have Jesus and the disciples stumbled upon a clothing optional cemetery, it just happens to be a pig farm to boot. Could it get any worse? Sure, the wind could shift. Oh, wait.

The encounter unfolds in a rapid fire succession of moments. Luke explains them in reverse, simultaneously keeping the man at arm's length and backing away while explaining that the man is yelling at Jesus in response to Jesus' command for the demon to come out. Before it does, it tries to counter Jesus' command by its own power ("I know who you are!") and then takes a moment to mess with everybody's head. Squatting on the ground, digging in the dirt, he looks up shyly, slyly and winks broadly at Peter as he says, "We are Legion." No wonder Jesus doesn't like demons who talk.

This is dangerous country, not only because of the man before them but because of the area's reputation. The eastern shore of Galilee is home to the Gentiles and all their alluring worldly, demonic ways. Isaiah spoke of these people and their unwholesome influence on the nation of Israel.

I spread out my hands all the day to a rebellious people, who walk in a way that is not good, following their own devices; a people who provoke me to my face continually, sacrificing in gardens and making offerings on bricks; who sit in tombs, and spend the night in secret places; who eat pig's flesh, and broth of tainted meat is in their vessels; who say, “Keep to yourself, do not come near me, for I am too holy for you.” These are a smoke in my nostrils, a fire that burns all the day. (Isa 65:2-5)

Here, among the tombs, the demoniac may well be considered an (un)holy man who calls upon the spirits to inhabit his body and perform feats of strength. He is not continually controlled by the demon(s). On the contrary, the text says "many times it seized him" which implies that some of the man's actions – going unclothed and living in the tombs instead of a house – were voluntary. In fact, the only involuntary action we know of is that the demon drives him into the desert on occasion. After all (say the Pharisees), that's what demons do. They like to wander around the wasteland and blow off steam.

The villagers find the man to be a nuisance. Matthew says "no one could pass that way" because he violently interfered with their routine use of the cemetery on a regular basis. They've tried chaining him up and placing him under guard, but with mixed results at best.

Jesus calms the storm that is the man in the same way – and with the same ease – that He calmed the storm upon the lake. A great miracle has taken place, and a great sign has been performed, both of which make the villagers' reaction all the more curious: they are afraid. Both they and the disciples are amazed and left wondering, "What sort of man is this?"

The villagers beg Him to go. They're unsettled, nervous and afraid. No one wants to talk about it, but they are a little concerned that "the devil (they) know" is no longer the demoniac. The unknown makes them uneasy. After all, the demons didn't drown – their time had not yet come. They're roaming around the wasteland, blowing off steam. And they'll be back soon enough.

Lent 2016, Day 11: February 20 (Luke 8:4-15)

The parable of the sower is one of Jesus' best known stories. It's deceptively simple, yet incredibly complex. The disciples patiently listen to what they think is another one of Jesus' quaint down-on-the-farm stories. But when He is finished, they (and we) all just stand there blinking and thinking, "That was nice…and this means…?"

The disciples are excited about the crowds. Up with (Jewish) people! Already they are envisioning the Jewish uprising to come (still 100 years away) and shopping for swords, shields and decoder rings for the revolution. They're ready to follow Jesus into a glorious war and waiting for Him to start shaping these unruly crowds into squads of Freedom Fighters they can lead into battle. "He's speaking in code, right? Let's see, seed means…no, grow means…wait…" 

The parable is simple, but it's also like an Indian stepwell – you cannot see its depths without standing right on the edge and looking straight down to the living water far below. As Jesus leads them into His explanation, He leads them deeper into the meaning. The sower is a parable, within a parable, within a parable.

On the surface, it's fairly straightforward. A farmer goes out to sow some seed in hopes of raising a crop – presumably wheat, barley, lentils or chickpeas. Our farmer sows his seed liberally. At that time, the practice was to scatter seed and then plow it into the ground. Some of this does not take root, sprout and grow; some does. Of the seed that does take root, sprout and grow, some does not mature and develop into something that suits the farmer's purpose. Some does. Of the seed that does mature, some produced so much fruit that the farmer was able to sell it and use it for food and for seed – a bumper crop.

When the disciples confess that they are clueless as to what in the world chickpeas have to do with overthrowing their Roman overlords, re-establishing Israel as an independent nation and restoring the Davidic monarchy, Jesus pulls them aside to explain that He is the farmer and the seed is the Word.

But, says Jesus, it's not the quality of the message but the condition of the crowd's individual hearts that will determine how they respond to the Gospel. Jesus encourages them to look at the crowds spread out before them and examine the clues hidden within the circus atmosphere that has come to characterize the mob that follows Him.

Over there, just off to the side of the road that leads to Jerusalem are the hot dog vendors, trinket sellers and water-bearers. Some are savvy entrepreneurs who see the mob as an opportunity to grow their businesses, make a profit. For others, it's a God-sent opportunity to make enough just to stay alive another day. These people are here for the crowd – not for Jesus – and the Word falls on deaf ears because it is not their focus. Satan is able to pluck the seed from their hearts because they neither value nor pay attention to the Word that has been given.

Over there, atop that large, flat rock (hey, great seats!), the eager spectators – delighting in all the visual entertainment – have made themselves quite comfortable with beach umbrellas, folding chairs and coolers stuffed with Bartles & Jaymes and Babychams. They are an enthusiastic peanut gallery, cheering Jesus on (woo, woo, woo!), but once they pack up and leave they won't carry the message home. Loaded down with all their gear, the Word is just one more thing to carry and, it seems, so unnecessary a burden. Is there a trashcan nearby?

Down in front is a similar group who have pitched their cabanas, mixed pitchers of margaritas, fluffed their pillows and booted up their iPads. They are there to learn! (Where's the ice?) They are there to get fired up for the Lord! (Don't tell me you didn't bring ice. I can't sit here in the wilderness without a cold drink, are you nuts?) They are educated, informed, involved and fully convinced that if it doesn't come easy, then it shouldn't come at all.

And there, towards the back, in the quiet section that is a calm within this seeming storm, are the humble, everyday folk. The salt of the earth. The ones you hardly ever notice and yet they're always there, working behind the scenes, putting in the hours. They focus on what they are hearing, hold it fast in a good and honest heart, and bear fruit with patience.

There is a meaning under the meaning, Jesus tells the disciples. You can easily see that people have very different kinds of hearts. Yet only one kind of soil/heart will foster the growth of the Word within and carry it through to completion. Only one kind of soil/heart will lead to a plentiful harvest.

Jesus warns us that the Word will grow in many hearts, but it will only bear fruit in a few. Being open to the Word only gets you so far, says Jesus, and "Lord, Lord" the world is full of ineffective people who know God, love Him, and have the Word (it's here somewhere) hidden within their hearts. For what purpose is it there? He wonders.

In the end, the farmer will gather up the fruitful and the fruitless when the harvest comes. He will gather first, and sort in judgment later. Because a bumper crop poses problems all its own, the farmer will focus his attention and energies on gathering his produce into the barn. As for the rest? There's a bonfire on the way.

Lent 2016, Day 10: February 19 (Luke 7:36-8:3)

She is a woman of social standing, known throughout the town – a devout woman – but she has suffered a spectacular public fall from grace. Chastened, repentant, she has followed the forms – her faith has saved her soul – but it seems there’s nothing she can do to repair her reputation. Family, friends and neighbors have deserted her. There is nothing she can say or do to make amends – no way to turn back the clock, no way to stop the malicious gossip and start over with a clean slate. How painful it is to be righteous again and yet still so scorned!

Tired of trying to placate the people around her, she strikes out on her own. After all, she has nothing left to lose.

Learning that Jesus is in town, she finagles her way into Simon’s home – either by stealth, bribery or bravado – and kneels at the feet of her Lord. She’s not there to beg, she is there to worship and to offer the sacrifices of a broken spirit. She knows that Jesus will not despise her broken and contrite heart. In her hands she holds a peace offering of expensive perfume. She unpins her hair – another scandal! – and uses it to wipe Jesus’ feet in a shocking display of intimacy and introspection.

Around the table, eight men who know and despise her for what she is work hard to ignore her. They talk louder to cover her sobbing and give in to nervous fits of giggling. It is all so very awkward. My apologies – I had no idea. Honestly. Who let this woman in?

Simon doesn’t love Jesus. He doesn’t even see Jesus. He calls him teacher – an insult given the signs that Jesus has recently performed. And the woman? All Simon sees is a sinner, a stain on his righteous community. She is another test for Jesus. After all, if He really was a prophet, He wouldn’t let her near Him.

Quite gently, Jesus tells Simon what a hypocrite he is. No water for His feet, no welcome kiss, no refreshing oil – such hospitality would be a crime. But that’s okay – the woman (THAT woman!) has saved Simon from social disgrace. Like Abigail, she has intervened with what is needful – tender kisses, tears and expensive perfume – and made the guest of honor feel at home. Kiss the Son, lest He be angry.

Jesus, knowing what it is she really needs, restores her to her community in front of eight impeccable witnesses when He says, “Your faith has saved you. Your sins are forgiven.” It is a gift she desperately needs but cannot ask for (hesed), and one that Simon, sadly, can neither understand nor accept – because he doesn't need it.

Lent 2016: February 18 - Day 9 (Luke 7:18-35)

In raising the widow of Nain’s son from the dead, Jesus has become a media celebrity. The commentators and pundits are abuzz, trying to describe the Indescribable Man by comparing Him to the legends of the old covenant. Luke clues us in to who they’re talking about by using the words of 1 Kings 17:23 to describe how Jesus raised the widow’s son. Later, Jesus will zero in on this when He asks the disciples, “Who do the crowds say I am?”

“Elijah,” say the crowds.

“Jesus is Elijah,” John’s disciples tell him.

You can almost hear John slap them upside the head.

In their defense, they were trying very hard to trim the pegged corners of the prophecy and fit it into the round hole of the situation. Malachi – singing gorgeously, boisterously, hopefully – had told them of a prophet to come who would turn the hearts of fathers and children to one another. Jesus had just mended a widow’s broken heart by returning her son to her. It’s the same thing, right?

“It’s close at least!” say John’s disciples. “Anyway, it’s all just semantics, right?”

“No,” says John (soundly smacking them once more). “It’s not. No cigar for you.”

John is currently cooling his heels on the sidelines. Like Dorothy in the witch’s castle, he sends Toto (his disciples) out with a message for Jesus. It’s one-half “get-me-outa-here” and one-half reality check. Herod Antipas, tired of his wife Herodias’ nagging, has imprisoned John in Machaerus – a legendary fortress on the eastern shore of the Sea of Galilee. He’s there because he called out Herod for dumping his first wife in favor of his half-brother’s wife, Herodias, who just happens to be his other half-brother’s daughter. John has called a spade a spade and is now paying for his honesty. He will spend two years here and die in a most despicable and pointless way.

John’s message for Jesus is a question. Note that John wants to avoid the telephone game here. He doesn’t trust his disciples to get the question right so he makes them write it down. As a result, they repeat his words verbatim to Jesus: are you The One?

John asks this question because what he’s been hearing is certainly not what he’s been expecting. He’s been prophesying about and waiting for a Messiah of electrifying power and majesty who inspires total devotion and humble service in His followers. John has been watching and waiting for God to raise up a redeemer in the tradition of the judges of old, men like Samson, Jephthah and Gideon.

John is expecting Jesus to take away the sin of the world and baptize the nation of Israel with fire and the Holy Spirit. In John’s mind, the Messiah is the personification of “the wrath to come” from which the Pharisees and Sadducees sought to flee. He expected Jesus to cleanse the House of Israel with fire, to “clear His threshing floor and gather His wheat into the barn.”

Instead, he’s hearing about an itinerant rabbi from the wrong side of the tracks who helps old ladies cross the street.

“What’s up with that, Jesus?” he asks.

We can’t really blame John. It cannot have been easy to accept that his ministry – one which was destined to prepare a way in the wilderness for the Kingdom of God – had led him to a point where he was at the mercy of a spoiled, adulterous Gentile woman. There had to have been moments when John wondered if he hadn’t been forgotten by God and by his second cousin, Jesus Christ.

John’s question, however, isn't so much a crisis of faith as it is mis-ordered priorities. He’s expecting Jesus to judge first and save later, not the other way around. The Messiah he is looking for is indeed coming, is now here, and will come again.

Before He answers the disciples' question, Jesus asks them to wait for a bit. Have a seat, enjoy the show! As they do, they see Jesus perform many wonderful signs: the sick are cured, the blind see.

During the intermission, Jesus pulls John’s disciples aside and asks: “What did you come here to see? A faith healer? A doer of good deeds? But what did you come here to see? A prophet? Yes, I say to you, and greater than a prophet. Tell John, even though I may have failed to meet his expectations, I am doing the work of the Messiah.”

As John’s disciples return to their seats (who walks out on a show?), Jesus turns to the crowd for some improvisation and asks about their expectations – of John.

“Let’s bump up the lights and see if y'all have anything to say. Why in the world did y’all go out into the wilderness – Israel out of Egypt! What were you thinking?! Anybody? What were you looking for? What’s that? A reed shaken by the wind? That doesn’t sound like John. What’s that? A rich man in soft clothes? Oh, you’re being funny. Got it. Camel skin, soft raiment, ha ha. Yes. Next we’ll be trading recipes for locusts and honey. No, really, what did you go out to see? What – a prophet? Yes! And what a prophet!”

Jesus chides the crowd for its voyeurism, for its rubbernecking. He winks broadly at their supposedly religious motivation for seeking John out in the first place. They may claim they were looking for spiritual guidance, but they – and Jesus – know they came out for the circus atmosphere and spectacle of John’s ministry. They wanted front row seats on the banks of the Jordan (pass the popcorn) as John, spittle dripping from his beard, screamed at the Pharisees and shamed them one by one for their conceit and self interest (“He called Rabbi Feldman a snake! A SNAKE! It was…AWESOME!”).

Let’s face it, Jesus says, you were looking to be entertained. But that’s OK, it got you in the door. And because you made a little effort, God rewarded you by opening your heart to the message of John – the last and greatest prophet born of women.

Jesus – the first, last and greatest prophet born of Spirit – has not forgotten his cousin. Indeed, He thinks of him often. However, it must be painful to know that, in Israel, great prophets suffer greatly. And Herod’s birthday is fast approaching.