Homily for the Solemnity of the Nativity of St. John the Baptist
The story of Saint John the Baptist begins in the temple, when an angel announces his miraculous conception to the priest Zechariah while he is offering incense at the altar. The account of Gabriel’s announcement is read during the vigil of this feast, and today we read about the fulfillment of that prophecy.
We probably do not associate John with the temple because most of his prophetic mission takes place in the desert—which is exactly where he heads at the end of today’s Gospel. But I would like to pause for a moment in the temple, where the story begins.
As modern Christians living after Luther, Kant, and the Enlightenment, we are unfortunately accustomed to viewing the temple and all Jewish rituals in a somewhat negative light. We tend to see them as superfluous, rigid, and irrational. We think of ourselves as more enlightened, scientific, progressive, and perhaps even more moral, believing we have no need for such complex and useless rituals.
I must admit, I am grateful that I am not required to observe the entirety of the Jewish ritual law. I, too, enjoy eating prosciutto and calamari. But if we view the Jewish religion in a negative light—as if ritual worship were in itself merely a sign of a primitive mindset that we have finally outgrown—we lose something. The Gospel of Luke begins in the temple but, as all our biblical scholars know, it also ends there: after the resurrection, the disciples “were continually in the temple praising God” (Lk 24:53).
To understand the setting at the start of John the Baptist’s story, I turn to a Jewish biblical scholar, Jon Levenson, who explains the full meaning of the temple for devout Jews. According to Levenson, the temple was for the Jewish people the place of peace, the axis of the universe, the moral center of the world, and the site of both creation and eschatological fulfillment. It was the epitome and essence of the cosmos, the meeting place of heaven and earth, and the very locus of communication between God and humanity.
Only when we appreciate the beauty of this place can we understand the significance of John the Baptist’s move toward the desert. It is not a rejection of the Jewish religion—which itself began in the desert—as if the Lord had made a mistake in establishing it. Nor is it a rejection of worship itself, or the replacing of ritual religion with pure ethics, as Kant wanted. The central activity of the Baptist’s ministry was baptism: a ritual—a new ritual, certainly—but an act of worship nonetheless.
Yet, the beginning of this new rite in the desert implies a critique of the temple. Despite its beauty, its spiritual power, and the nobility of the Jewish religion, it lacked something. It was waiting for something. In fact, even in John’s baptism, something was missing. In itself, it expressed a desire, but that desire was still unfulfilled. John preached about an absence, a void in our existence. In a sense, worship is always an acknowledgment of this void—a recognition that human life in itself is incomplete, and that our needs always outstrip our capacity.
The temple expressed this truth of human existence, and it did so in a way willed by God, reflecting the divine revelation received by the people of Israel. Isaiah captures another aspect of this longing in the first reading when he says, “It is too little.”
In the Gospel, Jesus says, “Something greater than the temple is here” (Matt 12:6). And when he prophesies a new temple, the Gospel of John notes that the temple he spoke of was his own body (Jn 2:19-21).
And here lies the Baptist’s message: the definitive temple—the place of peace, the axis of the universe, the moral center of the world, the site of creation and eschatological fulfillment, the meeting place of heaven and earth, and the communion between God and humanity—is the body of Christ.
The Temple of Jerusalem was deeply good—but something was missing. John’s baptism was a profound sign of repentance—but something was missing. Every religious, spiritual, philosophical, and ethical expression of human genius before Jesus—lacks something. And perhaps the highest praise we can offer John the Baptist, the greatest of the prophets, who nevertheless remains less than the least in the kingdom of God (Lk 7:28), is that he expresses this lack.
In the desert, you feel thirst. And John the Baptist tells us, “It is right for you to feel thirsty.” In fact, it is necessary. We must recognize the emptiness that on our own we cannot fill—the desert within the temple. For by recognizing the desert within the temple, we will find the temple in the desert. Because one greater than the temple is coming. And in just a moment, John the Baptist’s words will become our own: “Behold the Lamb of God, who takes away the sin of the world!”
Readings: Is 49:1-6; Acts 13:22-26; Lk 1:57-66, 80
(Original: Italian)
Chapel of the Collegio Bellarmino, Rome
June 24, 2020
Tony Lusvardi, S.J. 