Homily for the Nativity of St. John the Baptist

A very happy feast of title! This year I have enjoyed chewing on the Tradition’s thinking on this feast. It is a very old feast, dating at least back to the 4^th century, and celebrated in both East and West. If you’re wondering why it happens on this date, recall simply that scripture informs us that, when Mary visits Elizabeth, shortly after the Annunciation, it was the sixth month of Elizabeth’s pregnancy. So St. John’s nativity is approximately six months before our Lord’s nativity at Christmas.

I hope you’ll forgive me for a moment if I just relish a little bit in some of the traditional imagery and theology of this feast before I settle on the main thing that I want to say.

As those who came on Tuesday night know, there is a distinct vigil mass for the feast. In medieval Europe it was a time for bonfires, a way of marking the summer solstice, the longest day of the year. More on that in a moment, but the vigil mass readings focus on the annunciation to Zechariah and the leadup to St. John’s birth. Many of the prayers delight in the language of following and preceding. The collect speaks of following “the teachings of “thy holy Forerunner, Saint John” so that “we may attain in safety to him

whom he foretold, thy Son Jesus Christ our Lord.” The post-communion prayer asks that “the glorious intercession of blessed Saint John the Baptist may in all things precede

and follow us; and that he may ever implore for us the mercy of him whose coming he foretold, even Jesus Christ our Lord.”

Many of the prayers on the day itself focus on St. John’s prophetic ministry. The proper preface for St. John speaks of how he witnessed to the Lord in his life and in his death. The collect for Mass in the day implores God that we may follow the example of constantly speaking the truth, rebuking vice, and patiently suffering for the sake of the truth. A traditional novena prayer suggests that we may, with his prayers, “overcome all human respect” in loyalty to our divine Master. And the introit for today aptly compares John to a sharp sword or a polished arrow: a precise prophetic weapon wielded not against flesh and blood but against false doctrine and vice.

In patristic preaching on St. John, it is very common to think about him as he shows up in the prologue to the other St. John’s gospel, what we know as the Last Gospel. He was not the light, but bore witness to the light. St. Augustine gives us a wonderful image of St. John as a towering mountain of holiness catching the first gleams of the rising sun. He can see it before anyone else because he stands so tall, but everyone else can look to him and know something about what is coming. In the tradition, this concept of light and darkness then mixes with the idea of midsummer. John says, “He must increase, I must decrease,” just as after his feast the days grow shorter and shorter as we move towards Christmas, the birth of the true light.

In another old homily, compiled by an older breviary from multiple sources, St. John is said to shine with the light in three ways: example, finger, and word. By example, in showing us the light of his own life. By finger, in pointing to the greater light of Christ. By word, in calling us to repentance and the enlightenment of our souls.

He shone by finger. That is a funny way to put it, but very true. St. John points. “Behold the lamb of God,” he says. The pointing finger is one of the best ways of identifying statues and paintings of St. John the Baptist, like the one we blessed outside last week. And this brings me to the main thing that I want to say today, which is that this shining by finger in a certain way outshines even word and example, because word and example likewise point to Christ. The vocation of St. John was to point, and our vocation in following him, and claiming his patronage, is likewise to point.

We could probably write a book about depictions of pointing saints in the history of Christian art and iconography, but for the moment, as a companion to St. John, let us consider the pointing of Our Lady. She also, often, points to Jesus in Christian art, and of course she does so spiritually all the time, and the whole heart of Marian devotion is to Jesus through Mary. But the Johannine pointing and the Marian pointing are different, I think: two sides to what is I think the whole picture of human vocation.

The Marian vocation is to conceive Christ within oneself. Our Lady does this in a unique bodily way, but the tradition constantly speaks of how it was also a spiritual conception in the soul. We too are meant to conceive Christ in our souls, to grow the life of Christ in our lives. And though Mary’s bearing of Christ in a bodily was unique, it also pointed to the way that all human bodies, the whole of human nature, is oriented to the life of God. With Mary we live as members of the Body of Christ, revealing Christ to the world in ourselves, our life, our work, our sacrifice, our speech. Her suffering with Christ is internal, the sword piercing the heart.

The Johannine vocation is a more external pointing, a useful corollary, perhaps, because even if in some way we are members of Christ, we should also say, like St. John, “I am not the Christ!” With him we point to a person and a reality that is far greater than ourselves, we point to a truth that does not depend in any way on us but endures. St. John’s suffering is external, visible as a witness against the powers of this world.

Let us then, with our Blessed Mother, nurture the life of Christ within us. And with St. John, let us to boldly point to the Lord of history and be faithful disciples of the true Light.