*Taken from my journal on 01/25/09 after visiting the place where John the Baptist was born. The stone ceiling that originally covered the home of Elizabeth and Zacharias is still visible, just as it would have been 2,000 years ago.*
The birth of a voice.
Under a bare stone ceiling, a baby cries. The first of many times that this voice will cry out in dry places. I wonder if the stone recognized the call, if the wilderness anticipated the coming glory…
He was no mere echo. His voice was thunder.
After four hundred years of prophetic silence, a voice.
A voice asking no preparation for itself. A voice that demanded no special hospitality.
A messenger of humble humanity, a voice of one demand:
Prepare the way of the Lord.
He was not the speaker, just the voice. And like a trumpet at the mouth of a master, through his availability, a clarion call went forth.
It echoes still.
God is coming to you, humanity. But prepare the way for Him. Repent, be baptized.
A call to consecration for the coming of the Lord.
A voice was born in this very place. The voice of one crying… began here.
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