We need a more than the three lessons to get to the heart of John's message. So let's start with a little history to set the players in their appropriate context. We'll start with the Romans at the time of John the Baptist.

The Romans were liberal, realists and brutal. The Roman Peace, or Pax Romana, was a peace that used power to make it clear that Rome was the biggest gorilla on the planet, the Emperor was to be worshipped as divine, and all other religious beliefs were allowable as long as they understood their proper place. Tolerance -within reason- was the name of the game. To a certain extent it didn't matter what you believed as long as you didn't take it too far. You could hold almost anything in your heart, but those who tried to take it to the street suddenly found themselves on the wrong side of a sword or stretched out on the hard wood of a cross dying in the blazing sun.

Rome did not leave anything to chance in countries they occupied so they appointed not only the civil ruler of Judea, but also the High Priest of the Jews. The High Priest was the only one who could enter the Holy of Holies at the heart of the temple in Jerusalem. On the Day of Atonement the High Priest went in to seek absolution for the whole nation. The Temple was considered to be the place where God dwelt. Hence the High Priest was the only means by which Jews could stand a chance of making things right with God. The High Priest was the only one who could stand in God's presence.

But most of life - in all its glory and its shadows- takes place in the marketplace and the streets so the Jewish Council, or Sanhedrin, would gather to hear cases and to judge guilt, or innocence, according to the Law. The Law to which they referred was not the law of Rome, but the Law brought down from Sinai by Moses. Words written on the two tablets were accompanied by the oral law, which was passed down from teacher to teacher and interpreted by the Scribes when the need arose. The need for interpretation arose frequently because much of life is not so clear-cut that it fits neatly into only one of ten categories. Between presiding in the Temple and presiding over court, the High Priest wielded considerable power.

But what one power enjoys, another power wants to take for itself. So there is a subtle dance that takes place in the shadows, and all is not what is seems from the outer courtyard of the Temple.

Now Annas was High Priest in Jerusalem, for a time, until Procurator Valerius Gratis deposed him in the year 15. But Annas had five sons, and considerable shadow dancing ability. Each of Annas' sons became High Priest. His son-in-law, Caiaphas, would still be High Priest when Jesus, at the end of his ministry, was brought before the Sanhedrin.

In those beginning days of John and Jesus' public ministry, when Caiaphas was High Priest, Herod was King of Judea. Herod had a regal title, but a precarious role. Herod had gained the title of King of Judea through treachery, bloodshed, collaboration, and loyalties of convenience that shifted with the political winds. Caesars rose and fell, sometimes under the swords of betrayers, but Herod's star continued to ascend. Herod was an outsider in Jerusalem. He was not in the blood lineage of Jewish rulers. Herod's authority rested in the strength of the arms of his allies and Herod was a master at holding all parties in creative tension. Herod's extended family looked for opportunities to seize power, gain influence, curry favor, or assassinate the weaker ones among them. Herod himself murdered his wife, some of his sons, and a cousin or two. Rome perched above it all, watching everyone like an imperial eagle waiting to swoop down on lesser things that poked their heads up where they ought not to be. While we don't hear John the Baptist standing by the Jordan and crying out about "broods of vipers" in John's Gospel we can see why those words are included both Luke and Matthew.

But all the Gospels paint a picture of John standing by the water and talking about the One who was to come. By contrast the hierarchy of power in Jerusalem seemed to stand knee deep in a snake pit of dark intentions, fulsome with corporate roles perverted for personal gain. The powers that be sought to make sure that things would never change. It was an awful time for many, but it worked for them.

Now let's frame this same situation in another light. Beyond and behind what we can see, the ancient Greeks believed there was a logic that made everything make sense. There was a light that was beauty and truth, love and goodness, the essence of being from which all else radiated. Logos was the word they used for this. The prologue of John's Gospel leads one through this concept, identifies the Logos with Jesus, and then deposits us at the feet of John the Baptist. One would think that a good question to ask at that point in the story might be "How is John connected to the logic that makes everything make sense?"

But the ones who come out from Jerusalem to talk to John are merely mouthpieces for the shadow dancers in the Temple and the Sanhedrin. The real question behind their words is "Are you a viable threat to our power?" What a relief they must have felt when John did not claim the mantle of Elijah, or even the role of prophet who would be like Moses. The delegation must have been eager to report to their keepers "This guy has no religious foundation on which to built his power." But they paused long enough to try to undermine the ritual action of baptism that John was offering, just in case.

Baptism was for conversion- it was the process a gentile went through to become a Jew. Everybody who knew anything knew that! But the crowds around John on the banks of the River Jordan were all Jews. "Why where they there? This guy had no lineage, no religious title, and no legitimate claim to power. What is he up to," they wondered, and so they asked John, "What do you say about yourself?"

The reference John makes to the words of the prophet Isaiah does not aggrandize John. It points beyond him to something -someone - someone who is nearly there. Someone so worthy that the roads should be straightened as though a king was coming to town. "Quick! Pick up the garbage that is lying around the city and the temple and in the shadows of your life. Wash yourself and stand up straight," John seems to say. "Do not look at me, a fellow highway worker, as though I am the One who is coming down the road. I stand by the wayside to help you get ready for the journey, but he is the road that leads to God."

The delegation from Jerusalem must have snickered at John's message. They knew where true power lay. Back to the city of the shadows they went, away from the water and the light. Back they went to world of Caiaphas, Herod and the Pax Romana, away from the deeper logic that could make everything make sense. They were comfortable with the tension and the lies in which they lived. They knew how that world worked. And it worked pretty well - for them.

They were not so different from us. We have put considerable trust in a system of shadows, one full of tensions and tradeoffs, and rife with palace intrigues. Tolerance -within reason- is still the name of the game. To a certain extent in our culture one can hold almost anything in one's heart, but those who try to speak a word about greed or justice to Wall Street, or who ask questions of a hedonistic culture about what is or isn't wholesome behavior, suddenly find themselves on the wrong side of the powerful and treated like bumpkins in camel skins.

Yes, there have been some benefits, for some, in the dance of power and self-interest. But it is pretty clear right about now that it is better to invest more of one's hope in the Wisdom of Solomon and a lot less in the supposed smarts of Goldman Sachs. Does this mean we should not save or invest? Certainly not! But we need to understand the right order of things and choose the right roads on which to travel. Power and influence, wealth and position are ephemeral. There is something deeper in life waiting to be embraced - if we are willing to turn in a new direction we can get ready to receive it.

The known way is neither the only way nor the best way. It's just what we have known. It may feels risky to put our faith in the One John says is coming down the road instead of in structures or people we have trusted in the past. But the good news in discovering vipers and shadows in the city and the temple is that we are more likely to be open to the light that still shines forth in the darkness.

The One for whom we have been waiting is coming down the highway. There is water in the river and a prophet who will pour it over us if we will go beyond the trust we put in the banks and get into the middle of the river of God instead. The logic that makes everything make sense comes to us not in the heart of palaces, or in the lobbies of power, but through the emptiness and risk of the wilderness. Our hope is not in things that pass away, but in the light that the darkness cannot overcome. The light that is beauty and truth, love and goodness, the essence of being from which all else radiates is coming to the river. Coming to stand with John, and with us. Coming to illuminate, to heal, and to save.

So let us do as John says. Make straight the way of the Lord.
Prepare a highway to your hearts. AMEN