Batteries Included

John 1:6-8, 19-28

⁶There was a man sent from God, whose name was John. ⁷He came as a witness to testify to the light, so that all might believe through him. ⁸He himself was not the light, but he came to testify to the light. ¹⁹This is the testimony given by John when the Jews sent priests and Levites from Jerusalem to ask him, “Who are you?” ²⁰He confessed and did not deny it, but confessed, “I am not the Messiah.” ²¹And they asked him, “What then? Are you Elijah?” He said, “I am not.” “Are you the prophet?” He answered, “No.” ²²Then they said to him, “Who are you? Let us have an answer for those who sent us. What do you say about yourself?” ²³He said,
“I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness,
‘Make straight the way of the Lord,'”
as the prophet Isaiah said.
²⁴Now they had been sent from the Pharisees. ²⁵They asked him, “Why then are you baptizing if you are neither the Messiah, nor Elijah, nor the prophet?” ²⁶John answered them, “I baptize with water. Among you stands one whom you do not know, ²⁷the one who is coming after me; I am not worthy to untie the thong of his sandal.” ²⁸This took place in Bethany across the Jordan where John was baptizing.

Batteries Included

Let us pray:

Oh Light of the world,

Without you there is no divine life in us,

no good disposition in us at all.

Grant the reward of selfless love; that is, your very self.

Grant us perseverance to the end of this journey

toward Christmas,

and your surprising self again.

And then, everlasting joy!

Amen.

I think that this season of the year should come with a particularly appropriate tagline: batteries not included.

Just like it was printed on the side of the Nerf dart flinger that Rhonda and I purchased for our nephew.  In bold letters: batteries not included.  Except we only saw that when we were already waiting in line to check out…and had to run to find batteries.

But I find that this season truly does leave me absolutely depleted.  I run myself ragged going from meeting to appointment to hospital to party to dinners out to the store to…

I mean, it’s not unenjoyable; the majority of this running around is fulfilling and fun.

But often, quite often, my motivation for it is not so fun…and so it makes it less than enjoyable.

It depletes my battery, so to say.  And there is not a lot of in between time to recharge, to come back to life, to get batteries.

And what, pray tell, is my motivation?

I hate to say it…although I don’t think you’ll be too surprised.  I imagine you have a similar problem.  It’s a sickness that runs rampant, and has since our ancestors first trod through Eden.

My motivation is that deep down somewhere I am utterly convinced that if I do not visit every hospital patient, make every sick call, return every email, answer every phone message, go to every appointment and invitation, attend every concert, say yes to every dinner invitation, check off everyone on my Christmas list before this next week, and entertain every ounce of criticism that comes my way, no matter how baseless, that I will somehow ruin something, someone, or fail in my calling as a pastor, a husband, an uncle, and a Chicago citizen.

In other words: I am utterly convinced that it’s all up to me.  And so I pour myself into things in the vainglorious attempt to save whatever it is I think needs saving.

And this season, for as beautiful and wonderful as it is, brings out these stresses in spades.

And I have to say that my battery is drained; and I wonder if yours is, too, for much the same reason.

Have you worked yourself to death yet trying to be everything in the season of joy?

Have you worked yourself to death trying to save things that aren’t in your ability to save?

Is your battery gone?

Well, today we once again turn to the wisdom of that old-school prophet John the Baptist, for some guidance on the cause and cure for battery depletion.  And he does not disappoint.

Look at the way he answers the questions of the priests and the Levites.  “Are you the Messiah?” they ask.

His response is simply, “No.”

“Are you Elijah?” they inquire.

His response is a pithy, “Nope.”

And on and on these questions go without John the Baptist expending more voice on the issue then necessary.  And then when he does speak, he simply quotes Scripture, only saying more when absolutely pressed.

I mean, John the Baptist should get a job instructing witnesses how to testify in court, he is so adept at only answering the question asked.

But why the quick reply?

You see, John the Baptist knows something that I think we too often forget in this season: he’s not God.

I’ll say that one more time because we may be too busy to hear it well: I’m not God, and neither are you.

We can’t be everything to everyone, and that’s never truer than in this season of “get it done before year’s end.”

Because as much as I’d like to please people, I’m not able to please everyone.  Because as much as I’d like to be perfect, I’m made of the same carbon as a lump of coal.

Because as much as I’d like to save everything, to be its savior, I can’t, it’s not me, and it’s not you.

John knew that; we should relearn it.

John knew that his job was not to save anything, but rather, in everything that he did, point toward the God who had already started taking care of that whole saving business.

And in that same vein, let’s imagine, just for a moment, that you put down the need to save that thing that you are most worried about, that thing you are over-thinking.  Put it down, just for a moment.

Let Jesus be Jesus, just for a moment.

Put it down, give it up to God, and feel that battery recharge.

Give it up.

Give it up and feel that battery recharge.

So often I think our batteries are dead because we’re doing work that we aren’t meant to do; we’re trying to save things that aren’t ours to save.

We’ve forgotten what John the Baptist knew: that we are the children of God, not God.  We’re made in the image of God, not the other way around.

My job is not to be Jesus, but to point to him and rely on him.

Your job at your workplace, your family, your relationship, or even for this Christmas is not to be everything to everyone, not to be perfect, not to be Jesus, but to point and rely on him.

And that has been a freeing revelation for me to realize again, even just recently, because it has allowed me to put down some things that I’d been carrying, some voices that want me to be someone I can’t.

I’m not Jesus, I just point to him in my work and my play.

And you, what critical voices in your work place, your relationships, your life do you have to put down?  What work is not yours to bear any longer?

We need to relearn what John the Baptist knew!  He was not the Messiah, but only pointed to him and relied on him.

We are not God, we cannot be everything in this world, we can only point to the God who loves us enough to be with us in this world.

And when we stick to our identity, I think we find our batteries full.  And what is that identity?  You hear it given in baptism, you hear it given in confession, you hear all throughout Scripture: you are a child of God.

When we’re well yoked to our identities as children of God in this world, our batteries may wane, but will never deplete, and we will find through weekly worship, through Communion, through fellowship, ample time to replenish.

And, when we live out of that identity rather than trying to be the one born in a manger, I have a hunch our running around is less rushed because we know it’s not up to us; we’re just showing up on the scene.

As we lean toward Christmas, let’s relearn our identity.  Today.  Right now.  Because Jesus came with a message, and we hear it later in the Gospel of John, “If the Son has made you free, you are free indeed.”

And freedom is the gift of Christmas.  And that gift, that life grounded in that identity, has batteries included.

Amen.