Statue of St. John the Baptist at the Cathedral of St. Paul in St. Paul, Michael Pytleski, The Catholic Spirit

If you had asked me a year ago which biblical figure I’d be most interested in spending a few weeks with, St. John the Baptist would have been toward the bottom of my list. It’s not just that I don’t think I could stomach his preferred diet of locusts and honey, or that self-imposed isolation in a desert isn’t my idea of a good time. It’s that John’s apparent motives for his life and actions never struck me as compelling. In the words of one of my brothers, St. John often just seemed like “Jesus’ crazy cousin” — motivated, perhaps, by some kind of unrelatable, unappealing compulsion or mania. Not exactly my idea of someone I’d want to hang out with. 

Last year at about this time, however, I read something that completely changed my perspective on John. In “The Advent of Salvation,” the 20th–century theologian Jean Daniélou pulls back the camel hair, as it were, and reveals the heart of the Baptist. A heart motivated not by any sort of unreasonable impulse, but by the most attractive of factors: spiritual joy. 

Daniélou reminds us that John’s life doesn’t begin in the desert as a wild man. His life begins in his mother’s womb. It’s here, during Mary’s visitation of her cousin Elizabeth, that John first encounters Jesus, and leaps for joy to be in the presence of the Savior (Lk. 1:44). 

The rest of John’s life flows from this original encounter. “He was the man who gave up all other joys for the joy of hearing his Lord’s voice,” says Daniélou. “This is why he appears to us cut off from all created things, a man set apart for this one great joy … (h)e knew what true joy was, and so could know no other.” 

The entirety of John’s preparatory ministry — his self-imposed isolation, his radical asceticism, the message of repentance he proclaims on the banks of the Jordan — is explained by spiritual joy. John is set apart to listen to the voice of the Lord, to long for his next encounter with Jesus, and to prepare others to meet Him as well. This is why John is so often referred to as “the friend of the bridegroom,” the one who leads humanity to her long-awaited spouse, the fulfillment of all desires. In fact, this is his greatest joy: to lead others to Christ. 

Perhaps John wouldn’t be such a bad companion to have after all, especially in these Advent weeks leading up to our celebration of Christ’s coming at Christmas. 

For one, he can provide us with a compelling witness of a heart fully satisfied by the love of God. St. John Henry Newman once remarked that, when it comes to being inspired by the lives of the saints, we need not just “holy deeds” but “holy motives” — we need to see the contents of the heart. Understanding John through the lens of spiritual joy may help convince us that God is enough for us as well, allowing us to surrender more fully to Him and His designs. 

More to the point, John can help us wait for Jesus. His own practice of penance and silence in anticipation of meeting the Lord again is a perfect model for us to follow in the weeks remaining before Christmas. Like John’s time in the desert, the penitential spirit of Advent is not in contradiction to the joy of Christ’s coming. In fact, it’s something that only makes sense because of it! 

John had already encountered Jesus, and the joy from this encounter is what allowed him to leave all other joys behind, to prepare to receive Christ more fully. We’ve already encountered Christ, too. And while it might not require a penitential diet of locusts and honey, we can join John in preparing for Christmas by making acts of repentance (confession is a good start), growing in healthy detachment from earthly goods and creating more time for silent prayer.  

Not in spite of joy, but because of it. 

Liedl lives and writes in the Twin Cities.