Show Don't Tell: John 1:6-8

In a small, sun-drenched village, there once lived a man named John—a figure as rugged as the landscape he roamed. With his wild hair and camel-hair cloak, he was a sight to behold, a living testament to a time when prophets walked the earth. People flocked to him, drawn by the fire in his eyes and the urgency in his voice. They whispered among themselves: “Could this be the Messiah we’ve been waiting for, the one who will restore our hopes and dreams?”

But John, standing knee-deep in the murky waters of the Jordan River, had a different message. As he baptized the weary and the uncertain, he would lift his hand, calling attention to something far greater than himself. “I am not the light!” he would exclaim, his voice echoing against the banks. “I am simply a voice crying out in the wilderness, preparing the way for the One who comes after me.”

Imagine the scene: the sun glimmers off the water, illuminating the faces of those seeking truth. John, with each splash of water, was not merely performing a ritual; he was pointing like a signpost to the brilliance of a coming dawn. “He is stronger, more powerful than I,” he would proclaim, gesturing toward the horizon. “I am not worthy to untie His sandals!”

In that moment, John wasn’t just a man with a mission; he was a beacon, a guide in the dark, reminding everyone that while he could lead them to the water, only Jesus could quench their deepest thirst. His role was clear: to redirect their gaze from the shadow to the light, from the signpost to the destination, from the voice to the Word. In the landscape of faith, John the Baptist was not the end, but the beginning of something magnificent.