Loading...I cried “Salvation” in the wilderness.
I was thinking about John the Baptist and Isaiah, and all the other rugged voices God plants in places with few ears to hear. And I was thinking about what was considered a race of Biblical proportions ahead of me. Why do we use the words “Biblical proportions” to describe something immeasurable? Immeasurable is what my race turned out to be.
I was 20 miles into a 50 mile race and I was beginning to think I might be lost. The race started with 150 runners and I couldn’t see any of them. I could not see a house or a road or a human-made structure. The glare of the sun felt as hot as my regret for being alone in the middle of nowhere. As far as the eye could see in every direction was dirt and scrub brush and another high hill. Sometimes there was one rare tree. The silence was broken on two occasions by my startled screams when I stirred up a ground bird from its camouflage. Where were the trail markers? Shouldn’t I be closing in on the Danielson Ranch checkpoint? At this elevation shouldn’t I be able to see the ranch from here?
I was in Malibu, California, where people go to relax among the glitterati. How could such a popular place feel so inhospitable? I was glittering alright, glittering with sweat under a thick layer of dust and covered in briars. Even my bandana-covered nostrils were caked with dirt in the dry air. I was not measuring up to this challenge.
Before John the Baptist was born, the angel Gabriel visits Zechariah, John’s father. Gabriel tells Zechariah he will have a son who will have “the spirit and power of Elijah,” and “would turn the hearts of parents to their children, and the disobedient to the wisdom of the righteous, and make ready a people prepared for the Lord. (Luke 1:17)”
When baby John grew up, he interpreted that job description as proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. John picked the wilderness as his pulpit. Have you ever spent anytime in a place where you can’t see plumbing? Then you have been in the wilderness, and you understand both the beauty and the demands of wilderness. Maybe that’s why so many Biblical prophets spent so much time in such an inhospitable place. The wilderness may be the perfect place to talk about how to say “I’m sorry.”
Talking about forgiveness from the safety of one’s pew doesn’t do justice to the Biblical proportion of faith it takes to say “I’m sorry.” But saying “I’m sorry” is what people were doing when they came to John to be baptized.
John’s baptism prepared people to meet a man who is willing to go the ultimate wilderness: death, for the sake of forgiving sins where punishment is due.
People want to hear words of comfort in circumstances of punishment. At least this person does. I need to know that when I have got myself in a spot like when I was all alone on the Coyote Trail that there is someone who’s going to find me and hear me repent of my lostness. That someone for me was John. I’m twisting back to the Malibu race now. John’s last name wasn’t “the-Baptist”. I have no idea what his last name was. He was was the race sweeper who found me while I was sitting under a tiny tree’s worth of shade. I had stopped to preserve the last drops of my water and weigh the best next step. Turns out that John had the next best step: I was one mile from the checkpoint.
Salvation! The major prophets, the minor prophets, all of them preached in inhospitable places and all bear the same message: salvation! Salvation is exactly what I needed. More than water, more than a protein bar, salvation meant knowing I was not alone. And that is when the tears came. There I was, crying in the wilderness, baptized in forgiveness:
The wilderness is where I picked up what God laid down. Coyote Trail is where I found comfort in comfortlessness. At my low point I didn’t think of all the successful athletes I knew or inspirational quotes. I thought of a bunch of sandy-footed fools out in the wilderness crying out words like Make this path straight, and Make this high place low. And I came face to face with forgiveness. I forgave myself for signing up for this race. I forgave myself for thinking I could run so far. I forgave myself for being so hard on myself for such silly choices.
God prepares everyone for salvation. If you came here seeking forgiveness of your sins seek no further. Your sins are forgiven by a man who ran ahead of all of us to a wilderness where we will all follow, whether we are prepared to follow or not. Don’t worry, you probably know by now that forgiveness may not feel comfortable but forgiveness is comforting.
Every morning in my devotional I remember how salvation looked for Zechariah on the day his son was named as described in Luke 1. Zechariah looked at baby John and said,
And you, child, will be called the prophet of the Most High;
for you will go before the Lord to prepare his ways,
77 to give knowledge of salvation to his people
by the forgiveness of their sins.
78 By the tender mercy of our God,
the dawn from on high will break upon us,
79 to shine on those who sit in darkness and in the shadow of death,
to guide our feet into the way of peace.”
How beautiful is that description of a parent’s love for his child? Luke finishes this touching tenderness with these mixed words:
80 The child grew and became strong in spirit, and he was in the wilderness …..
Somewhere there is someone who breaks the tender mercy of God upon you as gently as the dawning of the sun. Maybe it’s a scrubby dusty prophet, or a race sweeper named John, or maybe, like John the Baptist, it’s your dad. Who ever it is my hunch is that you know someone who’s willing to go to the wilderness, maybe even brave something like The Coyote Trail and all for the sake of forgiveness. Perhaps you are that person who abides faithfully as a comfort to the comfortless. Bear the message of salvation in inhospitable places. Shine on.
