John the Baptist, screaming into the void, is a rather descriptive way of saying that nobody was listening to him, or you. Pastors, teachers, parents of teenagers, and the teenagers themselves, are apt to feel the meaning of this phrase.
John the Baptist is probably the ultimate Biblical example of someone who is screaming into the void. John was the one who brought the forewarning of Christ’s coming. His message, according to Matthew’s account, was “repent of your sins and turn to God, for the Kingdom of Heaven is near!”
The prophet Isaiah foretold of John saying. “He is a voice shouting in the wilderness. Prepare the way for the Lord’s coming! Clear the road for Him.”
Now that phrase “shouting in the wilderness,” has a very literal meaning. John the Baptist lived in the wilderness, clothed with coarse, camel hair and leather belt. (The camel hair must have brought chafing, with no Walgreens Drug Store available for rash repair medicine.)
He was eating wild honey and locust. “Crunch!” So, so sweet.
I am certain he was quite a terrific and terrifying sight to see and hear. It is like a scary preacher, so to speak. Hard to listen too, and not necessarily difficult to look at, unless he had remnants of locust on his suit coat sleeve.
There is a more subtle meaning as well to “screaming into the void” in our own personal wilderness.
Though many heard John’s words and repented in their hearts, his message set in motion the desire to kill him in Herod’s palace and in the temple.
John called the Pharisees a brood of snakes. Other translations have this as brood of vipers. Many have asked why John didn’t try to help, to convert; and reach out to the wayward Pharisees.
It is a simple answer. They would have never listened.
We see the same throughout history. Hearts are so hardened by one’s own self-righteous understanding, that it only listens, and never responds. They refuse to understand the big picture. Self-absorbed by their religious beliefs towards the law. Not getting the fact Jesus is coming to do away with the very law, that they are addicted to. They never really change.
In reality, the Pharisees are screaming into the void of their own self-indulgence and ignorance of who and why Jesus is coming. Blind guides who strain out a gnat and swallow a camel. Tasty.
Anyone’s heart that hardens into concrete, will lead into ruin. It never makes room for true hope in the delivering power of an Almighty God. It refuses, in a way, to acknowledge His Power, and allow the Holy Ghost to do surgery on the very wound inside their heart. This wound, itself, screams into the void of mankind. Screaming at the top of their left ventricle, “Save me, I am bleeding to death.” The aorta of their emotions is next.
Another real-life experience I had.
I was in the desert of addiction and loneliness. The wind-blown sand was in my teeth; what was left of them through the rotting effects of the Meth I was putting into my veins daily. Sometimes, up to four shots into the blood vessels daily, that were not yet collapsed. Every day, for 6 years. Never stopped. I did not want to stop. Though, I knew in my heart of hearts, I was self-destructing, I loved it. It was a band aid, on a bleeding wound spiritually and physically. This cancer-adventure I was on, was terminal. I was truly dying.
Screaming silently into the void. My void. Hoping someone out there in the world would hear me.
Mom had just died. The day of the funeral, I shot LSD into my veins, because I was temporarily out of the Meth. This was October 5, 1971.
I wore sunglasses on a cloudy day, in hopes of hiding my dilated eyes from the family who were present for the funeral, and grave-side services. I remember after the grave-side part was over, I went and hugged every family member, twice.
I guess, in my addicted, broken heart about my mom, I was silently screaming for help. Help from someone. Anyone. “Please recognize my pain?” Can’t you see what is happening to me? Are all of you blind to my pain? I am SCREAMING, and I need HELP?”
Nothing. No one responded. They acted like their pain was worse than mine. How so?
Well, the only one who could have been worse off than me was my mom’s sister. My Aunt. The one, many years later, while I was in prison, who prayed for my soul to be saved. God honored her prayer. Eventually. In fact, it was on Mother’s Day in 1977 that I was saved by Jesus Christ while in prison.
How appropriate was that? From a cemetery, high on LSD, on my Mother’s Day burial, to a real Mother’s Day salvation, resurrection for my soul. Does not get any better than that. Not just for me.
It was a miracle answer to prayer for my mother’s sister. She was Mom’s older sister. My aunt, and my mom, before Mom died, had lost a younger brother at his young age of 21. Uncle Harry. Deep, family sorrows lingered in this somewhat functional family.
My Aunt must have felt pain, like I could not understand, at fifteen years old, that day in the cemetery, when Mom was laid six feet underground. Her pain was as real to her as mine was. The only difference between her pain and mine was, I was medicated on drugs. She was medicated on sorrow.
Screaming is screaming, whether anyone can hear you or not. God hears. He is not deaf.
When Mom died, I collapsed in my soul. I shut off all tears. That valve was tightly turned. It never rusted.
I quit living, because I was dying on the inside of my heart. Have you ever felt that kind of pain? The kind that, when you cry, the tears have dried up? And then, you refuse to cry for anyone else because it is just TOO painful?
I was a walking dead, young man, at the age of eighteen when my Daddy was murdered. That was the day, November 16, 1974, that the music died.
Just like “Bye, Bye Miss American Pie, drove my Chevy to the levee, but the levee was dry. Them good ole’ boys drinking whiskey ‘n rye, singin’ this’ll be the day that I die. This’ll be the day that I die.” Go ahead, Don McLean, sing it again, make my day. I am dead already. What could it hurt?
I died in my soul the day Daddy died.
I never got the chance to say I was sorry. Sorry for being a drug addict. Sorry for letting you down Daddy. Sorry I was ever born to you and Momma.
Sorry. Sorry. Sorry.
Screaming into a void of pain and heartache, where the only one listening was me. I listened to myself. I screamed and screamed and listened to the screams. Then after listening to myself scream, I screamed with a Thirty-Eight Special handgun.
I screamed that night, silently, as I squeezed that trigger on my best friend. The gun screamed into the void of his real heart valve. The bullet blew away the Aorta valve. Miracle, he lived. But I was still dead inside.
Should have pulled the trigger on myself back then. It was three weeks after we buried my Daddy in 1974. I went off the deep end of that levee, with my Chevy. Well, it was not a Chevy. It was a Ford. A brand new 1974, Ford Pinto. Hoorah.
It was repossessed while I was in jail for attempted murder. I could not make the payments on time when I was free, much less now, while I am in jail.
My soul and my mind were possessed by the Devil Himself. Wish I could have had both of those repossessed as well. I stopped making payments on them when Mom died.
My best friend became my victim. He almost died but lived. I died and never lived again. Not until Jesus breathed new life into me and my soul on Mother’s Day in 1977 while in prison. The walls and bars inside my heart melted that glorious day.
What else do I need to convey to you today?
Stop screaming? Never. Keep vocalizing, writing, talking on the phone, or whatever way is somewhat comfortable for you to express your pain. A carrier pigeon works too. Tie the note tight, okay?
It is your pain. Some of it is not you're doing. Some is your doing. I call that, “self-inflicted wounds.” At some point, we must stop screaming and start praying. It is hard to pray when you are screaming at the top of your lungs. God hears you either way.
Matthew 3:11-12: “I indeed baptize you with water unto repentance, but He who is coming after me is mightier than I, whose sandals I am not worthy to carry. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire. His winnowing fan is in His hand, and He will thoroughly clean out His threshing floor, and gather His wheat into the barn; but He will burn up the chaff with unquenchable fire.”
This is a promise, a breath of fresh air, a word which brought untold hope to a people defeated and desolate. Brought to a people who were longing for a Messiah. These people were weary souls and worn down by the difficult daily life and oppressed by Rome. The religious people of this day were only focused on legalism in their religion. They forgot the spiritual side of it all.
John gives a rather stern reminder that even now, the ax of God’s judgment is poised, ready to sever, every tree that does not produce good fruit. They will be chopped down.
As you and I look to the screaming into our voids in this life, remember this last statement. The tree, our tree, must bear fruit. It is fruit that remains that Jesus was referring to in John 15:16.
Refer to the sharp ax. The ax is your neglect to fertilize the tree. The ax is the lack of nourishment you give the tree. The ax is the outside forces and trials that try and uproot the tree. You can’t control every element, every day. What you can do is keep the tree bearing fruit, as long as you can.
This will ensure your life continues on. The screaming stops to a degree. The ax is gone. No chopping away at your soul any longer. If your screams turn into prayer, you will see ripe fruit hanging on the tree of life. Your life.
Jesus loves good fruit. He is the Vine. We are the branches. Stay close to the river of Water with His Word. You shall be nourished in your screaming.
In what once was a void, is now, the Master’s Ear. He hears us. Not a day goes by, that Jesus does not hear you and me. He loves hearing. He is attentive to our cry. Even our screams. Cry out now. Do it with a loud voice of triumph with your tears. They too, will be caught by Him. He is not afraid to deal with you and me. Why should we be fearful any longer in our own screams? Screaming into the void is a lot better than living in it.
