Sermon: “Are You the One to Come?” Isaiah 35:1-10, Matthew 11:2-11, December 14, 2025

Scripture: Sermon: Isaiah 35:1-10, Matthew 11:2-11

Preacher: Rev. Ryan Slifka

Title:   “Are You the One to Come?”

It’s the third week in Advent. And here we are again with John the Baptist.

You’ll remember last week John was shouting from the banks of the Jordan river, calling people to repentance, to turn their lives around. He himself was on fire for the Lord, because the Messiah, the one sent by God to set the world right, one coming with a baptism of the Holy Spirit and fire. Last week John was full of passion, John was filled with zeal at the prospect of the coming Messiah.

This week, though, he’s behind bars. John was, in today’s parlance, “speaking truth to power.” He publicly criticized Herod, the puppet king of Judea, for marrying Herodia. Herodia, being his half niece. Gross to us, for sure, but a clear violation of the law of Moses to John. So now he finds himself in solitary. Death row, in fact, if you read forward to chapter 14. He’s not only in jail, he’s awaiting execution.

No doubt it’s changed John’s level of mobility. Can’t stride up and down the Jordan any more. But it’s also changed his attitude.

Remember that once upon a time John was all in, all jazzed up for Jesus. “This is the guy” John said. “Behold! The lamb of God who takes away the sins of the world! The king is coming into his kingdom! Repent! Turn your lives around and follow him! Before it’s too late!”

Now listen to him:

“When John heard in prison what the Messiah [, Jesus,] was doing,” it says. “When John heard what the Messiah was doing, he sent word by his disciples and said, ‘are you the one to come, or are we to wait for another?”

One moment he’s gathering followers to himself, one moment he’s courageously laying into government corruption. The next he’s sending notes via his disciples reading “you sure you’re the guy?” Just a little hint of doubt there.

Now, jail’s liable to cause anyone a decrease in enthusiasm at least. But for John it’s even more than that. He’s almost given up on the Jesus project entirely.

It’s because John was expecting so much more! He was expecting the overthrow of the Roman occupiers, and the permanent institution of God’s kingdom. Justice for the poor! Punishment for oppressors and collaborators! And–I mean–the prophecy from Isaiah said the guy would at least set the prisoners free!

Yet, here John is anything but free. “You sure you’re the guy?” No wonder he’s lost that initial spark.

Now, it’s funny because in the history of interpretation, from the ancient church through the Reformers, commentators have tended to make excuses, they have tried to explain away John’s apparent faltering faith. Like he’s just setting up a verbal golf ball three inches from the hole so Jesus can get the easy putt with his reply. Like, this makes John look bad! Saints aren’t supposed to have doubts! But he does. John’s not in great shape.2

The truth is, though, that John shows just the kind of effect dashed hopes have on us. For John, prison is more than just prison, which is bad enough. Prison represents the end. It’s the point of no return. Crushed dreams and unfulfilled expectations. No more future, no more hope. It’s the kind of thing that can crush even the most fervent believer.

Just like last week it’s kind of a weird story to have in Advent, the lead up to Christmas, isn’t it? Like, we don’t set up a rusty jail cell beside the manger in the nativity scene. Like the last thing we want is guy in an orange jumpsuit photobombing the sweet baby Jesus. Seems kind of depressing.

That may very well be. But it’s also just kind of… true, isn’t it? A few nights ago I was reading before bed with our eight year old daughter, and she asked me what my favourite story in the Bible was. I said the story of Jonah and the Big Fish. Then she asked what my least favourite was. And for the least favourite I said “oh, probably one of the really violent stories in the Old Testament.” Then I told her that some of us struggle with the violent stories in the Bible. To which she replied, “well that’s just life.”

Now, she didn’t come to this conclusion on her own. She was parroting what I’d said at some point back to her. But it reminded me that stuff like this—hopelessness, darkness, despair—even prison. It’s part of the lead up Christmas story because it’s part of our human experience. “That’s just life,” to coin a phrase.

It’s hard to believe in much when your back’s up against the wall. Even when you’re the bestest, most passionate, zealous man o’ God. Even if you’re a saint. We’ve got John in prison here because this kind of thing is such a big part of our human experience. Yours and mine.

What’s Christmas—what’s life like when you’re literally behind bars? Or when you’re metaphorically imprisoned? Addiction? Depression? Despair? When you’ve taken so many bad turns in life that you hit what seems to be a dead end? Or when you look out on the world and its many crises and you can’t imagine anything getting better? What’s it like when life has closed in on you so tight that you feel like there’s nowhere to go? No future? No hope?

Well, the answer is that you need something to grasp onto. To hold onto in the darkest hours of life. This is what Christmas gives us.

When John’s disciples finally track down Jesus, they deliver John’s rather deflated message. “You sure you’re the guy?”

“Go and tell John what you hear and see,” he says.

“Go tell John what you hear and see: the blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, and the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. Blessed is anyone who takes no offence at me.”

If you were paying attention to the scripture readings this morning, you’ll notice that Jesus is using the language of Isaiah 35:1-10. Isaiah declares the coming of God to be a moment of absolute healing, and freedom. Not only the freedom of human beings, but the healing of all creation, with deserts shooting up orchards, and a highway home.

“Basically,” Jesus says, “what Isaiah pointed towards, this is what’s happening here with me. On account of the feeding, the teaching, the healing, the grace, the forgiveness, the joy that you see in my life and my ministry—Christmas means this is God touching down on earth. Yes, I am the one to come. So have no fear. Rest easy. Even where you are.” Of course, as I’ve mentioned, John never actually makes it out of jail. In fact, in the end he’s executed for by Herod. He goes from inescapable prison to unavoidable death. But the message is the same.

The message Jesus sends to John is prison is his own life. Jesus says take me as proof, take me as evidence.  What you’ve seen in me. It’s good. It’s beautiful. And most of all it’s true.

We all need something to grasp onto. We all need something to hold onto in the darkest hours of life. What you can cling to, John, Who you can cling to, Jesus says, is me. You have no need to fear prison, or even death itself. Because with me, Jesus says. Because with me the future’s always open. And you’re never alone.

And this is why Christmas is such a big deal for us. We believe that on Christmas, when Jesus was born in a little town in Bethlehem, God, the Creator of the universe touched down in real time, in a human body. In the words of the late great Eugene Peterson, in Jesus God “moved into the neighbourhood.” In his life, his teachings, his healings, his compassion for the suffering, his love for the loveless, and his grace for sinners we not only see something miraculous, we are staring right into the heart of all things.

And the best part being that in him we are also getting a glimpse not only of the present, but of the future. In his death on the cross we see our own eternal forgiveness and redemption from sin, and in his resurrection from the dead we see our own resurrection. This is where all the “future coming” stuff comes in. Because we believe that God, in the end, will complete the healing work begun in Jesus.

In Jesus we see every chain broken, every prison cell emptied, every source of fear and injustice overthrown and every dead end paved over by the highway of heaven. The Christmas of creation. All things made new.

This is the source of our hope, and it’s the church’s great gift to the world. Like, really, we’re just the couple disciples Jesus sends to deliver the news to John. That again, in the words of Isaiah, those people walking in darkness may see a great light; that on those living in the land of deep darkness a light dawn. To share what we’ve seen, heard, and felt ourselves. To give away the great hope that has saved us.

Some of you may be familiar with the work of Dr. Elizabeth Kubler Ross. She wrote a hugely influential book on death and dying in the late 60’s, on the “stages of grief.” As part of her research, she interviewed numerous hospital patients who were close to dying. In one hospital she noticed a pattern for certain patients. She would go into one person’s room where the person was dying, and they’d be peaceful. Tranquil, even. Room after room. She noticed that these people had been visited by one particular hospital attendant. One day Dr. Ross ran into this attendant in the hall. "What are you doing with my patients?" she asked.

The hospital attendant thought she was in trouble. "I'm not doing anything with your patients," she replied, defensively.

"No, no," said Dr. Ross. "It's a good thing. After you go into their rooms, they seem at peace. What are you doing with my patients?"

"I just talk to them," said the attendant. "You know, I've had two babies of my own die on my lap. But God never abandoned me. I tell them that. I tell them that they aren't alone, that God is with them, and that they don't have to be afraid."

Now, my guess is that Island Health might frown on such things like this now, rather than celebrate them. This attendant—an ordinary person—she’d held two of her own children as they died. She’d hit that dead end of suffering and grief. And yet, even there, she knew that she wasn’t alone because she had a living hope in Jesus Christ. And, like John’s disciples trusted that the one who carried her through her darkest hour, would carry them through theirs.

Whether it’s literal prison, or figural prison, whether it’s staring down suffering or facing down death, may the same God who carried this nameless health care worker, the same God who carried John’s disciples to John, the same God who has carried the church through the ages carry you. Because whatever dead end in life we might face, we need something to grasp onto. To hold onto in the darkest hours. And that’s just what we’ve been given in Christmas.

The blind receive their sight, the lame walk, the lepers are cleansed, the deaf hear, and the dead are raised, and the poor have good news brought to them. The light that came into the world still shines. That no matter how solid the prison bars are, no matter how big the hole we’ve dug ourselves into, we’ve been given a future. No matter bleak life may be, we’ve been given a hope in the form of Jesus Christ.

So go and tell the world what you hear and see. Blessed is anyone who does not take offense at him.

In the name of the Father, and the Son, and the Holy Spirit. Amen.