CHAPTER 3

Matthew 3:1–17

LISTEN to the Story

¹In those days John the Baptist came, preaching in the wilderness of Judea ²and saying, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has come near.” ³This is he who was spoken of through the prophet Isaiah:

“A voice of one calling in the wilderness,

‘Prepare the way for the Lord,

make straight paths for him.’ ”

⁴John’s clothes were made of camel’s hair, and he had a leather belt around his waist. His food was locusts and wild honey. ⁵People went out to him from Jerusalem and all Judea and the whole region of the Jordan. ⁶Confessing their sins, they were baptized by him in the Jordan River.

⁷But when he saw many of the Pharisees and Sadducees coming to where he was baptizing, he said to them: “You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the coming wrath? ⁸Produce fruit in keeping with repentance. ⁹And do not think you can say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our father.’ I tell you that out of these stones God can raise up children for Abraham. ¹⁰The ax is already at the root of the trees, and every tree that does not produce good fruit will be cut down and thrown into the fire.

¹¹“I baptize you with water for repentance. But after me comes one who is more powerful than I, whose sandals I am not worthy to carry. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. ¹²His winnowing fork is in his hand, and he will clear his threshing floor, gathering his wheat into the barn and burning up the chaff with unquenchable fire.”

¹³Then Jesus came from Galilee to the Jordan to be baptized by John. ¹⁴But John tried to deter him, saying, “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?”

¹⁵Jesus replied, “Let it be so now; it is proper for us to do this to fulfill all righteousness.” Then John consented.

¹⁶As soon as Jesus was baptized, he went up out of the water. At that moment heaven was opened, and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. ¹⁷And a voice from heaven said, “This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased.”

Listening to the Text in the Story: 1 Kings 17:1–6; 2 Kings 1:3–10; Psalm 2; Isaiah 40:1–14; 42:1–4; Joel 2:25–32; Malachi 3:1–5; 4:1–6.

God warned Israel that he would suddenly return to his people in full power and glory. That day would be a day of judgment and blessing, a day of darkness and light, a day of fire and purification. Both a great and terrible day of the Lord. Yet he promised his people that the day wouldn’t catch them “flat footed.” God would warn Israel ahead of time, just before he showed up, to prepare them for his marvelous appearance. What were the warning signs? There were several, but one in particular caught the imagination of the people. The prophet who mysteriously left earth in a chariot of fire would return from heaven to deliver his last sermon. Right before the day of the Lord, Elijah would come back to turn the hearts of Israel back to God (Mal 4:5–6). Elijah’s return would be the taletell sign that the end of the world was near. So, to say the least, everyone was looking for Elijah, for then Israel would know what time it was.

How did John know it was time for the kingdom of heaven to come to earth? Did God tell him, “John, it’s time”? Was it because he knew about the unusual circumstances of Jesus’s birth, that the Messiah had been born? And, even if he did, why now? (“Let’s see. Jesus would be about thirty years old. That’s a good age to start a messianic movement.”) Did John infer it was time because of the political and social circumstances of his day—like the prophets of old, who considered a profane temple and a corrupt monarchy operating in the shadow of a looming, foreign power a sign of God’s imminent judgment? Or did he simply wake up one morning, put on a prophet’s costume, head for the Judean desert, and preach repentance to the rocks to see if anyone would show up? Furthermore, where did he get the idea to baptize the repentant? No prophet before him did anything like it. Baptism in the Jordan River was never prophesied as an end-of-the-world sign. Why did he do it? What did it mean? And finally, why did the Judeans flock to John? What persuaded them that he was a legitimate prophet? Even though he dressed like Elijah (2 Kgs 1:8), he performed no miracle like the great prophet. Even though John preached the same old, well-known (some might say, “worn-out”) prophetic message of repentance, many false prophets appeared who didn’t attract such a dramatic following.¹ In fact, Zechariah warned his generation that many Elijah wannabes would show up, trying to deceive the people into thinking the time had come since the appearance of Elijah was supposed to be the sign. But Zechariah knew the Judeans wouldn’t be fooled; he anticipated that they would kill the imposters as a warning to any false prophet who would dare to make such an audacious claim (Zech 13:2–6). And yet, here comes John, for no “apparent” reason, looking like Elijah, preaching in the Judean desert, declaring the fateful day of the Lord has come, and just about everyone acts like he’s the real deal. Why?

Matthew answers none of these questions. John appears in Matthew’s narrative as mysteriously as he appeared in the Judean desert: without introduction and little explanation (same was true for Elijah,² 1 Kgs 17:1). Matthew doesn’t even feel obliged to provide any historical context except to write that “in those days John the Baptist came” (Matt 3:1). It’s as if Matthew knows John needs no introduction. He simply identifies John “the Baptist” (who gave him this title?) as “the voice of one calling in the wilderness” (3:3) and assumes all of his readers will know who he is. That’s how famous the Baptizer was; long after his death John’s baptism still mattered (Acts 19:3–4). In fact, John’s authority as a prophet was so unquestionable, even Jesus decided to appeal to John’s clout to get out of trouble with the temple authorities (Matt 21:23–27). The Jewish people were convinced John was a prophet from God. In certain respects, then, it appears John knew it was time because the people were ready for Elijah to return, just as Malachi prophesied he would, to prepare Israel “before that great and dreadful day of the LORD comes” (Mal 4:5). But it wasn’t just that sinners showed up in the middle of the desert looking for repentance—John knew it was time for the Messiah because the people needed more than what he could give them to get ready for God. It’s one thing to find cleansing in the river. It’s quite something else to be purified by the fiery presence of God’s Spirit. John knew this as well as anyone: his baptism would be inadequate. The kingdom of heaven coming to earth would require more than water. This is why he predicted the coming of another one “more powerful than I” (Matt 3:11)—but each in his own order. First water, then fire. First the desert, then the Spirit. John would come first, but Jesus would be preeminent; one can only give what one has.

EXPLAIN the Story

The desert is a strange place for anyone to expect to meet God. After all, since God is life, and death reigns in the wilderness, one should look for God in a place called “paradise.” But, of course, the story of Israel’s life was seeking God in the desert because the curse of sin turned paradise into a wilderness. Israel found God in the desert when Moses led his people to the edge of the promised land. The prophets knew that the wilderness was the very place where God always seemed to get the attention of his people (Hos 2:14–23). Isaiah predicted a prophet would need to show up in the wilderness to prepare the way for God to come and lead Israel out of exile so that she might return to the land of his promise—a “new exodus” (Isa 40:1–11). It makes perfect sense: the only way to inhabit the uninhabitable is if God shows up and gives life. The desert seemed to be the one place where Israel proved they were children of God because they had to trust him to provide. A cursed ground does not yield good fruit. And nowhere is it more evident that the ground is cursed than the place where death reigns. Indeed, if God is going to reverse the curse of sin and death, the first place he needs to show up is in the desert. That’s why John lived in the desert. That’s why people “from Jerusalem and all Judea and the whole region of the Jordan” (Matt 3:5) trekked out in the middle of nowhere to be baptized by him. The desert is the very place where the repentant are led to meet the God of Israel. It’s the meek who will inherit the land. That’s the way the story goes.

People Get Ready, Jesus Is Coming

John’s message was fairly simple: repent because God’s reign is coming to earth. Matthew prefers the expression “the kingdom of heaven” over the Markan/Lukan phrase “the kingdom of God” to emphasize that God’s reign coming to earth will require divine agency.³ Israel longed for the day when God’s heavenly reign would invade earth—not just Israel’s land but the whole earth (“Oh, that you would rend the heavens and come down”; Isa 64:1). So when John preached that “the kingdom of heaven has come near,” he was speaking spatially and temporally (Matt 3:2). That is, John believed the kingdom of heaven was descending to earth at that time. More than that, he claimed it was already happening, that the “ax is already at the root of the trees” (v. 10). That’s why Israel needed to repent. But, the way John saw it, experiencing the reign of God did not depend upon the repentant. It wasn’t a matter of “if we don’t repent we’ll miss out” or “look, the kingdom is bending low; we better repent so God’s reign will come.” Rather, John believed everyone would witness the kingdom of heaven coming to earth. Those who refused to repent would experience God’s judgment, while those who heeded his message and produced “fruit in keeping with repentance” would avoid the wrath of God (v. 8). This is not a “feel good” message of deliverance. To put it bluntly, John wasn’t preaching “good news.”⁴ Indeed, the Baptist seems to offer very little hope to Israel other than the fact that he was convinced a stronger man would follow him and finish the job he started, gathering the harvest and burning up the chaff (v. 12).

So John’s project was eschatological: an emphasis on changed behavior due to the imminent “end of the world.”⁵ And since the Baptizer was preparing all Israel for the day of divine visitation, did John’s message apply to him? Did John require of himself the “fruit of repentance”? Perhaps so, for that would explain his austere life in the desert, which was probably a recent change of residence for him—not to mention his peculiar diet and clothing.⁶ Yet the fact that he dressed like Elijah and appeared in the Judean desert by the Jordan river (just like Elijah, 1 Kgs 17:5) made it evident that John was acting like a prophet, and the people certainly saw it that way. Furthermore, since prophets were known for their peculiar behavior—prophetic acts that symbolized their message (like Jeremiah’s broken pot or Isaiah’s exposed backside)—then John’s baptism and weird diet may have revealed his eschatological purpose. But why locusts and wild honey? Most attribute John’s food to an act of piety, living only on what the land provided (2 Macc 5:27). Even today grasshoppers and locusts are a staple for Bedouin shepherds—the realities of life in the desert.⁷ Moreover, locusts in John’s day were among the creepy-crawlies that were edible because they weren’t unclean (Lev 11:20–23). But why would the Gospel writers specifically mention locusts and wild honey? That wasn’t the only “clean” wilderness fare available to him. Besides, such a diet was expected of desert dwellers—of course John was going to live off the land. What other options would he have? The wilderness isn’t farmable. In other words, perhaps John’s diet was a symbolic act embodying more than pious self-deprivation.

Joel predicted that, before the day of the Lord—the day when God would “pour out my Spirit on all people” (Joel 2:28)—God would repay Israel for what the locust robbed from the land. “I will repay you for the years the locusts have eaten. . . . You will have plenty to eat, until you are full. . . . Then you will know that I am in Israel, that I am the LORD your God” (vv. 25–27). The prophet consoled the Judeans, “Do not be afraid, land of Judah, . . . for the pastures of the wilderness are becoming green. The trees are bearing their fruit . . . the threshing floors will be filled with grain” (vv. 21, 22, 24). All of these images show up in Matthew’s story about John: locusts, barren land of Judea, fruit-bearing trees, threshing floor filled with grain, and baptism of the Spirit. To be sure, what appears as reasons for hope in Joel’s oracle sounds like judgment in John’s message. Yet perhaps John’s ministry wasn’t all gloom and doom, that eating locust wasn’t a sign of self-denial. After all, the Gospels emphasize he ate locusts and honey. Since the promised land was supposed to be a place flowing with milk and honey, perhaps John ate locust as a prophetic act declaring that Joel’s vision was coming true.⁸ John was making a dramatic claim that the eschatological hour had arrived. He ate locusts and wild honey because the time had come to devour the devourer (locusts), for God’s promises to come true, and for the barren land to produce a bountiful harvest. His desert diet was a prophetic sign of hope mingled with dire warnings about the approaching judgment of God. It’s quite a picture to imagine: a wilderness man announcing the coming wrath of God, bits of locusts dangling from his lips, his camel-hair shirt matted with honey, offering water baptism to the repentant. It’s no wonder, then, that all the Gospels describe John the same way.⁹ Like the prophets of old, what the Baptizer did was the message as much as what he said—which leads to the even more puzzling question: Why did he baptize?

Drastic Times Call for Drastic Measures

It’s quite apparent that John’s baptism was something new. After all, the reason he earned the nickname “the Baptist” wasn’t because John took a business-as-usual approach to Israel’s circumstances. There was something unique about this water ritual that led the people to identify John as “the Baptizer.” That’s why comparisons with Jewish water rituals at that time don’t match up with John’s baptism. (Of course, it would be anachronistic to compare John’s baptism to Christian baptism. Even though it might be easy for us to project Christian imagery on this Jewish ritual, John certainly wasn’t baptizing candidates—arms folded and leaning back into the water-like burial—with the pronouncement: “Buried in the likeness of his burial; raised in the likeness of his resurrection.” Obviously, John’s baptism wasn’t a Christian baptism.) The Pharisees emphasized the importance of ongoing rituals of purification to maintain holiness. Contact with unclean things made one impure. And since purity is a requirement of holiness, then the Jewish people who followed the teaching of the Pharisees baptized themselves often, either completely immersing themselves in water collected in a carved-out-of-stone bath called a mikvah or by washing themselves with water stored in large purification pots (which would look to us like they were “washing up for supper”).¹⁰ But, the differences between John’s baptism and the ritual washings required for purification make it evident that the Baptist wasn’t offering the same thing: 1) John’s baptism was a one-time washing vs. the necessity of repeated purification; 2) John’s baptism was an act of repentance that followed a confession of sin vs. ritual cleansing that often had nothing to do with sin; for example, impurity due to the birth of a child, marital sex, menstruation (Lev 12:1–5; 15:16–33); and 3) John baptized the penitent vs. self-baptism of the ritually unclean.¹¹

Proselyte baptism comes closer to John’s baptism. Gentile converts to Judaism experienced a one-time cleansing as part of the ritual (which included circumcision and a sacrifice) that was necessary for purification and to mark a change in status. That idea appears to show up a few places in the Qumran literature where these Jewish sectarians required novitiates to submit to baptism as an entry rite of purification as well as daily washing rituals of all members. Yet scholars question whether both practices (proselyte and novitiate baptism) existed in John’s day. Besides, John’s baptism differed from this Jewish ritual as well: he was the one who administered the rite (one wonders what that looked like—did he “dunk” them or pour water on their heads?), and his baptism was a one-time act only required of Jews (not gentiles) who repented of sin. So John’s baptism seems to be unique compared to Jewish rites of purification. Therefore, we still don’t know why he did it, other than the fact that John believed his baptism was necessary to prepare Israel for the day of God’s visitation. In fact, the way the Baptist saw it, Jews who refused to repent of their sin and be baptized were relying upon their ethnicity to avert the wrath of God—something John believed was a foolish mistake: “Do not think you can say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our father.’ I tell you that out of these stones God can raise up children for Abraham” (Matt 3:9).

That idea—that John so easily dismissed ethnic identity as evidence of covenant membership—wasn’t new. It’s the reason the Qumran community withdrew from “the world” and predicted God’s judgment on the rest of Israel (1QS 8:13–14). It’s what Paul claimed (“For not all who are descended from Israel are Israel. Nor because they are his descendants are they all Abraham’s children”; Rom 9:6–7), building his argument of gentile inclusion on Isaiah’s remnant theology (vv. 27–29; Isa 10:22–23). By requiring baptism, then, “John was treating his fellow Jews as if they were spiritually gentiles.”¹² Those who refused to repent and submit to baptism revealed, according to John, that they were not true descendants of Abraham. This is why the Baptist emphasized the importance of bringing “fruit in keeping with repentance” to the river. John didn’t stand ready to baptize everyone. Indeed, he refused to baptize—“winnowing” the chaff from the wheat—those who were unworthy to be called “children of Abraham” because they did not truly repent.¹³

Yet how did John know they weren’t ready to repent, dismissing them out of hand as a “brood of vipers”? It’s because they were Pharisees and Sadducees (Matt 3:7), which makes their first appearance in Matthew’s Gospel function as an ominous sign for the rest of the story. These people are the bad guys (16:1–12; 22:15–23:36). Matthew doesn’t feel obliged to explain why the Baptizer was suspicious of these two influential groups of Jewish leaders—sects that were rarely paired together because they were often at odds with each other, theologically and politically (Acts 23:6–10; Josephus, Ant. 13.10.6). Since they probably came from Jerusalem, maybe this was the familiar “city slickers”-versus-the-“country bumpkin” showdown that seems to happen regardless of cultural context. Or, perhaps as members of the Sanhedrin, these official Jewish leaders were on surveillance, suspicious of the rogue prophet and his radical ways infecting the ignorant masses. To them, John’s message—no Jew is acceptable to God unless he or she is baptized by him—must have sounded like an outrageously arrogant claim as well as a biting critique of their leadership. So the distrust probably worked both ways. It had been a long time since a prophet had attracted as much attention as John: “He was a sensation.”¹⁴ And yet, unbeknownst to them, John’s appearance in the desert was only the beginning of things to come—just as the Baptist predicted.

The Messiah Is Anointed

Every king of Israel needed a prophet, not only to anoint him but also to keep him accountable to God. Saul had Samuel, David had Nathan, Hezekiah had Isaiah. In fact, Psalm 2 reads like a script for the installation of the new king of Israel where both the heir to the throne and the prophet recite lines during the anointing (Ps 2:1–7). So when Jesus comes to the Jordan to be “anointed” by John the prophet, it seems that the stage is set for the installation of the new king of Israel. But there are problems. John objects to playing his part in anointing Jesus, and with good reason: John’s baptism was a sign of repentance marking all of the true children of Abraham—not the Messiah (Matt 3:14). Besides, the prophet had announced that the “coming one” would be so empowered by the Holy Spirit that John wouldn’t be worthy to carry the man’s sandals (v. 11), much less baptize him. Jesus didn’t need John’s baptism of repentance. Rather, the Baptist stated the obvious: John is the one who must be baptized because he needed what only Jesus can give—the baptism of the Holy Spirit and fire.¹⁵

For some reason Jesus insisted on being baptized by John, and the Baptist relented (v. 15). Why? Some commentators key on the first part of Jesus’s reply, “Let it be so for now,” implying that submitting to John’s baptism was only a temporary necessity—it wasn’t quite time for the baptism of the Spirit.¹⁶ Others find the reason for Jesus’s baptism in that he believed it would “fulfill all righteousness,” either 1) to satisfy expectations regarding how the Messiah was to be revealed by “Elijah,” or 2) to identify with the righteous remnant of Israel, or 3) to model humility by being baptized with sinners, or 4) to identify with the Servant of the Lord (Isa 42:1–7; 52:13–53:12).¹⁷ It’s difficult to figure out what Jesus meant by his rather enigmatic response to John; all of these reasons make a lot of sense. Besides, Matthew is quick to point out that Jesus was a righteous man—especially when he defied the standards of righteousness according to the Pharisees (Matt 5:17–20; 6:1–18; 8:10–17; 12:1–21; 15:1–20; 21:28–46; 23:1–36). Therefore, the fact Jesus was “anointed by God” right after he was “anointed by the prophet” confirms, in their very first “contest,” that Jesus was right and the Pharisees were wrong. Was God about to visit Israel, and was John’s ministry a sign of the times? Obviously, the Pharisees didn’t think so. Jesus, on the other hand, was convinced it was time to “fulfill all righteousness.” And, because of what happened that day—heaven split opened, the Spirit of God anointed Jesus, the heavenly voice confirmed the new king of Israel—it’s quite apparent that God openly sided with John and Jesus. Indeed, to punctuate the matter, this is one of the few times in Matthew’s Gospel when God actually speaks for himself. And, ironically, when God speaks, he’s quoting what the prophets said they heard him say.

The heavenly acclamation (Matt 3:17) sounds like a conflation of Psalm 2:7, “you are my son,” and Isaiah 42:1, “my chosen one in whom I delight”—a combination of references to a newly enthroned king and a king to come.¹⁸ According to Matthew, Jesus fit the bill from the beginning, not only because of his royal pedigree and birth but especially due to the fact that Isaiah 42 reads like a summary of Jesus’s ministry (Matt 12:15–21). In other words, to put it bluntly, God knew what he was doing when he “spoke up” at Jesus’s baptism, delivering this “mash-up” of lines taken from both royal coronation and prophetic proclamation, kingdom present and kingdom come. Anointed by God’s Spirit (the Messiah of the LORD!), Jesus was not only installed as the long-awaited king of Israel, but he was empowered to make good on every promise God ever made—not only to Israel but to the whole world.¹⁹ This is why several commentators hear echoes of “new creation” in the dove-like appearance of the Holy Spirit (Gen 1:2; 8:8–12).²⁰ The baptism of Jesus is, therefore, a pivotal event in Matthew’s story, chock-full of theological potential. Indeed, in this one event we see the beginning and the end, the promise and the fulfillment, prophet and king, heaven and earth, water and Spirit, Father and Son.

Jesus is the beloved one because he fulfills all righteousness. God said as much to anyone who had ears to hear: “This is my Son” (Matt 3:17).²¹ And, according to Matthew the second time God speaks up, he will say exactly the same thing but add a warning: “Listen to him!” (Matt 17:5). Even God has to say things twice. Why wouldn’t they hear it the first time?

It’s almost as if Matthew was saying: “Get ready, Israel; watch out, world. You’d better pay attention. John was right. It’s time.”

LIVE the Story

Does God still send prophets to his people today? Do we need these “eschatological alarm clocks” to wake us up? Are there prophets among us, like John the Baptizer, trying to get our attention through their bizarre behavior and Chicken Little message, “The sky is falling! The sky is falling!”? And, even if there were, how could we tell the difference between the true prophets of God and the homeless men on the street corner, holding their cardboard signs, railing against the masses for our worldly ways—men who are easily passed over as mentally ill. Indeed, if “Elijah” were to show up today, wouldn’t most of us ignore him because we’re hardened to the spectacle? Been there, seen that.

Like painters, prophets are more easily recognized as legitimate once they’re dead and gone (Isa 53:3–12). Looking back in history, we have this uncanny ability to spot true prophets who shook up the church at that time: Antony of Egypt, Francis of Assisi, Teresa of Avila, Martin Luther, John Wesley, William Seymour, Martin Luther King Jr.—to name only a few. Of course, what they did to their generation was revolutionary. Moreover, many of them attracted a following. But for the most part, their ideas (and especially their way of life) were a great source of irritation to their contemporaries. Odd. Peculiar. Bizarre. These prophets have left an indelible mark on the memory of the church. We admire them from the safe distance that history affords us, knowing we probably would have dismissed these oddballs as eccentric madmen and hysterical women. Who among us would have joined them in their madness?

Antony sold his possessions and lived in the desert for years. Francis gave away his fortune too, but preferred living in the forest to commune with nature and talk to birds. Teresa spent hours praying to Christ, beating her body into submission in order to see him. Luther empowered commoners to worship God in their native tongue and gave up the frock for married life. Wesley and his odd “methods” of sanctification, Seymour and the radically diverse congregation who gathered on Azusa Street, King’s peaceful revolution of civil rights for all—these are the prophets who suddenly appeared “from nowhere” and told the church: “It’s time.” Time for renewal. Time for God. Time for justice. Time for that day—the day we’ve all been waiting for—when God shows up, his kingdom comes, and all is well. The problem, of course, is that when prophets show up, it certainly doesn’t appear that “all will be well.” Rather, like massive stones thrown into peaceful waters, these hard-headed rebels seem determined to make a splash. Which is why prophets are never welcomed by their own people (Matt 13:57). Those who know them best are able to recognize strange behavior when they see it. “Did you hear that Francis renounced his father’s wealth, lives like a beggar, and calls the moon his sister and the sun his brother? Poor man’s lost his mind.” We are able to admire Francis because strangers make better prophets. Today we might even listen more attentively to alarming messages delivered by social sirens who are unfamiliar to us. But God tends to send prophets to their own kind for their time. So how can we tell the difference between a true prophet of God and the great pretender? If God still sends “Elijahs” to warn his people that “the time is near,” doesn’t that mean we’ll always have to contend with “Elijah” wannabes?

Some might say we don’t need Elijah anymore since John fulfilled the prophecy (Matt 17:11–12) and the end of the age has come through Jesus Christ. We know the time is always near because at any moment God could say, “It is done” (Rev 16:17; 21:6). But Jesus warned of false prophets during the last days (Matt 24:11), and Paul gave his converts the difficult advice of testing a prophetic word without being contemptuous of it (1 Thess 5:20–21). In fact, the apostle counted on prophets to build up the church, encouraging them to be eager to prophesy (1 Cor 14:1)—something Jesus anticipated as well (Matt 10:41). So even though we may not think of prophets as God’s gift to his people, the early church accepted them as much as any other ministry, knowing they had to negotiate the difference between true and false prophets. In fact, the Didache (“the teaching,” a late first-, early-second-century manual of instruction) gives evidence of this, where an entire chapter is devoted to helping Christians identify true itinerant prophets: 1) they stay for only a day, two days max; 2) they accept only bread for the next day’s journey; 3) they never ask for money; 4) they never order a meal for themselves; 5) they only speak “in the Spirit”; 6) they practice what they preach; 7) they don’t encourage others to imitate their bizarre behavior; and 8) they only talk of money when it is to be given to other people in need (Did. 11:3–12).²² Such advice would be enough, even for today, to help the church avoid hucksters. But perhaps the best person to help us sort out the difference between true prophets and Elijah wannabes is the man who broke the Elijah mold: John the Baptist.

True prophets preach repentance and the reign of God. True prophets help us confess our sins. True prophets call people to the desert to meet God. True prophets are satisfied with nothing less than good deeds of justice. True prophets don’t care about fancy clothes. True prophets are suspicious of politicians and religious elites. True prophets warn people about the wrath of God. True prophets don’t talk about themselves. True prophets know they are unworthy slaves. True prophets always point to Jesus as the mightier one. True prophets say things like, “He must increase and I must decrease.” And, finally, true prophets know they have nothing to give except what has been given to them. Come to think of it, true prophets never claim too much or too little. Indeed, because of this, true prophets know when it is time to head for the wilderness and get serious about God.

When I think about the prophetic voice today—especially in my little evangelical world—one of the most deserted places where we might find a prophet crying in the wilderness of our religious life is in the arts. Like most congregations, the only art that is celebrated in my church (beside public speaking) is music. Song and sermon reign supreme as coregents in the art of worship. No other artist is welcome—no writer, no painter, no sculptor, no dancer, no cinematographer. For the most part (and it pains me to admit it), evangelical Christians don’t read or write, don’t paint or carve, don’t visit galleries or attend dance festivals. You couldn’t find a more deserted place in the life of most evangelicals than the arts. Therefore, it comes as no surprise that creativity and artistic expression are discouraged in most churches—even seen as dangerous. We may encourage children to finger paint during Sunday school, but expressionism has no place among the adults. We may sing about “dancing before the Lord,” but only children are allowed to make “creative movements” during their songs. So when our daughter Emma, who makes a living as a professional dancer and instructor, tried to offer one of her pieces during a worship service a few years ago, most of the congregants watched respectfully and offered a kind word (“that’s nice”). But no one else has dared to try to “dance before the Lord.” No matter how good we are, we’ll sing. No matter our level of interest, we’ll recite. But that’s it. Creative expression of our devotion to God is somewhat nil in the church—which is why I think that’s the perfect place for a prophet to show up these days, in the wilderness of art.

We were taking a hike in the desert-like environs that surround one of my favorite places on earth: the Laity Lodge situated by the Frio River (northwest of San Antonio, Texas). Even though I don’t remember her name, I’ll never forget the conversation we had that day as we walked along the path leading up to one of the favorite destinations of guests who enjoy an afternoon hike: the scenic Circle Bluff overlooking the canyon and the river. She had been invited to the Lodge to play her violin as a member of a chamber quartet. I was there to hear a famous speaker, a theologian I admire. But this wasn’t happenstance. The purpose of Laity Lodge is to bring theologians and artists together to explore our common confession—an unusual confab that often leads to fascinating conversations. As we hiked up the hill with other creation lovers, we talked about our families. And, as it often happens with parents of young-adult children, we swapped stories about the challenges of our new “advisory” role—no longer telling our sons and daughters what they’re supposed to do with their lives. She talked about her son, a twenty-something musician, who seemed perfectly satisfied with the unpredictable wages earned by his talent. He was living on his own, content with scraping by at a subsistence level—even resorting to dumpster diving, grazing on the meals he found in the food-desert world of urban life. Her husband was embarrassed, and she was pained by the hobo lifestyle of their talented son. Whenever they approached him about their concerns, he would launch into a railing attack against corporate greed and the wasteful habits of our culture.

The conversation grew silent for a moment as we made our way around flowering cactus and tumbleweeds, edging closer to the bluff. Then she said, “I just want to know, ‘Why?’ Why is he doing this?”

“Maybe he’s a prophet,” I said, at which point she stopped in her tracks, made an abrupt about face, walked up to me with a stone-cold look of concern, and said accusingly, “What did you say? You think he’s a prophet?”

“Well, perhaps I’m being a little presumptuous. I don’t know your son, and it’s easy for me to offer this snap judgment. Is he a prophet? I don’t know. But he’s certainly acting like one.”

Soft lines returned to the edges of her face, her eyes falling to the ground, taking in the desert around us. Then she looked back at me and said softly, “I need to share this with my husband. I don’t think you’re right. But, it never occurred to me that. . . .” Her voice trailed off. “A prophet, huh?” Then we walked to the edge of the bluff overlooking the Frio River, taking in the site of a desert canyon carved by the cold, blue waters of a crystal clear stream. I couldn’t help but think about John the Baptizer.

“Lord, please keep sending your prophets to us, even though we may not have eyes to see or ears to hear their warning. It’s time. No more snooze button. No more slumber. No more lazy repose. Time to wake up. Time to get up. Time to get ready. Time to do the right thing. Time to believe. Time to hear our God say, ‘This is my beloved Son.’ Help us listen to him! Gather your people as wheat. And may we be baptized in the fiery Spirit of the Anointed One.”

Listen. Do you hear it? A voice is crying in the wilderness of our contentment.

1. Josephus, Ant. 20.8.6; J.W. 2.13.4–5.

2. France, Matthew, 100.

3. See Robert Foster, “Why on Earth Use ‘Kingdom of Heaven’? Matthew’s Terminology Revisited,” NTS 48 (2002): 487–99. Jonathan T. Pennington argues that the phrase “the kingdom of heaven [plural],” refers to the invisible, divine realm of God’s rule, while reference to “heaven [singular]” indicates the visible, earthly realm of God’s reign (Heaven and Earth in the Gospel of Matthew [Leiden: Brill, 2007], 136–42).

4. Davies and Allison, Matthew, 1:290.

5. “John’s message is characterized as having two aspects: (1) an ethical imperative [repent] . . . based on (2) an eschatological reality [the kingdom of heaven has come near]” (David L. Turner, Matthew, BECNT [Grand Rapids: Baker Academic, 2008], 106).

6. “John’s clothing and diet model the message he preaches” (Turner, Matthew, 109). For a discussion of John’s peculiar lifestyle, see Keener, Matthew, 116–19. A few scholars have suggested that John had already adopted desert life due to his association with the Qumran community—an opinion that hasn’t yielded much support (see Davies and Allison, Matthew, 1:290–91).

7. Davies and Allison, Matthew, 1:296.

8. I owe this insight to David Capes (personal communication).

9. Strangely enough, the Gospel writers never give a physical description of Jesus nor describe explicitly what he wore or ate even though he is the main character of their story.

10. See Jodi Magness, Stone and Dung, Oil and Spit: Jewish Daily Life in the Time of Jesus (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2011), 16–21.

11. For further discussion, see the definitive work by Everett Ferguson, Baptism in the Early Church: History, Theology, and Liturgy in the First Five Centuries (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 2009), 60–96.

12. Keener, Matthew, 121.

13. Turner, Matthew, 109, 112–13.

14. Davies and Allison, Matthew, 1:298.

15. “[John] is not asking for the reversal of roles at the Jordan. His point is that his own baptism is by its very nature provisional and anticipatory” (Nolland, Matthew, 153).

16. “The implication is that the baptism of the Spirit is not yet. For now, John has been commissioned by God to prepare Israel by making it pass through the waters” (Garland, Reading Matthew, 37).

17. See the discussion in Davies and Allison, Matthew, 1:321–23.

18. For discussion of whether the “servant” passages in Isaiah refer to a king or a prophet, see John Goldingay, “Servant of Yahweh,” in Dictionary of the Old Testament Prophets, ed. Mark J. Boda and J. Gordon McConville (Downers Grove, IL: IVP Academic, 2012), 701–6.

19. Keener calls it “a proleptic enthronement fulfilled after the resurrection” (Keener, Matthew, 135).

20. The dove could symbolize many things; see Davies and Allison, Matthew, 1:331–34.

21. In Mark and Luke, the heavenly voice addresses Jesus, “You are my Son, whom I love; with you I am well pleased” (Mark 1:11; Luke 3:22). But, in Matthew’s version the Father doesn’t address Jesus but speaks to others about Jesus (the Baptizer, those gathered at the Jordan, even those reading Matthew’s Gospel): “This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased” (Matt 3:17).

22. The Didache also recognizes the possibility that a genuine prophet might want “to settle among you” (13:1). In that case, he is to receive the firstfruits of the harvest because he, “like the worker, is worthy of his food” (v. 2).