John the Baptist this week. What a guy. I envision him as the original paleo, the primal man. Sandals perfect for barefoot running made out of salvaged leather. Camel road-kill fashioned into a garment, like the punks who used to work for me in the restaurant and would patch their second hand jeans with pelts, small rodent carcasses they had found and tanned.
Roasted bug diet for a perfect high-protein, low environmental impact snack. Hair in dreadlocks. Wild and charismatic.
I’m John the Baptist – I say what I want.
Our pastor today pointed out that he was born into a top-tier family, temple elite. He would likely have had the best education available. Quite the traditional upbringing. When did he go off the rails of societal convention and begin wandering around the desert, yelling at the organizers of religion, the rule makers?
My cousin Johnny, says Jesus, smiling. We used to roll around on the floor together like puppies. Would you look at us now. And both about to be killed for the cause.
Holy spirit and fire, says John, clapping Jesus on the back. Holy spirit and fire.
Post 7 of Waiting: An Advent Series.