Preparing the Way

The Voice That Points Beyond Itself
There's something profoundly countercultural about a person who refuses to make themselves the center of attention. In our age of personal branding, influencer culture, and the relentless pursuit of followers and likes, we rarely encounter someone who actively deflects glory away from themselves and toward another.

Yet this is exactly what we find in the remarkable figure of John the Baptist—a man whose entire identity was wrapped up in pointing beyond himself to someone greater.

A Messenger With Divine Authority
John the Baptist wasn't just another religious teacher offering his perspective on spiritual matters. He stood as the fulfillment of ancient promises, the culmination of prophecies spoken centuries before his birth. The Old Testament had foretold a messenger who would prepare the way, a voice crying in the wilderness to make straight the path of the Lord.

This was more than poetic language. The promises came from multiple sources—from Exodus, from Malachi, from Isaiah—representing both the Law and the Prophets, which together comprised the entirety of Jewish Scripture. John emerged as the singular voice carrying the weight and authority of all that had come before, standing at the hinge point of history to declare: "The one you've been waiting for is here."

The rabbis had been teaching for generations that Elijah would return before the coming of the Messiah. When John appeared in the wilderness, dressed in camel's hair with a leather belt—the very clothing associated with Elijah—the symbolism was unmistakable. This was the promised forerunner, the new Elijah, announcing that the age of waiting was over.

Called Out of Comfort
What's striking about John's ministry is where it took place and whom it called. He wasn't preaching in the temple, the established center of religious life. He wasn't aligning himself with political powers or seeking favor from religious elites. Instead, he stood in the wilderness, calling people away from their comfortable religious practices and away from their trust in political solutions.

He called them to repentance—a turning away from empty hypocrisy and a return to genuine covenant faithfulness. When the Pharisees and Sadducees came to see him, he didn't welcome them with open arms. He called them a "brood of vipers," exposing the corruption that had infected religious practice and leadership.

This wilderness prophet was saying something radical: Your religious credentials won't save you. Your political connections won't deliver you. You need to come away from all of that and prepare to meet the one who actually can change everything.

The baptism John offered wasn't the end of the journey—it was preparation for it. It was a physical sign of spiritual readiness, a consecration that said, "I'm getting ready to meet my Messiah." People came from all over Judea and Jerusalem, confessing their sins and being baptized in the Jordan River, participating in a movement that was pointing them toward someone they hadn't yet fully encountered.

The One Who Decreases
Perhaps the most beautiful aspect of John's ministry was his unwavering commitment to his supporting role. At the height of his popularity, when crowds were flocking to hear him, when he could have built an empire around his own personality and message, John consistently pointed away from himself.

"After me comes he who is mightier than I," he proclaimed, "the strap of whose sandals I am not worthy to stoop down and untie."

Think about that statement. In that culture, untying someone's sandals was the work of the lowest servant—a task considered beneath most people. Yet John was saying that even this lowly service was too honorable for him in relation to Jesus. He understood both Jesus's superior power and His supreme worthiness in ways that compelled humility rather than competition.

John knew that while he baptized with water—a preparatory, physical, temporal act—Jesus would baptize with the Holy Spirit. One was external and temporary; the other would be internal and eternal. One prepared the way; the other was the way.

Later in his ministry, John would articulate this beautifully: "He must increase, but I must decrease." This wasn't the language of insecurity or false humility. It was the clarity of someone who understood his identity and purpose so completely that he could celebrate his own diminishment if it meant Jesus's exaltation.

Why This Still Matters
We live in a world remarkably similar to the one John addressed. We're surrounded by promises from religious systems that suggest if we just perform the right rituals or hold the right doctrines, we'll earn God's favor. We're bombarded by political messages claiming that if we just elect the right leaders or implement the right policies, we'll finally find peace and security.

The marketplace constantly whispers that the right purchase will bring satisfaction. Social media suggests that enough likes, follows, and validation will fill the void inside us. We're told that the right relationship, the right job, the right self-image will finally make us whole.
But these are the same empty promises dressed in modern clothing. They cannot deliver. They cannot save. They cannot satisfy the deepest longings of the human heart.

John's message cuts through all of this noise with startling clarity: Turn to the one who is actually mighty to save and worthy of worship. There is only one who can fulfill the promises that matter. There is only one who can change hearts and destinies. There is only one deserving of the devotion we so easily give to lesser things.

Living as Pointers
For those who have encountered Jesus, John's example becomes a template for life. Our identity becomes inseparable from our mission—to make Jesus known. Not ourselves. Not our achievements or our righteousness. Not our preferred political candidates or our religious traditions. Him.

We talk about the things that capture our hearts. What dominates your conversation? What consumes your thoughts? What shapes your hopes and fears? These questions reveal what we're truly taken with, what we actually believe can save us.

The call is to live as John lived—not seeking a following for our own sake, but preparing the way for others to encounter Jesus. Every conversation, every relationship, every ordinary moment becomes an opportunity to point beyond ourselves to the one who is mighty to save and worthy of worship.

This is the gospel of Jesus Christ, the Son of God—and it changes everything.