“Fire & Vipers”
By Rev. Dr. Jason Byassee
Sunday, December 7, 2025
Reading: Matthew 3:1-12
There’s a lot to look forward to in Advent. Christmas morning. A break from work and school. The pageant here at church with live animals (much better than dead animals). Alpacas and bunnies just like at the first Christmas in Bethlehem. Bad Christmas movies and worse Christmas sweaters and even worse relatives you’d rather not see. And parties, some you enjoy, some you tolerate.
Now imagine if John the Baptist shows up to one of these soirees wearing camel’s hair and leather. Eating locusts and wild honey and hair all over. If John’s appearance is troubling, his message doesn’t suit the season’s festivities at all. He screeches ‘repent, the kingdom is at hand, turn from your wicked ways.’ I think we’d call security, right?
John doesn’t fit with Christmas sentimentality and enforced cheer. There’s no role for John in the Christmas pageant. Alpacas, yes, the prophet from the wilderness, nah, a quiet hard pass. So, he’s perfect for this Advent series we’re doing on lesser regarded figures—last week his father Zechariah, next week his mother Elizabeth, today the prophet himself. Buckle up.
In the church John is important for the way he points forward to Jesus. “He must increase, and I must decrease,” John says. The whole purpose of his life is to make way for Jesus. One Rudolf Steiner said this about John:
St. John shows that the most exalted individuality that ever took part in mankind was preceded by a forerunner. […] In the course of human history there appear again and again events of such profound import as to throw a stronger light than others. Ever and anon we are told that there are men who, in certain respects, know of such events in advance and can foretell them. This implies that such events are not arbitrary, but rather, that one who discerns the whole sense and spirit of human history knows how such events must unfold, and how he himself must work and prepare in order that they may come to pass.
As we evaluate history, we often see premonitions, forerunners, signs that something even bigger is coming. Cliff Richard was John the Baptist before the Beatles’ Jesus. Barry Goldwater was John the Baptist for Ronald Reagan’s Jesus, see what I mean? John is the sign that God is coming in person. Repent, get ready, God is nearly here.
Why the wild man getup? John is not actually a forerunner to the 60s hippie counterculture, with supposed free love and drugs and rock ‘n roll. He’s a return to earlier days in Israel. He wears a leather belt, like the prophet Amos, who demanded justice for the poor and who unsettled us who are well-fed. John’s camel’s hair recalls the prophet Elijah, a hairy man. John was apparently not a hairy man, so he borrowed camel’s hair. He’s in the wilderness: where Israel goes to renew itself. He’s not alone—people go out there to hear him, vast crowds. They know this is someone important. The desert is a great place to get born again. Find me a great world religion that didn’t start in a desert. Good luck. You can’t. The desert is where faith is born, or reborn. So, John goes there and folks follow.
Any of you in a desert? A wilderness? A dry place with no water or sense of direction? Open your eyes. Look and see. God is about to move.
I told you last week that John’s father was a priest in the temple. Zechariah is one of those who makes sacrifice for Israel’s sins. While the temple stands, the only way to get right with God is to make pilgrimage to the temple, buy an animal, and see it sacrificed to God in your place. The priests would get the meat to eat, and so we religious leaders have often grown fat on people’s anxieties. As a hereditary priest John should also be in the temple in fine clothes eating steak for every meal. But John . . . is in the desert eating grasshoppers wearing prophets’ clothes. John has stepped away from inherited privilege to do something more.
The book I’m working from here is called Christmaker by a scholar named James McGrath. He argues that John’s father is a priest who passes on privilege. But John’s mother Elizabeth had prayed he would be a Nazirite like Samson and Samuel, with long hair and no strong drink. John can’t be both things: both privileged priest and set apart ascetic, soft, cushy life in power and desert living prophet of old. In this family feud John sides with his mother. Smart man.
Again, anybody got strife in your family? Different views of what kids are for? What you’re for? Tension in your marriage? Unsure of the future? Keep listening. That’s the kind of family in which God is busy at work.
John’s movement is a big deal. Folks come out to listen because they know something is happening. Is he Elijah all over again? Is he the promised messiah, who’ll rule Israel and save the world? John uses phrases that Jesus would later use too: brood of vipers. Doesn’t sound very nice but Jesus uses it. The axe and the tree. Jesus uses that later too. Repent for the kingdom of God is at hand. Jesus inherits that one as well. When John eats locusts and wild honey he’s showing something Jesus would later teach: Don’t worry about food or drink. God leaves grasshoppers everywhere. And the honey just sits there on the trees like manna in the wilderness. In short it looks like Jesus was a disciple of John the Baptist at first, and so were most of Jesus’ disciples. After John’s arrest Jesus regroups his followers into the twelve disciples we know. But there is still a religion today based on John the Baptist’s teachings. They’re called the Mandeans, they’re in Iran and Iraq, some in North America, and they consider themselves disciples of John, not Jesus. In history John got all the press—the historian Josephus writes on and on about John, mentions Jesus only in passing. And Herod probably executed John as a political threat, as would later happen to Jesus. There is no Jesus without John his cousin, friend, mentor, and his master. At first. Until Jesus steps out on his own.
The reason we know Jesus was a disciple of John’s is that Jesus comes to John for baptism. Now this is awkward, baptism for us Christians is for the forgiveness of sins. What’s Jesus need baptism for? In one gospel John objects, hey, you should be baptizing me, not the reverse. But Jesus insists. And he goes down in the water. And the sky is ripped apart. A dove lands on him from heaven. And a voice says this is my Son, the beloved, with whom I am well-pleased, listen to him.
When John baptized, it was a ritual bath that they still practice in Judaism. Orthodox Jews to this day will go to the mikveh, the ritual bath, to wash away uncleanness. Women go after their period; men go if made unclean by contact with dead bodies. Being ritually impure in Judaism is like having a cold—no moral guilt, but please don’t pass it on to others. Actually, most cultures have ritual purity codes, we westerners are odd that we don’t. But John is after something bigger. For John, your religious identity doesn’t matter. What matters is whether you are right with God. Whether you are living justly. Whether you defend the orphan, the widow, the stranger in the land. So, imagine John this way. Sometimes I hear from one of you ‘I’ve been at Timothy Eaton Church for four generations, or even five.’ I’m jealous, I just got here a few years ago. I wish I had that in my life; it’s a gift. But you know what rude John the Baptist says? Who cares. Are you living rightly? Loving your neighbour and enemy? Ouch. I’d never say that, but John does. And he says it to religious professionals. Like me. I don’t care if you’re ordained, how many degrees you have: are you loving God with your every breath?
John says God can raise up children for Abraham from the stones. This is a massive challenge. What it means to be Jewish is that Sarah is your foremother, Abraham your forefather. Rabbi Jonathan Sacks speaks of his children discovering they had a famous ancestor. He was chief rabbi of Great Britain at the time and groused to himself ‘I thought having a father who was chief rabbi to the queen would impressive enough but whatever, who’s this famous ancestor?’ If you go back far enough, we’re related to Abraham! Uh, yeah, that’s what it means to be Jewish. That impresses me. And the very thing I’m impressed with John says who cares? Are you living justly now? When I first became Christian folks asked me, ‘if you died tonight are you sure you’d go to heaven?’ Sort of a manipulative question. The answer was supposed to be yes, because I’ve accepted Jesus as Lord and saviour. John would ask: great, you’ve accepted Christ, now are you spending your money in a holy way? Turning away from lust and violence with your eyes? Giving to the poor? No? Then don’t tell me you prayed a prayer one time. God isn’t listening. Ouch.
John is a deep threat to his own faith. And God is the deepest threat to ours. People think atheism, folks not going to church, hockey tournaments, less influence in society threaten us. Nah. What threatens us is God. God has high demands. Who can live up to them? John asks religious leaders: who said you could repent? John tells all Israel you’re in trouble; I’m not sure God will spare you. But if there’s a chance you better repent with all your might right now. We’ll see, maybe God will be merciful?
Do you remember when Jesus turns the tables over in the temple? That might’ve been the most John the Baptist thing ever. Let me explain. The court of the gentiles was the outermost part of the massive temple complex. Money changers were there for a good reason. Coins had emperors’ faces on them. That’s idolatry in Judaism, where you can’t have graven images, they’re idols. So, you had to change those coins for tokens that you’d buy an animal with that the priests would slaughter for you. That meant animal dung and lots of money changing hands in a place for prayer. Jesus isn’t having it. This temple is for prayer for all people, it’s not a mall and it’s not a barn. This is a direct threat to the temple. No animals, no coins, means no sacrifice. And John offers baptism for sins. You can be baptized anywhere, no need for a priesthood, like John’s dad had, no need for an animal like the poor can’t afford. When I was in Israel recently the archaeologists showed us mikvehs everywhere. Everyone was bathing in 1st century Judaism. The temple is in trouble. God’s forgiveness might be free.
I took another church group to Israel once. We visited the Jordan River to commemorate Jesus’ baptism. And I was very stern with them. We will not be rebaptizing anybody. Jesus was baptized once, and so one baptism is all we need. In the south see you got to distinguish yourself from Baptists, it’s a whole thing. Well, we get there and there’s a Nigerian Pentecostal church and they’re all being baptized in the Jordan. And this one woman from my church looks at me. And looks at them. And looks at me again. And I finally say, ‘oh alright go.’ And she says ‘thanks!’ and runs off to be dunked with our Nigerian fellow pilgrims. One of you asked me in Bible study how come we have communion again and again and are only baptized once? Why shouldn’t it be reversed, and we get baptized again and again and only have communion once? I live for this sort of curious question. The answer is: I have no idea. Christian baptism joins us to Christ’s death and resurrection. That’s why the preferred way to do it is full immersion, we’re sunk in a watery grave and then rise like the resurrected Christ. I use all the water I use at baptisms to try to imitate this. We also think God gets it right the first time, no need to repeat it. We can remember our baptism all we want but once is enough. Why that is? I don’t know. Let’s ask God one day in heaven. If we get there. John makes our chances look iffy.
There is actually tension between John and Jesus in the Bible. John’s disciples whine at one point ‘hey, this new guy, all the people are going to him, and not us, isn’t that a problem?’ John says no, God wants it this way. But you can hear the jealousy. And from prison John sends a nervous question to Jesus, ‘hey, are you the one? We thought so, but we’re a little disappointed.’ So, Jesus gives his resume. In Christian faith John exists to point to Jesus. There he is imagined at the cross. This image didn’t happen, historically, John is dead well before the cross. But imaginatively the artist says John shows the Bible points to Jesus. Look at that finger. It has, like, an extra bone in it. John’s life is that finger. Pointing to Christ’s cross as the fulfillment of the hopes of Israel, of all humanity. Karl Barth says the preacher’s job is to be that finger. To point to Christ. I’d add sure it’s my job, but it’s also the job of all the baptized, with all our lives, to point to Christ. That medieval image depicts Christ suffering from a skin disease called St. Anthony’s fire. We know now it comes from spoiled wheat in the bread they ate. Desperately painful. So, as they suffered these patients looked at Christ suffering from their same disease. Surely, he bore our diseases.
What to take from this sermon, this wild man John the Baptist in the wilderness? One, Jesus was mentored. I tell you often Jesus learns everything he knows bouncing on Mary’s knee. That’s true, he learns to be a Jew at home. The same way our households are responsible to have each of us brought up a Christian. But he learns what kind of Jew he is from John. Judaism means wilderness renewal. Love for the poor. Challenge to all privilege. A return to the faith of Elijah and Samson. Where God provides to all not steak but grasshoppers. And forgiveness is a gift from God not bought or sold but freely given. And we have to remember the end really is near. An Orthodox priest friend says ‘don’t buy green bananas. You never know if you’ll get to eat them.’ We should all live as though Christ is coming tomorrow. Because one day we’ll be right.
John shows us God’s humility. God comes among us in Jesus Christ as an infant who needs care from a mother. And he comes to John as a student who needs learning. I wonder who mentored you, whom you’ve mentored? I’ve noticed military folks speak of mentoring, so do folks who work in finance: this guy taught me everything. That woman made me who I am. We all need someone to clear space for us. In a way that’s what the church is: a community of mentors who raise others to follow Jesus Christ. That’s what it means to be a disciple, a student. We’re being mentored in here by Jesus through one another and the rest of the saints. What a humble God to need to be taught. As John says: “he must increase and I must decrease.” And then Christ shows what he learned by dying on his cross.
So why don’t we follow John instead of Jesus? Lots of people did, including Jesus himself. Well, John meets a grisly end, beheaded by a petty tyrant, shows Jesus the sort of end he’s headed for. When Jesus’ movement begins that same murdering king figures it’s John raised from the dead. The answer is John didn’t rise. We remember him as a great historical figure, but his body is in the ground, awaiting resurrection. Jesus rose, the first one to rise, but not the last. If John had defeated death we’d follow him. But he didn’t. He prepared the way. Jesus defeated death by dying and rising. I love that Herod fears John is back from the dead—if resurrection is true, then tyrants’ power is broken. The one discipled by John now disciples us.
Finally, this, the most wonderful time of the year. We live in a funny age. Instant connection with anyone on the planet with the devices in our pockets and yet chronic loneliness. More food and drink and safety now than most of human history but we all feel insecure and anxious. We live in one of the great cities for diversity and the arts in all of human history and even wealthy people feel vulnerable and worried for their kids’ futures. What does John say? The time is at hand. The kingdom of God has come near. Repent and believe the good news. Who could ever improve on that answer? Amen.