“Now John wore a garment of camel's hair, and a leather girdle around his waist; and his food was locusts and wild honey. Then went out to him Jerusalem and all Judea and all the region about the Jordan, and they were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins. But when he saw many of the Pharisees and Sad'ducees coming for baptism, he said to them, ‘You brood of vipers! Who warned you to flee from the wrath to come?’—Gospel of Matthew (Revised Standard Version), 3:4-7
Listening to today’s Gospel reading at Mass, I couldn’t help but be struck by the physical description of St. John the Baptist. Name another New Testament figure described, in any kind of physical way—even Jesus—besides John. I don’t think you can. I know I can’t.
The first two verses I’ve quoted above aren’t extensive, but they evoke the “voice crying in the wilderness” with an economy that Ernest Hemingway himself would have envied. Yet, oddly enough, when I searched the Internet to find an image to match the description, none fit. The only one that came remotely close was the accompanying scene from Franco Zeffirelli’s 1970s miniseries Jesus of Nazareth, with Michael York in the role of The Baptist. Even this image pales next to my other memories of York—bearded and fierce—in this role.
John’s rough clothing and wilderness habitat testify to a prophetic tradition harking back to Elijah; he has shed all accouterments of civilization (as exemplified by Jerusalem) for his mission. His words are as simple and rough-hewn as his apparel—indeed, their in-your-face immediacy (“brood of vipers!”) is every bit as startling—and establish his character—as quickly as his physical description.
Theologians John Dominic Crossan (Jesus: A Revolutionary Biography) and Edward Schillebeeckx (Jesus: An Experiment in Christology) regard John as an apocalyptic ascetic, someone who, in warning those who would listen about the judgment to come, lives in utmost simplicity. His lifestyle is unusual, but his words are downright incendiary. One of those he baptizes, Jesus, also chooses to go into the desert as a purification ritual. John’s fate—death at the hands of an authority heavily beholden to Roman overlords—foreshadows Christ’s.
Listening to today’s Gospel reading at Mass, I couldn’t help but be struck by the physical description of St. John the Baptist. Name another New Testament figure described, in any kind of physical way—even Jesus—besides John. I don’t think you can. I know I can’t.
The first two verses I’ve quoted above aren’t extensive, but they evoke the “voice crying in the wilderness” with an economy that Ernest Hemingway himself would have envied. Yet, oddly enough, when I searched the Internet to find an image to match the description, none fit. The only one that came remotely close was the accompanying scene from Franco Zeffirelli’s 1970s miniseries Jesus of Nazareth, with Michael York in the role of The Baptist. Even this image pales next to my other memories of York—bearded and fierce—in this role.
John’s rough clothing and wilderness habitat testify to a prophetic tradition harking back to Elijah; he has shed all accouterments of civilization (as exemplified by Jerusalem) for his mission. His words are as simple and rough-hewn as his apparel—indeed, their in-your-face immediacy (“brood of vipers!”) is every bit as startling—and establish his character—as quickly as his physical description.
Theologians John Dominic Crossan (Jesus: A Revolutionary Biography) and Edward Schillebeeckx (Jesus: An Experiment in Christology) regard John as an apocalyptic ascetic, someone who, in warning those who would listen about the judgment to come, lives in utmost simplicity. His lifestyle is unusual, but his words are downright incendiary. One of those he baptizes, Jesus, also chooses to go into the desert as a purification ritual. John’s fate—death at the hands of an authority heavily beholden to Roman overlords—foreshadows Christ’s.
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