The latest version of the national education curriculum… 

which was implemented in most states at the beginning of this year…

was particularly updated and strengthened in regards to issues of “respectful relationships” and “sexual consent”…

and was seen as an important way to help deal with violence against women…

and especially sexual violence.

Although mandatory…

the material was designed to be flexible…

so that teachers could tailor it to the needs of their classes.

The head of Catholic Education in Tasmania…

however…

has pontificated against it…

complaining that…

contrary to traditional Catholic morality— 

which proclaims that “sexual activity is only legitimately expressed…between husband and wife”—

here…

“Consent is proposed as the only standard we should use to judge whether a sexual act is right or wrong, legal or illegal”.

Rather, he protested… 

the “sexual and moral formation” of children ought to be the “exclusive right of parents”…

but the government has decided “that such highly sensitive, amoral and potentially harmful information must now be provided by teachers”.

He concluded, 

“Catholic Education Tasmania reserves the right to question and challenge any educational prescriptions that would impose such an anti-family and secular ideology on our schools, students and families”.

One can only hope that…

before he writes another newsletter…

he shows it to an actual adult;

or, perhaps, to one of the teachers for whom he’s incompetently and incoherently determining policy.

 

It’s a problem, isn’t it?

The perception of Christians in the wider community is that we are all intolerant…

bigoted…

misogynistic…

homophobic…

anti-intellectual reactionaries and kill-joys;

who live in our own little bubble…

and are out of touch with the real world.

And what comes across, so often, is that the Christian faith—

above anything else—

is concerned with dictating public morality…

and self-righteously passing judgment on those who don’t share its beliefs and values.

That, unfortunately, is the perception.

And, for a variety of reasons, it’s hard to get across an alternative view.

In many respects, the media is only interested in scandal…

and sensationalism.

And the articulation of extreme positions just feeds into that.

The articulation of a God of judgment and punishment—

a God to be feared—

will grab far more headlines than the articulation of a loving…

compassionate…

inclusive God.

So, of course, the media are always going to be more interested in the rabid rantings of the Australian Christian Lobby… 

or the Anglican Archbishop of Sydney…

or some strident, conservative Christian culture-warrior, like the late George Pell.

But that’s only part of the story.

In many ways, I don’t think that the rest of us—

those of us who try to consider a breadth of opinions and ideas…

and to offer some nuance;

and those of us who are not stuck in some primitive, pre-scientific, idealised past—

I don’t think that we have been very good at communicating an alternative perspective.

At times, we have been far too passive:

too afraid to speak up…

too afraid, perhaps, to cause offence…

too afraid to be misunderstood or identified with the loonies.

And, because we’re reticent to come across as rigid or dogmatic…

because we don’t presume to have all of the answers…

at times, I don’t think that we have always been clear about the alternative that we do offer;

or we have struggled to know how to articulate it clearly.

 

In a strange way, perhaps, something of that sort of struggle—

that sort of dynamic—

was going on in the first century or so…

with respect to the person of John the Baptist.

At this point, I’m not referring to the actual or historical John the Baptist.

I’m referring to the varying portraits of John the Baptist that we find in the Gospels.

And, believe me, those portraits are quite varied.

In the earliest Gospel—

the Gospel of Mark—

John is clearly a prophet.

He’s eccentric.

And while the author doesn’t purport to give us his actual words…

he claims that John’s preaching was about repentance and the forgiveness of sins.

The portrait in the Gospel of Matthew is somewhat similar:

John is a prophet, a preacher of repentance;

but, the author offers us a summary of John’s preaching:

“Repent, for the kingdom of heaven has drawn near”.

There is, for that author, a greater immediacy…

a greater sense of urgency.

John comes across as even more intense, focussed, and fervent.

Then, of course, we have the extended portrait in Luke’s Gospel.

For that author, John the Baptist is a fiery preacher…

castigating the crowds as a “brood of vipers”…

demanding that they share their clothes and food with the poor…

and not engage in any form of extortion or oppression.

For the Lukan author, John the Baptist is not just a fiery preacher and prophet…

he’s an activist…

displaying all of the self-righteous moralising… 

that can so easily go hand-in-hand with righteous indignation.

But, then we come to the portrait of John the Baptist in the Gospel of John—

which we heard read this morning.

Here we see a vastly different portrait:

no camel skins, wild honey, and locusts here;

no calls for repentance;

no rabid ranting or insults;

no self-righteous pontificating;

and no moralistic haranguing.

The portrait of John the Baptist in John’s Gospel is of a seemingly shy and retiring figure…

almost entirely inoffensive.

Indeed, he’s not a prophet, nor is he even a preacher.

All that the author says is that John “came as a witness to testify to the light”.

According to the author, John didn’t come to call for repentance…

or to harangue people about their morality.

He came to bear witness to the presence of God in their midst.

He came to point people to where they might encounter the living, loving God.

He simply came as a witness to point people to Jesus—

in whom and through whom…

they might encounter the life-giving love and compassion of God.

John was simply a witness…

a sign…

or even a sign-post.

But what the author suggests in this reading is that John’s witness—

John’s message—

could be ambiguous or misunderstood.

It was also prone to being ignored.

Because that’s precisely what the expression—

“the voice of one crying in the wilderness”—

means in modern Greek.

It’s equivalent to the English expression, “to shout against the wind”—

to engage in a futile pursuit, and pointlessly waste energy.

 

And yet, therein perhaps, lies our calling as well.

Of all the portraits of John the Baptist… 

perhaps this is the one that speaks most to us today.

As followers of Jesus Christ…

we’re not called to harangue people about morality…

or to impose our values on the wider community.

We’re called to be witnesses.

We’re called to be signs.

We’re called to point people to where they might encounter the life-giving love of God.

We’re called to point people to the peace, the love, and the welcoming embrace of God—

symbolised and made manifest in the person of Jesus.

And, like John’s John the Baptist, we may be misunderstood.

We may not be heard.

It may be frustrating, exasperating, or even seem futile.

But, in the end, that is our calling.