When I was a little boy, I cringed each time the story of John the Baptist popped up.  The guy gave me a willies.

First, he wears animal skins and lives in the desert. I’m thinking he didn’t shave often, let along bathe.  He fed on locusts and honey.

I’d have to put a lot of honey on a locust to be able to choke it down.

On top of the alternative lifestyle, he played only a supporting role, preparing the way for the Lord.  His moment of glory?  Baptizing the Lord.  But as John said at that remarkable moment, he was unqualified for the job.

So John was a true believer who spoke his mind with courage, which resulted in the removal of his head.

As a little boy, it bothered me that John did so many great things and suffered a terrible, painful end.  Why did Jesus let such a terrible thing happen to John?

Well, I’m not a little boy any longer – more of an old geezer.  I’m not a theologian, but I have my own reasons for loving John the Baptist.

Jesus must have had so much faith in him; he allowed him to suffer and die.  That was, of course, a serious foreshadowing of the fate Jesus would face – allowed by His Father.

What a faith, where love is fulfilled by suffering.  Where the one who endures terrible trials knows God is there for him.  Where death leads to life.

Today, when things are tough, I only have to think of John the Baptist to realize that I don’t have it so bad.  Most important, I never have to eat locusts.