The Testimony of John the Baptist (John 1:19-28) | 01.11.26

This is our second week in John’s gospel and today we see John the Baptist come on the scene. This is a different John than the John writing the gospel. John the Baptist was the final and greatest prophet in the Old Testament era. He was sent by God to prepare the way for Jesus. He was the son of Zechariah and Elizabeth and lived a life of repentance and simplicity. His main message was, “Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.” And he was also Jesus’ cousin. 

John the Baptist is a remarkable person. He became incredibly influential and the religious and secular powers at the time did not like this. Personally, there is something really compelling and intriguing about him. Rarely do you see humility and courage go hand in hand like you see in John the Baptist. He had the humility to not think too much about himself and the courage to stand in the face of any human power or authority. He doesn’t seem to waver, he doesn’t seem to fear, and he doesn’t seem to have any desire to assert his own authority over anyone. What does he have that we lack? What does he have that we could learn from? 

It shouldn’t be lost on us that we live in a culture with very few shared stories about purpose, morality, or what a good life really is. Few common cultural narratives about what it means to be created, to be a neighbor or a citizen or a child. Why faithfulness, honor, family, and worship matter. What belonging, virtue, and communal responsibility look like. Most cultures across human history have these. Even if I might disagree with them in certain areas, they have them and we don’t. 

And as a result, meaning in our culture is increasingly chosen, curated, constructed, and revised. The cultural narratives we do have tell us to decide who we are, determine our own values, define our own success, and validate our own worth. Outside of very intentional communities, you can’t get around these cultural narratives. And when meaning collapses at the communal level, it gets pushed down to the individual. We are now left on our own asking the most important questions: Who am I really? Am I enough? Am I living the right life? And that is emotionally and psychologically exhausting!!

So why would we be surprised that anxiety, depression, and isolation are historically high even though we talk about it and have more resources to help than ever before? This shows us something very important. The problem isn’t that we are necessarily weak, it’s that our culture asks people to carry more identity weight than we were designed to bear. 

This makes John the Baptist stand out all the more to me. He doesn’t seem to live under any of that pressure. He is clear. He is calm. He is humble. He is courageous. Why is that? Because he has a proper view of himself and a proper view of Christ. 

1. John has a proper view of himself vv. 19-28

Our culture is not only telling us that we need to bear the weight of figuring out our own identities, but also that we need to be impressive, indispensable, and necessary. In leadership, parenting, and even ministry, there is this pressure that we need to hold everything together or it will fall apart. And this can swing us toward one of two unhealthy views of ourselves: inflated identity or deflated identity. But John does neither. 

First, John refuses an inflated identity. And inflated identity is what we call a superiority complex. This is a psychological pattern where a person at least projects an exaggerated sense of their own importance, ability, or worth and they do this to protect themselves from deeper feelings of insecurity or inadequacy. Underneath it all, there is usually a fear of failure, shame, or wounds. 

But you don’t see this with John. The Jews began to wonder who this man was. Was he the Christ? Or at least did he think he was? So, they sent priests and Levites from Jerusalem to ask him who he was. And he said, “I am not the Christ.” Then they asked him if he was Elijah. This question comes from Malachi 4:5 Behold, I will send you Elijah the prophet before the great and awesome day of the Lord. And from the outside, John fits this profile. The wilderness ministry, the prophetic boldness, the call to repentance, confrontations with religious leaders, and his ascetic lifestyle. Now, later in the gospels we see that John did come in the spirit and power of Elijah. That is, he does serve in this function, but he is not literally Elijah or Elijah reincarnated. He’s denying the identity of Elijah. John refuses even a biblically plausible exaggeration about himself. 

Then, the priests ask are you the prophet? This comes from Deuteronomy 18:15, The LORD your God will raise up for a prophet like me from among you. The Jews expected a future, Moses-like prophet who was distinct from Elijah. Someone who would speak God’s word with unmatched authority. Someone who would stand alongside or even precede the Messiah. What the priests are really asking is, “Are you the final, authoritative spokesman? Another Moses sent to deliver Israel?” And John the Baptist rightly says no because that role belongs to Jesus alone. 

John is offered a heroic identity as Elijah, an authoritative identity as the prophet, and a messianic identity as the Christ and he refuses all three. How many people in human history who have been offered so much inflated identity said no? Not many. People who have used religion to support an inflated identity look confident, but what we see is actually anxiety wearing religious clothing. It often comes from a fear of irrelevance, a fear of losing control, or a fear of being unnecessary. All things our culture tells us we need to fear. John knows he matters, but he also knows he is not ultimate. 

And it’s important because receiving the wrong identity, even with biblical foundations, distorts your soul. It blocks repentance and growth. It isolates you instead of connecting you. It causes us to say, like the Pharisee in Luke 18, “Thank you that I am not like other people…” What we see in John is spiritual and emotional health that puts the weight of identity where it belongs. 

But, John also refuses a deflated identity. A deflated identity is what we call an inferiority complex. It’s motivated by all the same underlying lies as the superiority complex, but it results in a belief that you are less than others. You have less value than others. And it’s not hard to land here when our culture is telling us that we need to be extraordinary or we will be easily forgotten. Or maybe you had a parent that told you that you don’t matter because you haven’t met their unrealistic or distorted standards. 

John doesn’t do this. John knows that he does matter. That he does have value. When they ask who he is, John the Baptist answers by saying, “I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness.” John names his role plainly. He does not apologize for it and there is no hint of self-loathing. He doesn’t deny his important role, he just refuses to overstate it. And this kind of rare balance is freeing for our soul. 

There is a subtle, but real danger in the Christian life of confusing humility with disappearance. Some believers think too poorly of themselves as though shrinking back, staying silent, or minimizing their presence are signs of humility. But, thinking less of who you are does not actually lead to humility, it often leads to fear, passivity, and isolation. When Christians consistently downplay their God-given role, they do not become more Christ-like, they become less available. And the result is not peace, but anxiety. Not love, but withdrawal. A diminished view of oneself does not free us from self-preoccupation. It simply turns it inward where it quietly erodes our courage, connection, and joy. 

And to highlight the tension here, John the Apostle clarifies that these priests have been sent by the Pharisees. He’s revealing the real authority behind the questions. The Pharisees were the theological gatekeepers of Israel. So, what John the Baptist is facing isn’t curiosity, it’s official scrutiny. They are interrogating John asking him what authority he has to do all this. And instead of appealing to his credentials, accepting an inflated identity, or softening his message, he deflects by saying, “I am the voice of the one crying out in the wilderness…” And in so doing, he foreshadows the coming conflict between Jesus and the religious leaders. 

This is the beautiful intersection between courage and humility. John doesn’t inflate who he is and he doesn’t deflate it. So, how can he do this? He has a proper view of himself because he has a proper view of Jesus. 

2. John has a proper view of Jesus vv. 26-29

Having a proper view of Jesus isn’t just theological clarity that helps you check the right boxes, it is where true emotional and psychological healing happens. And John the Baptist shows us two things he understands about Jesus. First, he understands that Christ is already present. Verse 26: Among you stands one you do not know. It’s ironic that as John is being asked these questions, the real Messiah is actually there. Anxiety lives in imagined futures, depression lives in interpreted pasts, but John is anchoring himself in the present reality that Jesus is with him. 

Some of my fondest memories are with my kids at the pool when they were little. I remember with all of them when they were learning to swim, it was scary. I remember when I was kid how terrifying it was. And my kids would look back constantly just to make sure Angela or I were there. The water didn’t all of a sudden get shallow when they saw us. The kids didn’t all of a sudden become expert swimmers when they saw us. But, seeing our familiar faces calmed them. And they swam. The presence of a parent didn’t remove the challenge, but it made them feel that all was going to be ok. It gave them permission to not be overwhelmed by the challenge. 

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In the same way, when Christ is truly present with us, not just as an idea or a belief, but as a living reality, it begins to steady our sense of self. Anxiety tries to pull us into imagined futures asking us to brace for what might happen. Depression traps us in interpreted pasts telling us who we are based on what has already gone wrong. But the presence of Christ anchors us in the now. If He is with you, then your life is not adrift and your identity isn’t waiting to be determined by what you do next. We are not alone to allow fear to inflate our identity or shame to diminish it. We are grounded in the reality that God is already present and engaged no matter what. That’s why John can say, “Among you stands one you do not know.” His calm doesn’t come from self-confidence, but from Christ-awareness.

Secondly, we see that John knows that Christ is infinitely greater than he is. John says, “I baptize with water, but among you stands one you do not know, ²⁷ even ^whe who comes after me, the strap of whose sandal I am not worthy to untie.” In the Jewish world, to untie someone’s sandals was generally reserved for the lowest class. The streets were dirty and often scattered with animal poop and someone would untie the dirty sandals before washing their feet.

John isn’t lowering his view of himself, he’s speaking in terms of proportion. It’s not that we are less, it’s that Jesus is so much more. If we don’t see how infinitely greater Jesus is…if we reduce Him to some good luck charm or option of last resort, that redirects so many pressures back to ourselves. Imagine you’re at a nice dinner and you spill a cup of water on the table. It can feel like a disaster. The entire surface of the table and maybe some peoples’ clothes are covered. There is nowhere else for the water to go. But, if you drop that same cup into the ocean, it just disappears. The problem didn’t change, the context did. When we are the biggest thing in our lives, every failure floods the surface. But, when Christ is infinitely greater than us, our failures are still real, but they are absorbed into something so much larger. 

C. S. Lewis once said, “Humility is not thinking less of yourself, but thinking about yourself less.” And that’s exactly what we see in John the Baptist. His failures don’t feel final and his role doesn’t feel crushing, because he is no longer the biggest thing in the room. Christ is. And once Christ is large enough, the self no longer has to absorb everything. He gives us confidence to do what we can and trust that Jesus is close and great. 

I’m going to stay with my swimming pool theme here for a moment. Years ago, I was sitting with my brother in law at the pool and one of my very young boys came up to me to take him to the bathroom. In a weak parenting moment, I said, “Dude, just go in the pool.” About a minute later, my brother in law was laughing uncontrollably and pointed to the side of the pool where that boy was standing with his swimsuit at his ankles…peeing in the pool. The lifeguard asked him what he was doing and his response was, “My dad told me to pee in the pool.” Now, not what I had intended, but the kid wasn’t phased. His posture was like, “My dad is pretty much the most important person here. I’m doing my best and you can take it up with him.” And he just went back to swimming. 

My presence and posture gave him the confidence to do his best and to both make mistakes and misinterpret. He did the best he could and trusted me with the rest. And whatever comfort my son felt because I was there and that I was, in some sense in his eyes, greater, that is the palest hint of the gap between us and Jesus. Jesus is never going to take shortcuts with us and He is always going to be there for us when we mess up. And when we understand and feel this, we experience humility instead of self-loathing and joy in the greatness of Jesus. 

And John wants that gap to grow. In chapter 3 verse 30 John the Baptist says, He must increase, but I must decrease. He’s not lowering his view of himself, but wanting to see it more rightly in proportion. As our understanding of Jesus grows, we don’t bear the load of identity anymore. So why is a great, grand Christ, better for our identity? Because our identity is in Jesus, so the greater He is, the more we understand who we are. And John knew this. In verse 29, he said, “Behold, ^xthe Lamb of God, who ^ytakes away the sin ^zof the world! 

I don’t have time to work through this, but the Lamb of God is not just something quippy John came up with. It’s all over the Old Testament and it points to our sin being washed clean. When John calls Jesus the Lamb of God, he is telling us that Christ has come to absorb what would otherwise destroy us completely: our sin. And He does this by taking on the penalty for our sin on the cross and giving us His perfect moral record. So, if what is true of Jesus in that sense is also true of us, we should want to know and lavish in that as much as possible. We no longer have to carry the unbearable weight of being our own savior, we get to rest in the finished work of our True Savior. Anxiety and despair shrink when Christ grows, not because life gets easier, but because we are no longer alone at the center.

What are the storms that keep you up at night? The call of this passage isn’t to withdraw, but to draw near. Jesus is present, and He is great. John could have cowered before the religious leaders… or he could have performed for them. He could have built a brand or guarded an image. But he doesn’t. He lives free…because he knows who Jesus is.

So how do we resist the self-preoccupation that makes us fragile and guarded and embrace the Christ-preoccupation that makes us humble and courageous, like John the Baptist?

The answer is wrapped up in one small word: abide.

To abide is to remain…to live in ongoing dependence, drawing life from Christ rather than striving to manufacture it yourself. And we can do that because Jesus is here. He is present with us. And He is infinitely greater than we are.

So we can sing our last song today, not as performers, but as people who are resting:
“You’re the way the truth and the life. You’re the well that never runs dry. I’m the branch and You are the vine. Draw me close and teach me to abide.

Be my strength, my song in the night. Be my all, my treasure, my prize. I am Yours, forever You're mine. Draw me close and teach me to abide.”

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