The beginning of the Good News of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.

I was about fifteen or sixteen years old when I had several years of classical voice training under my belt. I had been working on several of the solos from Handel’s Messiah in my voice class, and so someone thought it would be a good idea if I sang one at the family service on Christmas Eve. And so there I was standing in the middle of the chancel in front of hundreds of proud parents, grandparents, and kids everywhere. Because it was the family service, some of the kids came as sheep, or cows, or angels - you know the deal. And everyone was beaming as it was Christmas Eve!

I looked out into the congregation and there were red sweaters, red and green plaid ties,
women wearing bright jackets and blouses with Santa Clause pins tacked on them. Everyone was wearing a smile. The excitement was electric.

And there I was with everyone waiting for little Ricky Morley to kick the service off.
The organ began playing, I took a few deep breaths to kick off the nerves, and I opened my mouth, and out came: For Behold! Darkness shall cover the earth. And gross darkness the people.

The effect was instant. Smiles fell from faces, and excitement was converted to confusion and perplexity. People started flipping through their orders of service - “What in the world is he singing?”

And there I was standing there thinking to myself: “What in the world am I singing?”

I had sung the piece perhaps a hundred times in practice but it never hit me what it was that the words actually said!

And it didn’t matter that the song continues: but the Lord shall arise upon thee, and His glory shall be upon thee. And the Gentiles shall come to thy light, and kings to the brightness of thy rising.

No, it didn’t matter because the damage was done. And the tension was tangible - you could feel it – I could feel it.

Juxtaposed with the gigantic Christmas tree by the pulpit, the poinsettias around the altar,
the flocks of sheep and cattle, and the Santa Clause pins was this message of judgment - dark judgment.

The people had come that night hoping for comfort, and joy, and they were greeted with
something very, very different.

How similar to what John the Baptist probably experienced.

People from all over apparently flocked to him so that they could have a nice little ceremony: baptism. At least ‘a nice little ceremony’ was what they thought it was. John thought it was a little more significant than that.

Matthew, Mark, Luke and John all record the tale of the throngs of people coming to John for Baptism. The people who came to him were Jews who lived in and around Jerusalem. John set up shop at the Jordan river in the countryside just outside of Jerusalem proper.

These Jews would have known a lot about sins and how to gain forgiveness of them – because they had a Temple in the middle of their city, and they could just take a goat, or sheep, or pigeon to the Temple – have it ritually slaughtered by a priest – and ‘poof’ they were forgiven.

These Jews also knew a lot about being on God’s good side, because, well, they were Jews! Their parents were Jews, and their grandparents were Jews, and their great. . . you get the idea. They had Jewish blood flowing through them – and because they were God’s chosen people, they were set.

So these chosen people, who were forgiven at the drop of a pigeon, walked out so see this interesting fella in the countryside, to have him perform a cute little ceremony.

What they got was something completely different.

Also when I was a child – about the time I sang that ‘interesting’ song on Christmas Eve, I was introduced to the Philadelphia Museum of Art. It wasn’t far away from my home, and it was just amazing to me (and still is!).

Can you guess which was my favorite part? You got it, the church part! I loved the Medieval European collection which was mostly filled with artifacts from churches from all over Europe. There was stonework and statues, stained glass, illuminated manuscripts, and gold gilded depictions of the saints. I loved looking at the saints with their beautiful flowing hair, their colorful wardrobes, their halos, and the symbolic representations of their lives, and usually their deaths, all around them.

And then there was this one saint who looked totally out of place. John the Baptist. No colorful clothing, no dashing looks, and no impressive symbology. He was a guy dressed in hairy rags with a simple wooden staff.

So, I picture these big city folk living in Jerusalem going out to the countryside for their little cute ceremony being absolutely stunned when they saw who this John was: a camel hair wearing, wild-eyed, locust eating crazy wilderness man.

And that was all before he opened his mouth.

Matthew, Mark, and Luke all record John describing the baptism he was offering as being a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins.

In the Gospel of Luke, we find an expanded form of what John said to the crowds: You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come? Bear fruit worthy of repentance. Do not begin to say to yourselves ‘We have Abraham as our ancestor’ for I tell you God is able from these stones to raise up children to Abraham. Even now the ax is lying at the root of the trees; every tree therefore that does not bear good fruit is cut down and thrown into the fire.”

I’m sure that effect was instant. Smiles fell from faces, and excitement was converted to confusion and perplexity. People looking around, asking their neighbors if they knew what was going on – were they in the right place? What was this guy saying?

This was the beginning of the Good News of Jesus Christ, the Son of God

It was good news – but I bet John’s first audiences had a hard time hearing it as that. They were coming for some comfort, they were coming for something nice and cute, and what they got was completely different.

John was telling the Good News: the forgiveness of sins didn’t come from rituals, and a relationship with God didn’t happen because of who your parents were, or what air you were breathing.

The Good News of Jesus Christ, the Son of God, is about repentance – which, by the way, doesn’t mean to feel bad and guilty. Repentance means literally ‘to turn,’ and in this context means to turn to God, and to God’s Son.

This Good News that John the Baptist was proclaiming was the same as the song that I sang years ago on Christmas Eve: For behold, darkness shall cover the earth, and gross darkness the people. BUT the Lord shall arise upon thee, and his glory shall be upon thee. Kings shall come to thy light, and kings to the brightness of thy rising.

There is hope, but the hope sometimes has to come in the midst of hopelessness. There is life, but sometimes death must come before it can be seen. There is light, but it is always shining through the darkness – still shining, always shining, but always darkness too.

There is forgiveness, but first repentance. There is new life with Christ, but only after taking up our cross and following him. There is grace, and mercy, and love; but there is also crucifixion, the rigors of discipleship, and the demands of apostleship.

It’s the “Good News” not the ‘cute news’ or ‘nice news.’ It’s the beginning of the Good News of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.

In the weeks coming, we’ll be full into the Christmas swing. There will be trees, and lights, and garland, and parties, and eggnog, and presents, and the red swollen bellies of stuffed Santas, and sugar plum fairies dancing in our dreams. And, while we probably won’t have little John the Baptist figurines and locusts dangling from our Christmas trees, that tension between the Good News of Jesus and the GOOD NEWS of Jesus will always be there.

We can recall it if we take the time. And we can ignore it at our own peril. We can be serious Christmas Christians, or we can be cute Christmas revelers looking for a nice ceremony – and repentance – turning to God with all our heart, soul, mind and strength is what separates the two.

And that’s the beginning of the Good News of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.