Sunday, December 14, 2025 – Advent 3
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
Matthew 11:2-11
When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples and said to him, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” Jesus answered them, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, those with a skin disease are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”
As they went away, Jesus began to speak to the crowds about John: “What did you go out into the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the wind? What, then, did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes? Look, those who wear soft robes are in royal palaces. What, then, did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet. This is the one about whom it is written,
‘See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you,
who will prepare your way before you.’
“Truly I tell you, among those born of women no one has arisen greater than John the Baptist, yet the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he.
In the early 1960s, an 18-year-old African American man named Robert King was sentenced to the Louisiana State Penitentiary at Angola for armed robbery. He was a troubled man and would be in and out of that same prison for most of the rest of the decade. In 1969, King was once again sentenced to Angola. And then in 1973, he was convicted of a prison murder. But the murder charge he consistently denied.
Of course, with a record like his, no one believed him. But in 2001, after 29 years in solitary confinement, the court did believe him and overturned his murder conviction. The state decided not to charge him again, and in a deal with the prosecutor, he was set free for time served.
Since 2001, King has lived successfully on the outside, but he has never been free of Angola. His sight is permanently impaired because of spending so much time in the dark. And he cannot accurately judge long distances because of spending so many years in such a tiny space.
The politics around law and order are complicated. And we all have our opinions. But politics is not really my point today.
Jesus told us to visit those in prison. But this is a commandment that we feel free to ignore. We mostly just lock them up and throw away the key. Out of sight, out of mind. But I think that Jesus told us to visit those in prison so that we wouldn’t do that, but instead would remember their humanity. Face-to-face interactions turn statistics into people. And relationships are the primary means of grace in this world.
And it all makes me wonder: who are these people in addition to the crimes they committed? And what about those convicted who are actually innocent? And what about political prisoners, people like John the Baptist?
John the Baptist – who had once lived in the wilderness, under the sun and off the land, free to roam wherever his heart desired. John the Baptist, that unconventional prophet who mesmerized crowds of up to 50,000 people at a time, scholars say.
But now he was all alone, confined in a dark, dank prison. In ancient Palestine, prisons were often just holes in the ground, underground dungeons, full of disease and starvation and despair.
King Herod had John arrested because John was preaching that a new King was coming. And that kind of free speech made the Romans very nervous. And nervous Romans made King Herod nervous. And so, he did what all political bullies do. He used his power to silence the opposition. And he threw John in jail.
So, there John was, all alone, except for his swirling doubts and fears. There John was, with all the time in the world to ponder his life and his message. What had it all been about? And what about his cousin, Jesus?
You see, by this point, Jesus really perplexed John because Jesus didn’t turn out to be the rabble-rousing Messiah that John, and everybody else, expected. Instead of preaching like John did about the proverbial ax at the root of the tree, and threshing floors, and unquenchable fires of judgment, Jesus healed the sick and accepted the outcast and fed the hungry and visited the prisoner.
So, it was all very confusing. And John needed to know: was he in that dungeon awaiting execution for nothing?
Crucibles make everything urgent. And suddenly we need to know what we do not know. And suddenly we long for reassurance and comfort. And we want it right now. And so, John sent one of his disciples to ask Jesus: “Are you the one, or are we to wait for another?”
And Jesus answered: “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.”
In this answer, Jesus used a patchwork of verses from the book of Isaiah regarding what the Messiah would do in the world. It was an answer to John’s question, but it was a rather cryptic one. And in the crucible, we don’t want poetry. We want straight talk, a definitive “yes” or “no.”
And yet, it has been my experience that any significant spiritual growth that I have ever had did not come to me in a simple yes or no answer. Instead, it comes in silence and struggle of a crucible. The 16th century Spanish mystic, St. John of the Cross, famously called this “the dark night of the soul.”
We have all known them.
For John the pressing question was “Are you the Messiah?” But for us it might be “Does God really exist?” “Does God answer prayer?” “Why am I suffering?” “Why does evil so often seem to win?” “Is death the end?”
And we want a “yes” or “no” answer. Our desire for certainty is ultimately about control. Because the world so often seems out of control. But faith is not about certainty. Faith is about trust in uncertain times.
Jesus’s answer to John’s question was just enough to entice John to trust what he could not prove. It was enough to give John hope, at least on that day. And so, he took the next step.
I was about 28 when I experienced my first real dark night of the soul. And it happened while I was busy being a young pastor. All I really wanted from God in that moment was a simple answer and some relief from my nagging questions. But instead, God was silent. Even so, I did not give up right away. I persisted. But after a year or so of trying to believe what I no longer could, I was angry and at the very end of my rope. And so it was that one night, I did my best to send God away forever. Oh, the things I said! I railed against that God. And then I rolled over and went to sleep, exhausted.
When I woke up the next morning, I was surprised to be alive. But I was alive and so I got up, and took the next step, and got on with my life. I got up and kept moving. Now nothing spectacular happened when I did. But over time, with each step, as my trust grew, my faith was reborn in marvelous new ways. And I’m still here trusting in the Lord.
Faith is not certainty. Faith is a journey of trust. And it is, in part, about disillusionment – that is the loss of those illusions we have mistaken for the truth. Faith is the discovery, through the hardships of life and from the prison cells of our days, that we are not abandoned. For we have a Savior who has promised never to leave us; never to forsake us.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
Sunday, December 14, 2025 – Advent 3
First Congregational Church of Cheshire
© the Rev. Dr. James Campbell
Matthew 11:2-11
When John heard in prison what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples and said to him, “Are you the one who is to come, or are we to wait for another?” Jesus answered them, “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, those with a skin disease are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. And blessed is anyone who takes no offense at me.”
As they went away, Jesus began to speak to the crowds about John: “What did you go out into the wilderness to look at? A reed shaken by the wind? What, then, did you go out to see? Someone dressed in soft robes? Look, those who wear soft robes are in royal palaces. What, then, did you go out to see? A prophet? Yes, I tell you, and more than a prophet. This is the one about whom it is written,
‘See, I am sending my messenger ahead of you,
who will prepare your way before you.’
“Truly I tell you, among those born of women no one has arisen greater than John the Baptist, yet the least in the kingdom of heaven is greater than he.
In the early 1960s, an 18-year-old African American man named Robert King was sentenced to the Louisiana State Penitentiary at Angola for armed robbery. He was a troubled man and would be in and out of that same prison for most of the rest of the decade. In 1969, King was once again sentenced to Angola. And then in 1973, he was convicted of a prison murder. But the murder charge he consistently denied.
Of course, with a record like his, no one believed him. But in 2001, after 29 years in solitary confinement, the court did believe him and overturned his murder conviction. The state decided not to charge him again, and in a deal with the prosecutor, he was set free for time served.
Since 2001, King has lived successfully on the outside, but he has never been free of Angola. His sight is permanently impaired because of spending so much time in the dark. And he cannot accurately judge long distances because of spending so many years in such a tiny space.
The politics around law and order are complicated. And we all have our opinions. But politics is not really my point today.
Jesus told us to visit those in prison. But this is a commandment that we feel free to ignore. We mostly just lock them up and throw away the key. Out of sight, out of mind. But I think that Jesus told us to visit those in prison so that we wouldn’t do that, but instead would remember their humanity. Face-to-face interactions turn statistics into people. And relationships are the primary means of grace in this world.
And it all makes me wonder: who are these people in addition to the crimes they committed? And what about those convicted who are actually innocent? And what about political prisoners, people like John the Baptist?
John the Baptist – who had once lived in the wilderness, under the sun and off the land, free to roam wherever his heart desired. John the Baptist, that unconventional prophet who mesmerized crowds of up to 50,000 people at a time, scholars say.
But now he was all alone, confined in a dark, dank prison. In ancient Palestine, prisons were often just holes in the ground, underground dungeons, full of disease and starvation and despair.
King Herod had John arrested because John was preaching that a new King was coming. And that kind of free speech made the Romans very nervous. And nervous Romans made King Herod nervous. And so, he did what all political bullies do. He used his power to silence the opposition. And he threw John in jail.
So, there John was, all alone, except for his swirling doubts and fears. There John was, with all the time in the world to ponder his life and his message. What had it all been about? And what about his cousin, Jesus?
You see, by this point, Jesus really perplexed John because Jesus didn’t turn out to be the rabble-rousing Messiah that John, and everybody else, expected. Instead of preaching like John did about the proverbial ax at the root of the tree, and threshing floors, and unquenchable fires of judgment, Jesus healed the sick and accepted the outcast and fed the hungry and visited the prisoner.
So, it was all very confusing. And John needed to know: was he in that dungeon awaiting execution for nothing?
Crucibles make everything urgent. And suddenly we need to know what we do not know. And suddenly we long for reassurance and comfort. And we want it right now. And so, John sent one of his disciples to ask Jesus: “Are you the one, or are we to wait for another?”
And Jesus answered: “Go and tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them.”
In this answer, Jesus used a patchwork of verses from the book of Isaiah regarding what the Messiah would do in the world. It was an answer to John’s question, but it was a rather cryptic one. And in the crucible, we don’t want poetry. We want straight talk, a definitive “yes” or “no.”
And yet, it has been my experience that any significant spiritual growth that I have ever had did not come to me in a simple yes or no answer. Instead, it comes in silence and struggle of a crucible. The 16th century Spanish mystic, St. John of the Cross, famously called this “the dark night of the soul.”
We have all known them.
For John the pressing question was “Are you the Messiah?” But for us it might be “Does God really exist?” “Does God answer prayer?” “Why am I suffering?” “Why does evil so often seem to win?” “Is death the end?”
And we want a “yes” or “no” answer. Our desire for certainty is ultimately about control. Because the world so often seems out of control. But faith is not about certainty. Faith is about trust in uncertain times.
Jesus’s answer to John’s question was just enough to entice John to trust what he could not prove. It was enough to give John hope, at least on that day. And so, he took the next step.
I was about 28 when I experienced my first real dark night of the soul. And it happened while I was busy being a young pastor. All I really wanted from God in that moment was a simple answer and some relief from my nagging questions. But instead, God was silent. Even so, I did not give up right away. I persisted. But after a year or so of trying to believe what I no longer could, I was angry and at the very end of my rope. And so it was that one night, I did my best to send God away forever. Oh, the things I said! I railed against that God. And then I rolled over and went to sleep, exhausted.
When I woke up the next morning, I was surprised to be alive. But I was alive and so I got up, and took the next step, and got on with my life. I got up and kept moving. Now nothing spectacular happened when I did. But over time, with each step, as my trust grew, my faith was reborn in marvelous new ways. And I’m still here trusting in the Lord.
Faith is not certainty. Faith is a journey of trust. And it is, in part, about disillusionment – that is the loss of those illusions we have mistaken for the truth. Faith is the discovery, through the hardships of life and from the prison cells of our days, that we are not abandoned. For we have a Savior who has promised never to leave us; never to forsake us.
Thanks be to God. Amen.
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