Luke 3: 1-7  

Most of you, judging from what I can see of you from here, are old enough to remember the Johnny Carson Show.  Oh, let’s be honest, some of you remember Jack Parr.  In Carson’s day the show opened with an invariable ritual.  “Welcome to the Tonight Show starring Johnny Carson,” then a listing of tonight’s special guests and then, “Heeere’s Johnny,” all intoned by the avuncular Ed McMahon.  When Johnny retired, someone asked him about the secret of his success in show business, and Johnny said something like, “I was lucky enough to get introduced by the great Ed McMahon.”

        Johnny was serious.  A good introduction is everything.   “It’s easier to make a 30-minute speech than to make a two-minute introduction to present the 30-minute speech.”   Good introductions have only two tasks, get an audience excited about the forthcoming speech and sit down, quickly.”

        The worst introductions are those that take too much time.   “Our speaker tonight was born in Somers NY.   For those of you who don’t know Somers, it is a somewhat amorphous town in Westchester County.  He went through the Somer’s public schools and, while he was accepted at all 11 colleges to which he applied, chose to go to Westminster College in PA because it is a Presbyterian school and offered him a generous financial aid package….”  A groan emerges from an already bored-to-death audience.  Ten minutes into the introduction, we haven’t even made it to the speaker’s first job.

        I too have been the victim of a few bad introductions; “Our preacher this morning is someone with whom I do not always agree.   Truth be told, I regularly disagree with him.   But he may make you think, for whatever that’s worth.”  I think the meanest introduction in modern times was given back in 2007 by the President of Columbia University in his introduction of the President of Iran: “Now, here on our stage is an ignorant, holocaust-denying, ridiculous-appearing liar .  .  .”  Brutal, but honest!

        Now, a good introduction to a speech is a speech that doesn’t appear to be a speech, a speech in which the person making the introduction must be transparent to the speaker, must point to the speaker without becoming the speaker. 

        Now I’ve got all this on my mind because this Sunday’s Gospel, as always on the Second Sunday of Advent, is John the Baptist – the preacher who introduces the the main event, Jesus.  The Christian year always begins with John who gets us ready to meet Jesus.  You can’t get to Christmas, can’t get to Jesus, without first hearing John the Baptist’s introduction.  It is so important, in fact, that you will hear the second part of it next Sunday when our General Presbyter, Dr. Susan Andrews will be our guest preacher.

        Now ultimately none of us came here today to hear John the Baptist.  We came to hear Jesus.  John says upfront that he is not the main event.  He is the “forerunner.”   He is the band we haven’t heard of that opens for the Rolling Stones.  He is the Ed McMahon for Jesus.  All four Gospels begin the story of Jesus with the story of John.  You can’t get to Jesus until you first hear John.

        So it pains me to say it but John the Baptist breaks most of the rules for introductions that were given in the public speaking class that I took in college.  John’s introduction of Jesus is delivered in a histrionic scream: “You brood of vipers!  Who told you to try to escape from hell fire?”

        During John’s introduction, you could see respectable people quietly moving toward the exits.  As they moved, John screamed, “I’m talking about you! Don’t say, “my family founded this church,”  “I tithe!”  I tell you, you better turn around, get washed, get right, repent.”

        Why would anybody have stayed for the sermon after an introduction like that?  People come to church to be comforted, don’t they?  Is John crazy?  Begin a sermon with, “You brood of vipers” – and you can just watch the congregation check out for the rest of the speech.

        So, why would anybody have listened to John the Baptist?  And why do all the Gospels demand that we not hear Jesus until we first hear John?

        But why?  John’s vitriolic introduction is enough to kill the Jesus revolution before it begins.   “You better get your dirty little self cleaned up or you will burn in hell.  You vipers!”

        Why would anybody sit for that?

        Here’s my answer.  There’s something about us that knows this is a message we need to hear.  In our better moments, we know we’re not right, our world is out of kilter.  Only a preacher like John tells the truth.  It reminds me of the story of the farmer who sold his neighbor a mule to plow his field with only one instruction, “Speak to it gently.”  The next morning the new owner hitched up the mule and said, “Giddy up mule.”  The mule didn’t budge.  He said it again, no response.  “Please giddy up,” the farmer pleaded.  All morning he tried to get the mule going.  Finally he gave up and went to complain to the farmer who sold him the mule.

        “That mule you sold me won’t budge, I want my money back,” he hollered. 

“There’s nothing wrong with that mule,” the original owner responded.  “Let me show you.” 

The two farmers walked back to the barnyard where the original owner picked up an old 2x4, raised it over his head and brought it squarely down between the ears of the mule. 

“I thought you told me to speak to it gently,” said the new owner. 

“I did,” he replied, “but you‘ve got to get it’s attention first!”  

You get the point.   John gets our attention.

        One of the best introductions I’ve ever heard was years ago at Marble Collegiate Church in NYC when a real estate salesman introduce Dr. Norman Vincent Peale.  If you’re old enough to know Johnny Carson, you probably remember Dr. Peale.

        Before Dr. Peale spoke, this real estate person stood up and said, “This has been the worst year in real estate that I can remember.  I know most of you and know that you’re trying to put a happy face on your pain.  That pasted-on smile you’re wearing tonight doesn’t fool anybody.  The man you’re about to hear knows you.  And what he says is going to be the best news that you’ve gotten all year.  I give you Dr.  Norman Vincent Peale.”   Dr. Peale couldn’t fail that night after that introduction.

        John the Baptist intruded, stood up, and told the contented, self-satisfied religious folk that they, especially they, needed to change, that their religious pedigree was no guarantee to escape the judging gaze of God.  More than that, he told them they could change and he told them exactly how. 

        And I just bet there’s someone here today under the shelter of this great church who’s almost dying to hear John preach, somebody wise enough to know that you need to change, somebody faithful enough to believe you can change, somebody willing to have your impurities burned away in some redeeming fire, somebody courageous enough to want a separation of the good wheat from the trash so that some new, life-giving branch may spring forth.  I bet there’s someone here not content with things as they are, somebody in the wilderness, somebody who knows that more moderate, middle-of-the-road religion wouldn’t be strong enough to do you any good. 

        Now, you’re about to hear the most difficult, demanding, bad news that ever was called good.  You’re about to have your world rocked, tables overturned, demons put to rout, and the dead raised.  Ladies and gentlemen, you’re about to hear one of the most offensive preachers that has ever mounted a pulpit, so offensive that the government tortured him to death in an attempt to shut him up.  He’s your salvation.  Here’s Jesus!