Isaiah 35:1-10; Psalm 146:4-9; James 5:7-10; Matthew 11:2-11
The Rev. Candice B. Frazer
John the Baptist is in prison, and he has clearly grown impatient. Maybe he realizes he does not have much longer to live—after all, he will be dead by chapter 14. Maybe he’s simply feeling a little churlish, cooped up behind bars. Certainly he must feel vulnerable and helpless. Whatever his emotions, his directness is unsettling: “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” It’s a good question, but in the asking we realize that Jesus is not who John expected.
John and Jesus have known each other since before they were born. They are cousins. When Mary learned she was pregnant, she went to visit Elizabeth, John’s mother. Upon her arrival, John leapt in Elizabeth’s womb, recognizing the child Mary carried as the Messiah. As an adult, John uses messianic language when he sends his disciples: “John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing…” So John’s question—“Are you the one…?”—feels tinged with doubt, and we wonder: is John doubting himself, or doubting Jesus?
We, too, doubt at times. The things we once trusted no longer feel reliable. Disappointment and unmet expectations reach a tipping point that threatens our faith—in God, and in one another. We cling to the last vestiges of hope, searching for reassurance before we walk away.
Or perhaps we lose faith in people. They don’t perform according to the standards we’ve set. Out of compassion—or out of a desire to see our investment in them validated—we give them one last chance to prove their worth. We rarely mince words at that point; we tell them bluntly that their job, or our relationship, depends on getting this right.
John the Baptist is never more relatable than he is now: sitting in prison, questioning who Jesus is. This wild man with tangled hair who lives in the wilderness and eats locusts and honey—he can seem like a caricature of a prophet. We feel somewhat distanced from the homeless man who screams at crowds and behaves in strange ways. And yet, in his questions and doubts, we discover something familiar: a little wildness in each of us, something still untamed—a desire not only for truth, but for assurance.
John asks out loud what many of us whisper in our hearts: “Is God real?” “Is Jesus really God?”
When things get bad—someone we love dies, the doctor says the “C” word, a marriage ends, or life’s stresses become too heavy—when we are knocked down and lack the strength to stand; when we feel utterly alone and miserable—it is natural to lash out at God, to ask why an all-powerful, all-knowing Creator allows such pain and suffering.
When our hearts break for others—those living through war, those unjustly imprisoned, those terrorized simply for who they are, those displaced and who have lost everything—it is natural to wonder if God exists at all.
When life should bring joy and wonder but instead we are plagued by sorrow and doubt, John the Baptist asks the question that burns within us: “Are you the one?”
I have asked that question. When my grandfather—who adored me and whom I adored—died. When I watched my father, one of the strongest and bravest people I’ve known, slowly succumb to illness after illness from Agent Orange exposure, until he finally gave up. When Steve and I learned the devastating news that we could not have children. I have doubted. I have questioned: Are you really the one? The one who can do anything, and yet you can’t do this for me?
There are times when we doubt God or challenge God to prove himself—but typically that isn’t about God at all. It’s about us. Our unmet expectations. Our unfulfilled desires. Our ego.
I cannot help but wonder if John, sitting in prison after calling out the rich and powerful—Pharisees and princes—and offending the complicit and complacent, isn’t disappointed that Jesus has not fulfilled his expectations. Jesus hasn’t disrupted the current order. He hasn’t attacked those in power or called for resistance against the authority. Perhaps John’s ego is in the way of his understanding of who Jesus really is. And we cannot blame him. He must have wrestled with his life choices, trying to make peace with his impending death. He must have wondered if he had done enough—and whether those who followed him would take up his mantle.
John lived a faithful life. No one chooses to live in the desert, wear a loincloth, and exist on a diet of bugs because they aspire to that lifestyle. He lived that way out of deep conviction and faithful obedience to a divine calling. His questioning of Jesus—this need for reassurance—is a small hiccup in a long life of devoted service. It not only makes John more relatable; it gives Jesus the opportunity to clarify his identity, and thus the Messiah’s identity. In essence, he is the fulfillment of Isaiah’s prophecy:
Say to those who are of a fearful heart,
“Be strong, do not fear!
Here is your God…He will come and save you.”
Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened,
and the ears of the deaf unstopped;
then the lame shall leap like a deer,
and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy.
Jesus sends word back to John, telling John’s disciples, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.” (You’ve got to wonder whether John felt a bit disappointed that Jesus didn’t say anything about setting the captives free!)
Jesus is telling John that yes—he is the Messiah, but not the Messiah John expected.
When our expectations of Jesus amount to making him in our own image—demanding he perform according to our standards and meet our desires—then the divine becomes nothing more than our puppet, and we the puppeteers. That is not “the one who is to come.” That is not the Jesus we are waiting for.
Because that is not who God is.
Emmanuel, God-with-us, is the one who walks with us in our sorrows and hardships. He strengthens us to meet the days ahead, especially when we are full of questions and doubts and cannot know the future. Even more, he empowers us to walk with others—to help them see, to help them hear good news.
God knows that we will suffer times of doubt and discouragement and it is ok to question God—God is big enough to handle it. But God is not here to meet our expectations. We are here to meet his.
Amen.