John the Baptist is the central figure of the Advent season. He proclaimed a baptism of repentance for the forgiveness of sins, we are told in today's gospel. Biblical scholars now believe that he was in fact a member of a radical religious sect called the Essenes who operated in the Judean desert and on the shores of the Dead Sea. Loyalty to the old religious institutions of Israel was waning; various radical groups emerged from the ashes of those institutions to live the monastic life in the caves of the Judean hills, or else to live their lives as wandering preachers. John the baptism seems to have been a wandering preacher, operating mainly in the Judean desert, a barren land devoid of all distractions. He travelled to the Jordan river for a public ritual of Baptism, a ritual to which Jesus himself would submit before he began his public ministry. He drank no wine or strong drink and existed only on locusts and wild honey. In other words, he was shorn entirely of the ordinary props provided by normal society; he was left with nothing but his own soul. But what are we today to make of the Baptist's imagery and message? What does repentance mean in our context today? More to the point, how does the message of John the Baptism help us in our preparation for Christmas time?

And that central image of today's gospel is of course borrowed from the prophetic books of the old Testament. The imagery finds its way into our first reading from the prophet Baruch: "God has ordered that every high mountain and the everlasting hills be made low, and filled up, to make level ground, so that Israel may walk safely in the glory of God." The prophet Isaiah, as we heard in our first reading this morning, uses the same imagery but in a more direct manner: "Prepare in the wilderness a highway for our God, make a straight path across the desert; let every valley be filled in, every mountain and hill laid low; let every cliff become a plain, and ridges a valley." Now that image means very little to us today, unless we are aware of its context. In the ancient East, the visit from a distant ruler had many attractive side effects. For a start, the ruler always brought gifts to his subjects. The purpose of such visits was to keep to locals quiet, to buy them off, to purchase their goodwill. The visit of a king then enriched a tribe considerably. But before the king ever arrived, his decision to visit had good results. Israel is a mountainous country. These mountains made travel all but impossible in biblical times. So before the king could visit his scattered subjects, some major tasks had to be completed. The local chief had the responsibility of building a highway, of constructing a new road, a road that would facilitate the visit of the king to his remote subjects. This entailed the levelling of hills and the filling of valleys. When Isaiah prophesied that every valley would be filled, every mountain and hill laid low, he was saying that all obstacles between the king and his people would be removed. The king would have ready access to his people, and they to him. He could swiftly come to their assistance in times of trouble. He would no longer be a remote figurehead but would be by their side in their hour of need. But the tribe must be willing to construct the highway, to level the hills. Only then can the king make his visit. The tribe must be willing to make the preparations.

This is where the prophets of the Old Testament and John the Baptist got their imagery. But, as the Christian message spread beyond the hills and valleys of Palestine and Judea, those same hills and valleys were lifted out of the local terrain to become features of the universal Christian imagination. Just as the tribes of old were enriched by the visit of their king, the Christian community, and each one of us in person, is enriched by the visit of the infant king at Christmas time. But we too must, like the Judean tribes, must be willing to make the necessary preparations. The mountains and the valleys are no longer external, geographical features. Rather they represent attitudes within us, and sinful outposts, that are hostile to the message of the saviour. They represent our fears and our obsessions, our grudges and our addictions, our prejudices and our unforgiven hurts. They represent the internal obstacles that impede the path of the saviour on his journey to our hearts.

Today this Christian community welcomes into its midst an infant, Garvan Thomas. In him new life begins, life resumes. This is good news, good news for the baby's family, but for the community at large also. It is good news, but also a challenge: because in the person of every new-born babe, the challenge of the infant king is once again embodied. Baptism makes explicit this implicit challenge. Babies make great demands on our resources, on our energies, on our affection and our love. The manner in which we rise to that challenge will be the measure of civilisation in every generation. As we approach the Christmas season, we become more conscious of that challenge. Because the way we cherish this child or any child will be the clear indication of our welcome for the Saviour. Towards the end of the baptism ceremony, we will clothe the child in the white garment with the words: "See in this white garment the outward sign of your Christian dignity. With your family and friends to help you by word and example, bring that dignity unstained into the everlasting life of heaven." The garment symbolises the care and love of the community that now enwraps this child. This is an entirely appropriate way to make the day of the great Advent figure, John the Baptiser.

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