And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High;
for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways,
to give knowledge of salvation to his people
by the forgiveness of their sins.
By the tender mercy of our God,
the dawn from on high will break upon us,
to give light to those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the way of peace.” [Luke’s Gospel 1.76-79]

An unruly character breaks early into the story. Roughly hewn and sharply edged, he proclaims a story which unsettles all around and brushes against us like sandpaper.

He has wandered in the scrub for decades, perhaps, waiting until the right moment to come and disrupt the community from which he arose. He’s a minister’s kid, probably with all the baggage that entails, and a full awareness that the words he offers will not provide comfort.

Comfort is not in his job description, neither for himself, nor for those he encounters.

His vocation is to progress like earth-moving machinery through his community, making a path for the one who follows him, knocking down locked gates and clearing out speed bumps.

In this season when we look for cute and cuddlesome, John is the antithesis of these. When we want (demand?) our stories to be tinsellated, this eccentric cousin of Jesus has no tolerance for decoration, demanding instead the substance of repentance and transformation.

John is not the guest speaker for your Christmas function; you don’t invite him to neighbourhood drinks, unless you want an early night.

Notwithstanding all of this, John is the Advent cornerstone, ushering in Jesus, who embodies the reign of God in the world. John seems like a poor marketing choice, an HR nightmare.

And yet, all four gospel writers place him at the forefront of their story, disturbing everyone and offering renewal, because renewal does not come without cost and consequence.

If you come seeking justice, can you live justly? If come seeking forgiveness, can you offer it to others in your turn?

Then, as now, we like our stories undisturbed. Unless, of course, our stories have broken edges, or a fractured mainframe. Unless we come limping, or lost, or fearful of what every day is like. Unless renewal appears like water to a life drowning in sand.

John comes, asserting that story in which we live is not the whole story; that the story can be transformed towards life; that the one following him embodies a life worth everything.  

As we stride and stumble toward Christ’s coming, are we willing to live forgiveness and offer mercy, to articulate the hospitality of God, and carry peace with our every step?

If you are, there is someone you need to encounter.