The Preacher's Son - Juliette Duncan Page 0,30

Having been immersed in the Gospel of Mark for the last week with Felipe, it seemed the right passage to base my sermon on. That wasn’t my only reason, though. As I’d paced the cabin and prayed about what I should preach on, I’d remembered something my Dad had told me about the first verses of Mark, and suddenly I knew it was the perfect choice. Clearing my throat, I began to read.

“The beginning of the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God.

As it is written in Isaiah the prophet.

‘Behold, I send my messenger before your face, who will prepare your way, the voice of one crying in the wilderness: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make His paths straight.’’

John appeared, baptizing in the wilderness and proclaiming a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins. And all the country of Judea and all Jerusalem were going out to him and were being baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. Now John was clothed with camel’s hair and wore a leather belt around his waist and ate locusts and wild honey. And he preached, saying, ‘After me comes He who is mightier than I, the strap of whose sandals I am not worthy to stoop down and untie. I have baptized you with water, but He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit.’”

As I closed the Bible and set it on the lectern, I sent up another silent prayer that my sermon would do justice to God’s Word. Clearing my throat, my gaze took in the small congregation bunched together in the even smaller chapel. It appeared that everyone had turned up. All the pastoral team and the missionary volunteers were there, of course, but so were some of the kids from the school and a few visitors from the favelas, including Felipe and Maria. I was pleased when our gazes met across the room. Even Leon was there, seated beside Marly and another boy.

“My father used to read this passage to me as a boy,” I began, smiling as I recalled the childhood memory. “He explained it to me as a missionary scripture. I never really understood that. I was much more interested in the description of John the Baptist eating locusts and running around the wilderness.” I chuckled, and a few of the congregation chuckled with me. My confidence surged a little, and David caught my gaze from the back of the chapel and gave me an appreciative nod, as though urging me on.

“It’s perhaps only now, after coming here, that I realise what he meant and the message he believed this passage was trying to convey. John came to ‘make the path straight’ for our Lord, to prepare the ground for His ministry. Isn’t that what we do as Christians in the world today? With the Holy Sprit’s help, we pave the way for our Lord, be that literally or in terms of helping people to receive Him into their hearts. We don’t need to be ‘missionaries’ in the traditional sense to do this, since all Christians have been called to be missionaries wherever they live. And we often find ourselves in our own wilderness, whether that be a different place, a tough situation, or the inner wilderness in the recesses of our mind.

“But why the wilderness? Why is this such a potent metaphor?” I suddenly realised I had the rapt attention of every face in the room, and peace that was both humbling and soothing settled over me. God had this, and as something inside me let go and surrendered, the words began to tumble out freely.

“When we truly listen and respond to the gospel, we step into unknown lands. Places, like the wilderness, with no defined path. With God’s guidance, we can forge those paths. We ‘prepare the way of the Lord.’ The wilderness is outside the safe city walls. Outside of a society that would have us behave a certain way, to conform to the whims of man rather than the dictates of God.

“In the time of Jesus, the wilderness held certain cultural connotations. It was a place where dangerous things happened, where outlaws were banished to and rebels gathered. The gospel doesn’t call us to safe places, it calls us to places that a part of each individual simply doesn’t want to go.

“Ten years ago, if you’d asked me if I would leave my cosy life and come here for three weeks, I’m sure I would have said ‘no’.