While this article may start with a focus on John the Baptist, it will quickly go beyond just the New Testament character.  I invite you to continue to read this without judgement and see if at the end of the blog you can identify as one of the ones.

John the Baptist is a well-known figure whose life has been well documented by the writings of the Christian scriptures.  The visage of a “wild-man” with a beard dripping with honey has been captured by many of the Renaissance painters as an allegory to the power of the outsider who brings the greatest change.  Likewise, John’s head ending up on Salome’s plate is a perfect metaphor for stories of love, treachery and deceit. But at a time when we are being called to raise dissent against the powers that threaten to destroy our democracy, John is more than just a figurehead, he is the example of the power of a singular voice.

When the Israelites encounter John, they don’t know what to make of this strange man, with his matted hair and his words that reference the teachings of the ancient prophets.  They are quick to question John, asking him if he’s the reincarnation of Elijah or whether he himself portends some greater development.  John’s answer is simple “I am one voice crying out in the wilderness”.

John has been given a mission.  One that requires him to be a lone voice.  He has been sent to teach of the redemptive power of baptism as a means of repentance and his foreign action becomes a center-point of most Christian denominations.  But he was the only one proclaiming this message and heralding the coming of Jesus.  He was truly one voice crying out trying to bring enlightenment, and many people who first heard him thought he was mad.

This idea of one voice is interesting to consider in the month of December which figures heavily in both the Jewish and Christian tradition.  I find it interesting that both Chanukah and Christmas involving counting and candles.  In the Jewish faith, the menorah starts with a single candle being lit, representing the first of eight days of the miracle of the oil in the temple lamp.  Each night, that single candle is added to and what started as a singular flame appearing in the darkness of the night, grows to become eight candles burning brightly, adding light together.

During Christmas, Christians mark the passage of time leading up to Christmas day through the celebration of advent.  Starting four weeks prior to Christmas, an advent wreath is brought into churches and homes.  Each Sunday, one candle is lit with a new candle being added over the next three Sundays.  Like the menorah, a lone flame is increased in numbers until the light thrown off at the end the celebration is large and festive and all four candles are burning together.

In many ways, we are asked to be like those first candles, and like John the Baptist.  Sometimes we find ourselves needing to be a lone voice and with that comes not only a sense of solitude but also a sense of vulnerability.  We ask ourselves can one voice, one light, make a difference.

I was recently at my club in the locker room getting ready to shower after a game of squash.  It was a fairly busy day and there was a bustle of guys changing either into their clean whites or out of their dirty ones.  Not surprisingly, there was a fair amount of good-natured banter.  Since most of the banter involves the world of finance or the trials of being a parent, neither of which pertains to nor interests me, I typically do not join in and often pay zero attention to the male bravado that is being flung around.

I don’t know why I was even listening to the conversation that morning, but it quickly turned from some self-congratulatory comments about “being in the right place at the right time” to talking about one of the locker room attendants.  The particular attendant being referred to was well-known to everyone in the locker room as be had been employed by the club for close to thirty years.  He had an easy way about him and always greeted everyone by name and with a smile.

This attendant had originally come from Guatemala and his cousin had helped him land the job at the club.  I didn’t know much about his circumstances, but I was pretty certain that he had not grown rich through his employment and was probably living with other family members who had emigrated to the city over the years.  His English wasn’t perfect but it was vastly better than my (and most of the members) Spanish.

The conversation about this attendant turned into a fairly insensitive commentary on his lack of English.  One member joked about how he only managed to catch every fifth word that was said to him by the attendant while the other remarked how strange it was that he hadn’t picked up more English over the years.  The underlying sentiment was that either the attendant was lazy or just plain stupid.

I couldn’t believe my ears.  This was a person who had done his job unfailingly for a long time, and was always quick to make a member or guest feel welcome.  Before I could decide if I should say something, the two men moved into the wet area of the locker room to take their showers.  I sat there, sad at what I had heard and upset that I had let the moment go by without speaking out.

But I was afraid to be a lone voice crying out in the wilderness.  Maybe I didn’t want to be derided about being overly “P-C” (although in my book, defending someone who is being personally attacked is not about political correctness but about common decency).  Perhaps I didn’t want to make a scene.  Or it could have been that I thought it wasn’t a big deal.  But the fact that I am still thinking about that incident two weeks later indicates that it was a big deal.

I could have defended a man whom I had known since joining the club if I had spoken up. I should have been a lone voice, and addressed the banter in a way that would have been constructive.  I would have hopefully brought some sense of enlightenment about how seemingly innocent comments can negatively impact those around you.

In these days, when many of our core beliefs are being challenged, I think many of us are tired from crying out.  We think that our voices carry no weight, particularly if those around us are crying out in the same way.  We think that we can’t change perceptions of those whose views differ from ours.  We think that there is nothing to do but wait.

Yet our voices do matter, and like the candles of Chanukah and Advent, a singular voice sparks another and yet another so that a single flame becomes a roaring fire.  Our job is to be that spark, be that light that gets passed.  We need to keep sharing the messages that are important to share, particularly when things seem to be darkest.  We need to protect those around us whose voices are dimmed or silenced altogether.  We need to make sure that those who follow us are allowed to speak out.

Christians rejoice at the birth of Christ and Jews commemorate the miracle in the temple.  Together we celebrate light that was brought into the world, a light that started with a single candle.  The redemptive power of light against darkness will always, in the end, win out.  Christ was that light and asks us, through the commandment to love our neighbors as ourselves, to spread that light.  We need to raise our voices whenever there is love to be heard.