John the Baptist’s Food and Clothes - Glenn Conjurske
Abstract of a Sermon Preached on October 29, 2000
Introduction: The Importance of What the Bible Chooses to Tell Us
I have told you often before that we ought to observe not only what the Bible says, but what it says it about. If that isn’t clear, what I mean is this: we ought to take particular note of which things the Bible relates, and not only of what it says about them. In the times of which the Bible speaks, there were many millions of things which happened, of which the Bible says not a word. It selects a very few things to record and passes by the rest, and I say it ought to be a particular study of ours which things the Bible chooses to tell us, of the millions of things which it could have recorded, for there is a purpose in it. In the lives of Bible characters, there are many thousands of things which go unnoticed, while we are told a few things only, and some of them seemingly insignificant. Yet we surely believe there is a purpose.
John the Baptist: A Simple Life of Self-Denial
Such is the case with John the Baptist. We know very little about him. Though he was the greatest of men, the Bible gives us only the broadest general description of his life—he “was in the deserts till the day of his shewing unto Israel”—and we know almost nothing of the details, except only this: we know what he ate and what he wore. “And the same John had his raiment of camel’s hair, and a leathern girdle about his loins; and his meat was locusts and wild honey.”
I say, there is a reason why we are told this. We know a great deal about Moses, Samuel, David, and Paul, but little or nothing of what they wore, or what they ate. With John the Baptist, it is just the reverse. Though we know very little else, beyond a general description and a few incidents of his ministry, we are told what he wore and what he ate, and surely the Spirit of God means we should learn something from it. Here is the wardrobe, here is the diet, of a man filled with the Holy Ghost from his mother’s womb, and has this nothing to teach us? Filled with God, formed by God, led of God, taught of God, walking with God, caring only to please God, and the result of all this is plain, coarse food, and plain, coarse clothing.
The Simplicity of John’s Life and the Lack of Worldly Comfort
John knew nothing of softness or of luxury. He “was in the deserts,” alone with his God, where he remained uncorrupted by the popular religion of the times, and unspoiled by society. He neither pampered the flesh nor pandered to the world. He knew only God, and cared only to please God. If he had cared to please the world, he would have worn different clothes. If he had cared to please the flesh, he would have eaten different food.
John was doubtless early an orphan, since his parents were well stricken in years ere he was born. He was doubtless poor, dwelling in the deserts, and having slight means with which to obtain those things to which the city folks are accustomed, but he evidently had as little desire as means. His wardrobe and his diet were utilitarian. Camel’s hair, a leather girdle, locusts, and wild honey—such things as he could obtain by his own exertions while he remained “in the deserts.” And with such things as fell to his lot, he was doubtless content. He no doubt might have obtained softer clothes and tastier food, had he set his heart upon doing so. But he had something better to do. He sought first the kingdom of God. He walked with God. He learned of God. What he wore and what he ate were matters of small concern. And all this marks him as a man worthy to be a prophet of God.
Contrast with Modern Life: Self-Indulgence and Worldliness
Ah! We have known men of another sort, men who demonstrate by their hankering for the good things of the world and the flesh that they are not worthy to be prophets of God. “I’m tired of driving old jalopies. I’m tired of living in substandard housing. I’m tired of wearing hand-me-downs. I’m tired of living on hamburger.” All this and much more also might John the Baptist have said, but he was a man of another spirit. Substandard housing! We know not but that John’s only roof was the open sky. He was “in the deserts,” plural, in the desert places. He had “no certain dwelling place.” He may have had a tent, but surely not a house. Hamburger! This would have been luxury twice told for John. Israel in the desert loathed angels‘ food. John the Baptist in the desert lived on locusts from one year to another, and was content. The variety which we enjoy along with our hamburger would have been luxury ten times over to John.
But to tell you the plain truth, modern wealth and luxury have made the human race so soft and self-indulgent that the diet of John the Baptist would be worse than death to most of us, even if we could substitute something more emotionally inviting for the locusts. We are all immersed in such a profusion of sauces and spices and seasonings and jams and jellies and candies and cakes and creams and custards and cheeses and dressings and pickles and preserves and crackers and chips and dips, that the diet of John the Baptist must appear to be a perfect death. This endless array of dainties and delicacies has become necessity in our eyes—to say nothing of the almost infinite variety of meats and vegetables and fruits and grains—and the godliest among us spend a great portion of their fleeting lives to procure and prepare a daily smorgasbord of luxuries.
Self-Indulgence and the Decline of Self-Denial
I heard recently that one-third of the American diet consists of “junk food.” They didn’t tell us how they define “junk food,” but I suspect that if they defined it as it really ought to be defined, to include such things as all the boxed breakfast cereals which contain more sugar than anything else, they would find that junk food accounts for two-thirds or three-quarters of the diet of many Americans. A friend and I were traveling some years ago and decided to read the list of ingredients on some granola bars—“health food,” you know. We found that they contained thirteen different kinds of sugar—sucrose, dextrose, fructose, corn syrup, malt syrup, and on and on, beyond what either my memory or my imagination could reproduce.
Now, the result of all this is that self-indulgence has become the rule of life, in the church as well as the world. The only thing this “junk food” has to recommend it is that it tastes good, and you have to almost prevaricate to call some of it food at all. There is little more food in it than there is in soft drinks or chewing gum or cigarettes—though I once knew a goat that ate cigarette butts. But this stuff is much more stimulants than it is food, and if this is not worldliness, it would be hard to tell what is. The constant indulgence in all the most tasty viands which the imagination can put together, such as Adam and Eve in Paradise nor Solomon in all his glory could ever have dreamed of, has the natural effect of making self-indulgence a habit—a way of life. Self-denial is altogether banished, while men indulge from morn till midnight in every chewy, crunchy, spicy, salty, syrupy, chocolatey, sugary thing which the love of money can devise.
The Consequences of Excessive Self-Indulgence
We do not contend that this is all sinful—we expect to have our share of it in heaven—only that it is dangerous and debilitating. “Every man,” says Paul, “that striveth for the mastery is temperate in all things”—certainly, therefore, temperate in his eating, and unquestionably so in the eating of dainties and delicacies. But what temperance is this, when those things which ought to be used as occasional treats become the staple of our diet?
We hear frequent reports and statistics concerning the large proportion of Americans who are “overweight,” “obese,” etc., or in plainer English, fat. The reason for this is, self-denial is little known. And oh! how hard it is for people to practice self-denial in quantity when the most unrestrained and Epicurean self-indulgence is the rule in quality. All the powers of will are weakened by this. The devil is an intelligent being, and he knows how to make us soft and worldly, replacing all our masculine sternness with delicate effeminacy, weakening all our powers of will, and destroying all our propensities to self-denial, by means of a grand profusion of things which we think perfectly innocent. And innocent they may be, but there may be sin enough in it also, if we spend our money for luxuries while the house of God lies waste, and our time and energies to gratify our tongues and our palates, while our souls languish and starve.
John the Baptist: A Model of Simplicity and Stability
We do not contend that John never desired any change of diet. We only contend that he was so far content with his lot as not to seek one. We know that John ate honey also, in addition to his locusts, but we may be sure the honey was a small part of his diet. If he had mixed them half and half, he would doubtless have been more dead than alive. Bees can live on honey, but men cannot. And yet in this we see that John was no ascetic. He did not refuse good things because they were good, or he had never touched the honey. He knew how to enjoy the best which nature offers, but he sought first the kingdom of God, and had better things to do with his time and energies than to pamper his palate and his stomach. He was absorbed in prayer and meditation. He ate to live, but did not live to eat.
John the Baptist: An Example of Simplicity and Stability
And in this simple statement, “the same John had his raiment of camel’s hair, and a leathern girdle about his loins; and his meat was locusts and wild honey,” we see also the stability of the man. The habit of his life is described in a single sentence. What he was one year, he was the next. What he was in the deserts, alone with God, that he was also in the limelight, on the public platform, before the eyes of the multitudes. He had no “dress” clothes, in which to shine on the platform. Herod the king “heard him gladly,” and he probably appeared often at court, but even there “John had his raiment of camel’s hair, and a leathern girdle about his loins.”
The Significance of John’s Simplicity and Stability
Some there will always be who would have us believe there is no significance in what John ate or wore. Dress and diet are matters of indifference. What then? Does the Bible tell us these things for nothing, or merely to gratify our curiosity? We can hardly believe it.
We shall be told that “the kingdom of God is not meat and drink”—that “neither, if we eat, are we the better; neither, if we eat not, are we the worse.” We know it, but the fact remains that “she that liveth in pleasure is dead while she liveth,” and that “he that striveth for the mastery is temperate in all things.” Carnality sees nothing but its right of indulgence. Hyperspirituality can think of nothing but abstinence. The truth lies between them, in temperance. We do not pretend that any kind of food is sinful, but we do suppose it sinful to live in pleasure—to fare sumptuously every day—to make our belly our god. Paul speaks of those whose god is their belly, but can anyone imagine that they fared more sumptuously than the whole of America does every day?
Conclusion: The Call to Temperance and Simplicity
We have no sympathy with either asceticism or monasticism or hyperspirituality. We do not believe in self-denial for self-denial’s sake. For Christ’s sake, however, we believe in it, and for our own soul’s health also. We live in a day in which self-indulgence is a science and a principle and a passion—a day in which self-indulgence knows little restraint—and to flow with the current in such a day as this is worldliness and carnality. Yet the church today does flow with the current. She has utterly forgotten that “she that liveth in pleasure is dead while she liveth.” She has utterly forgotten the coming judgment of Babylon, “How much she hath glorified herself, and lived deliciously, so much torment and sorrow give her.” She has forgotten the “great gulf” which stood between the rich man and Lazarus in this life, and the solemn word which passed over that gulf when it was eternally “fixed”: “Son, remember that thou in thy lifetime receivedst thy good things, and likewise Lazarus evil things, but now he is comforted, and thou art tormented.” She has forgotten the solemn word which Christ himself spoke from heaven, “I know thy poverty, but thou art rich,” and forgotten also the solemn words which he spoke on earth, “Blessed be ye poor: for yours is the kingdom of God. Blessed are ye that hunger now: for ye shall be filled.” And again, “But woe unto you that are rich! for ye have received your consolation. Woe unto you that are full! for ye shall hunger. Woe unto you that laugh now! for ye shall mourn and weep.” All this is a perfect dead letter to the modern church, and no wonder the example of John the Baptist is nothing regarded.