Can you imagine this(?):
“People from the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem were going out to (John), and were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins.” (Mark 1:5)
This can’t be true. Not the whole countryside and not all the people of Jerusalem could have gone down to the river and in to the desert?! Somebody made this up. But why? And why would they all have gone out to this John, this wild thing, confessed their sins and believed him that One greater than him was coming?

Once, centuries ago, a promise was made that the house of king David in Judah would last forever and the throne of his kingdom be established forever. (2 Sam 7) A generation later David’s son, Solomon, built a house in Jerusalem for the name of God, the Lord of Israel. Never did Judah forget this promise, nor did Jerusalem ever give up the faith that she was the city of God, the place of God’s temple and presence with his people.

Now the whole Judean countryside and all of the people in Jerusalem went out to John to repent, to be baptized, forgiven. Something must be wrong in Judea, Jerusalem, with the people of God. John, the Baptizer, that wild thing clothed with camel’s hair and eating locusts and honey, brought them out, away from their homes, out into exile. All of them.

Exile. Not an unfamiliar term. Their ancestors had been in exile in Babylon, 5 centuries ago. Many of them stayed. Others came back. Because never ever, even in the deepest resignation was the promise to the house of Judah completely forgotten, nor did the hope die out that in Jerusalem God was present in a special way.

The shoot of new hope grew up out of the dead stump of Israel while in exile in Babylon. In the words of the prophet in Isaiah 40 the small shoot of hope became a mighty tree, powerful and irresistible:
“Comfort, o comfort my people, says your God. Speak tenderly to Jerusalem, and cry to her that she has served her term, that her penalty is paid, that she has received from the Lord’s hand double for all her sins. ... lift up your voice with strength, O Jerusalem, herald of good tidings, lift it up, do not fear; say to the cities of Judah, ‘Here is your God!’”

So the ancestors came back to Jerusalem and Judah, through the desert from exile, hoping for the glory of God to be revealed so all people would see it together. Having arrived in the land, they rebuilt their houses, the temple, the city walls.
But something happened. The ways of the people did not change. They did not live like they were forgiven. They did not live like they ever encountered the glory of God on the royal highway in the desert where every valley was lifted up and every mountain and hill was made low.

It seemed the people in Jerusalem and in Judah were still in exile. They did not have eyes to see that God had already come toward them and stretched out the saving hand. They did not remember they were forgiven. Therefore they never made it quite home. Not to the home anyway where God feeds his flock like a shepherd; where he gathers the lambs in his arms and gently leads the mother sheep.

Instead of the temple, the city and country becoming home for the people whom God had brought out of exile, they became again places of corruption like in the old times, places of injustice toward hired workers, widows and orphans. Offerings and tithes were withheld, other Gods worshiped, complaints brought to God for not fulfilling his promises.

There were however always some who stayed close to God and listened. Even over time they remembered that Israel had not really returned and never come home. Never heard the forgiveness extended, never accepted the guidance offered by the shepherd.

One of those who remembered was John. He was a new prophet for a new time.
Now, the whole Judean countryside and all the people of Jerusalem came to him. They were ready for a new time. In order to finally come home from exile, they took a step back into their former journey, went back to the desert for a baptism, repenting, getting ready for the One who would baptize with the Holy Spirit.

All those people there by the river invite us to go with them and also submit to the ritual of cleansing, bathing away sin, the old ways, the old fears, the wild things. They encourage us to toss in the waters pride, greed, and the ungodly belief that our sins are so bad they cannot be forgiven. - Sisters and brothers, for all sins, there is forgiveness. And that is indeed the beginning of the good news of Jesus Christ, the Son of God. Remember, there is forgiveness.

I do not suppose, dear congregation, that we all are also living in exile.
Although, it depends. John’s interpretation of his historic reality may not be too far amiss. Fear, pride, and greed are still great motivators for us individually and corporately, in our relationships, society, as a nation. We also in our introspection and self-examination hold on to the proud attitude that denies that our sins might be forgivable. In that sense, as individuals and together, as communities and nations, we are far from being home, from being who we were made to be. It is hard to cut lose from the old ways and motivations, and look up, lift our heads and remember that God is coming toward us, down the royal highway in the desert, inexplicably extending to us the gift of forgiveness and guidance, waiting for us to prepare ourselves and accept the gift.

Dear congregation, I want to close with a story, a story of wild things, of exile, homecoming and forgiveness. It is Maurice Sendak’s, Where The Wild Things Are:

It begins like this: “The night Max wore his wolf suit and made mischief of one kind (he is driving nails into the walls) and another (he is shown chasing the dog with a fork), his mother called him ‘WILD THING!’ and Max said ‘I’LL EAT YOU UP!’, so he went to bed without eating anything.”
There Max is in his room, time-out, with no supper. “That very night in Max’s room a forest grew and grew– and grew until his ceiling hung with vines and the walls became the world all around.” Then Max gets into a boat and sails away, away to where the wild things are.
“And when he came to the place where the wild things are they roared their terrible roars and gnashed their terrible teeth and rolled their terrible eyes and showed their terrible claws till Max said ‘BE STILL!’ And tamed them with the magic trick of staring into all their yellow eyes without blinking once and they were frightened and called him the most wild thing of all and made him king of all wild things.
‘And now,’ cried Max, ‘let the wild rumpus start!’ (After a long time of wild rumpus,) Max said, ‘Now stop!’ and sent the wild things off to bed without their supper.” And Max, the king of all wild things, was lonely all of sudden and realized how far away from home he was. The place where the wild things are had really become his exile. Now he wanted to be where someone loved him best of all.

At that moment from far away across the world a message of love and forgiveness was sent and beckoned to him in the form of the smell of something good to eat. So Max gave up being king of where the wild things are. He waved good-bye although they did not want to let him go, and he sailed back “into the night of his very own room where he found his supper waiting for him – and it was still hot.”

Love and forgiveness beckon to us, too, sister and brothers. Remember. Come home. God forgives. And: Supper is waiting, the table is almost set. Amen.