The
proud words of mighty Ozymandias are duly noted. Yet the irony
is clear. It is the poet whose words hold greater power and reveal
who indeed has the last word.
There two approaches to the understanding
of history. The first is to know who held the power, who controlled
the armies, who made the conquests, and who bestowed the favors,
entitlements, and the punishments. It is the history, victors
of the world like to tell of themselves.
The second approach to history tends to
challenge, if not subvert, the first. It breaks through the fortresses
of power and searches for the sources of visions. It asks, where
are the springboards for dreams, what serves as the impetus for
hope, from what sources do people draw to find meaning. It is
the type of history communicated by prophets and poets. It mocks
the presumptions of the age and is the history that often has
the last word. I wonder if, more often than we suspect, it is
through this approach that reveals God working among humanity.
Luke, the writer of today's Gospel reading,
begins to tell the history of who had the acknowledged power at
that time. Tiberius, Pontius Pilate, Herod, Philip. Lysanias,
Annas and Caiaphas are all duly named, but then, like Shelley,
Luke abruptly changes direction. The powers of the age are knocked
down like bowling pins that are hit and scattered by a perfect
hard-thrown strike.
John the Baptist interrupted the reality
of their reign and released a waterfall of hope. John had no armies,
no accepted educational credentials, no alliances to protect him.
John came from “Nowheresville”. Make no mistake about
it, the wilderness from which John came wasn't a bucolic national
forest with quiet mountain trails and tranquil ponds. John's wilderness
was a mindscape of depression, confusion and aimlessness. It was
like being trapped in a place knowing there was real danger all
around and nowhere to turn. Resignation or escapism seemed to
be the only alternatives.
It is so easy for people confined in a
wilderness to imagine no other way. It used to be called the fresh
air program and it brought children up from the New York City
slums to live with a family for a few weeks in the summer. Children
living only a few hundred miles away from Ithaca, could never
imagine that an ordinary working family could sit out in front
of their house on a grass lawn and not be in fear of their neighbors
or walk to a corner store without the likelihood of being robbed.
There are exchange programs for children from Northern Ireland
that bring children here from the counties most affected by violence.
They, too, are amazed that Protestants and Roman Catholics can
live next to each other without any animosity. Several generations
have lived in the wilderness of Palestinian refugee camps. For
them the idea that Christians, Moslems, and Jews can live at peace
is equally beyond imagination.
To people oppressed in wilderness, a neighborhood
such as Fall Creek, or Belle Sherman, or Southside would be utterly
inconceivable, something that could only happen in a heavenly
world populated by the angels — unless, unless a prophet
proclaims a bold new vision piercing through the walls that confine
their spirit. Yes John was Baptist came for all flesh, including
us. John came to liberate the dreams of peace, kindness and justice
from the shackles of disbelief and disillusionment. He opened
doors to a fresh reality and proclaimed, “Look, look for
a highway where before there wasn't even a path.” Yes, John
subverted many of the presumptions of the status quo. Yet once
the waterfall of John's message was released there was no stopping
it. Can we imagine a world where the streets will be safe to walk
at any time; where all children will know that they are wanted
and valued; where no one will have to knock at the door of a homeless
shelter; where the term “soup kitchen” will be as
obsolete as the term “union work house”, and there
will be no permanent refugee camps?
