A Finger Pointing to Christ
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December 8, 2019“John the Baptist appeared, preaching in the desert of Judea
and saying, ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand!’” (Mt 3:1)
The figure today’s gospel puts before our eyes is John the Baptist. Images of the saint show him as gaunt, perhaps a little fierce, sometimes with a pointing finger. His words are strong, addressing those who present themselves as: “You brood of vipers!” (Mt 3:7) and speaking of the ax at the root of the tree and the fire that consumes the chaff. The Messiah he heralds wields a winnowing fan (whatever that may be, it doesn’t sound good). John’s message is very much in line with the apocalyptic tone of the end of the liturgical year and the early days of Advent. His job is to rouse us from complacency.
Each of the four gospels speaks of this figure as a precursor to the coming Christ, the one who prepares Israel to receive its Messiah, the one who cries out that the way be made straight for his coming. His words are the very words with which Christ will begin his public ministry: “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand!” (Mt 3:1). For those of us who are called to the monastic life, John is a forerunner in a particular way. John stands for a radically God-centered life which is what we profess. His call to repentance, the fundamental word of the gospel, is the basis for our vow of conversatio morum – this is the defining monastic commitment to live a life totally oriented to the kingdom, a life which requires a radical reorientation, a paradigm shift, a see change, in a word: a conversion. John, by expressing in his own life and body the need for radical reorientation, at the same time points back to the ancient prophets of Israel and forward to the chaste, poor and obedient Christ.
And so, John is someone we cannot ignore, even should we wish to (and God knows, we may like to get away from that searching gaze, those piercing words and that finger). We can’t ignore him because he is our forerunner, our model. We approach him like the Pharisees and Sadducees, saying in our hearts, not just: “We have Abraham as our father,” but also: “We have Benedict as our father,” and even more: “We have Elijah and John the Baptist as our fathers.” John is not flattered. He, like Christ, comes looking for fruit: the fruits of repentance. What do you mean, John?
Our repentance-vow of conversatio morum is unpacked and supplemented by the three evangelical counsels: chastity, poverty and obedience. We often hear these defined in negative terms, focusing on what is given up: the freedom to marry and found a family, the freedom to own and dispose of possessions and pursue a career, the freedom to direct my life, time, energy and talents as I see best. If we leave it at that, we have a sad picture indeed, really not enough to sustain us for a lifetime commitment. In darker days, I think we fall into a tendency to see our vowed life in just such an incomplete fashion. In much the same way, repentance is often mistaken for a rather sad thing. But if we recognize that the call to repentance is the call to be like Christ, perhaps we can hear John saying to us (in between snorts): “Yes, you did take upon yourself these vows of chastity, poverty and obedience with great desire to be converted by them into the image of Christ. In this you sought not misery and limitation, but freedom from your besetting tendency to selfishness. So, when I look for fruit, I mean freedom. Where is your freedom from all that keeps you from Christ; where is your freedom to run toward him?”
My vow of chastity is my claim to freedom from the compulsion to use people and relationships for my own satisfaction.
My vow of poverty is my claim to freedom from the compulsion to hoard things and seek happiness and security in them.
My vow of obedience is my claim to freedom from the compulsion to seek my own way in all things and to insulate myself from the needs of others.
A fruit is an outward sign of inner fecundity. It is something that gives glory to God and is of real, concrete benefit to others. If I am a child of Abraham, a child of Elijah, a child of John, and a child of Benedict, how is this manifested in my life? Where are my fruits?
Am I free to show affection and respect not only to those with whom I feel comfortable, but to those with whom I have had differences and tensions?
Am I free to absorb another’s immature behavior, rather than making them suffer for it?
Am I free to look beyond myself and notice the distress of another, so as to offer a word or a gesture of compassion?
Am I free to recognize the time, talents and possibilities of another as every bit as valuable as my own?
Am I free to use things and time for the good of others, to lend and to share, rather than hoarding them for myself?
Am I free to volunteer for a burdensome and time-consuming task so as to spare someone else?
Am I free to serve the community responsibly without succumbing to resentment or the fear of being taken advantage of?
Am I free to let another person take the lead and tell me what to do?
Am I free to place my gifts at the disposal of my community without calling the shots on how they are used?
Am I free to choose humble ways of serving others that will not be noticed?
John is called the Bridegroom’s friend, and he is our friend too. The affection I feel for this man is like that one nurtures for a rough-and-ready sort of person, whose gruff exterior conceals a deep heart. It is good to allow him to ask us about our fruit. Even if we feel we have none, there is a way forward, a path of repentance that leads through the desert. Isaiah’s words in these Advent days present both challenge and enormous consolation. That stump of Jesse, cut and dried up, produces a shoot, a bud and (we extrapolate a little) a fruit. Heaven rains down its dew and the earth brings forth a Savior. Jesus is our fruit. He bursts forth from the most unpromising ground. As our Advent hymn puts it: “Be glad your valleys are waste and bare, for the Spirit of God is hovering there.”
Perhaps now we are ready to look at John’s pointing finger. In John’s Gospel, it is the Baptist who introduces the first disciples to Jesus, pointing to him with the words: “Behold, the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world” (Jn 1:29). John is not pointing at us in condemnation, but at Christ, who is the kingdom in the flesh. “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand!” (Mt 3:1) – look, there he is! And when we stand before our Lord Jesus Christ, look at him and allow him to look at us, what happens? We are judged. What does it mean that Christ comes as judge? It means that when I look at Christ, it dawns on me that I am an impostor, a fake, a pseudo-Christian. It can happen in the simplest of everyday moments, such as when I walk past an overflowing trash can, only to look back and see a senior sister taking it out. This is the judgment, the winnowing of the grain and the burning of chaff. Christ’s winnowing fan is what allows me to see in my life, my choices, and my dispositions what is grain and what is chaff. This winnowing fan blows away the chaff to be burned (yes, let’s get rid of it), and gathers the grain to be taken in to the barn (this is the wonderful part we don’t always notice). We have a Mass for the dead based on an Irish poem that uses the same imagery, and it touches me deeply: “May we be gathered into the barns of God. May we be gathered into the barns of God.”
What gruff old John has in mind is how terrible it would be if we should reach the end of our lives without having stood before Christ and experienced that spontaneous division inside between what is for Christ and what is not. This is why John points so insistently; this is why he urges us toward the winnowing fan. He wants us to know this saving grace here and now, every day. So, let us stand before Christ, let us be winnowed, let us see what is grain and what is chaff. Let us repent, and so be gathered to him, into his barns, forever.
