Who Was John the Baptist? A Look at Matthew 3
Here’s a question worth sitting with: what do you say to make it okay that you’re not okay?
Guest preacher Bryan Barley asked it twice from the New River stage on Pentecost Sunday, because he wanted it to land. Anyone with the least bit of self-awareness knows there’s something off with us. We make mistakes. We have issues. The things we complain about in our parents, we somehow do ourselves. In fact, the one person you can be sure is not okay is the person who insists they have no issues at all.
So we build justifications. Bryan named three. Some of us point to our performance — “Nobody’s perfect, but look, I’m better than most people.” Some of us blame shift — the marriage apology that’s really an insult: “I’m sorry I exploded, but you make me so angry.” And some of us settle into hopelessness — “You’re right. I’m damaged goods. There is no hope for me” — its own sad way of giving up the struggle.
Bryan laughed that on the nine-minute drive from his Franklin home to church, his daughter asked, “What in the world does that have to do with John the Baptist?” The answer is the whole sermon.
A quick note on the series: with Pastor Keith Roberson on a well-deserved sabbatical after finishing the SUPREME series in Colossians, Bryan built a two-week mini-series to fit right into it — “Scenes of Supremacy,” a walk through Matthew 3. This first message looks at John the Baptist; the second, at the baptism of Jesus, where God the Father himself speaks.
What this sermon is about
What we see in John the Baptist, as he baptizes crowds in preparation for the Messiah, is that Jesus’ way of making it okay that we’re not okay exceeds — exponentially — every instinctual, earthly way we’ve cultivated on our own. The cleansing Jesus offers in the gospel is exceedingly supreme to all the solutions we manufacture.
The door into all of it isn’t performance. It’s repentance — which turns out to be far better news than most of us were ever told.
The opening act who pointed to the headliner
Matthew 3:1-3 — “In those days John the Baptist came preaching in the wilderness of Judea, ‘Repent, for the kingdom of heaven is at hand.’ For this is he who was spoken of by the prophet Isaiah when he said, ‘The voice of one crying in the wilderness: Prepare the way of the Lord; make his paths straight.’”
This scene happens before Jesus’ public ministry has really begun, and Bryan reached for an image every Nashville-adjacent person understands: the opening act. When his family moved here from Colorado, their first show was Larry Fleet at the Ryman — and the opener, a then-unknown Stephen Wilson Jr., was so talented it cultivated expectancy for the main event. That’s John the Baptist. What he’s doing is unparalleled, but it was never meant to be the end result. He’s a signpost. The headliner is about to take the stage.
Two words capture John: significance and humility. The significance is in the strange details — “John wore a garment of camel’s hair and a leather belt around his waist, and his food was locusts and wild honey” (Matthew 3:4). Bryan borrowed C. S. Lewis’s phrase “chronological snobbery,” our habit of assuming people long ago were just weird. But John’s clothing is loaded. He’s reenacting the position and posture of an Old Testament prophet. When the Pharisees and Sadducees came out to investigate — is this Old Testament cosplay? — the answer was no. This isn’t pretending. This is the real thing. The Messiah is on his way.
And then the humility. In a city where the unspoken rule is “make a name for yourself” — sometimes even while making much of Jesus — John is totally content to be all about Christ. “He who is coming after me is mightier than I, whose sandals I am not worthy to carry” (Matthew 3:11). And in John 3:30: “He must increase, but I must decrease.”
“We see frequently in the scriptures, it is the people who take up the way of humility and anonymity that a lot of times are used most significantly for the sake of the advancement of the kingdom of God.” — Bryan Barley
Here’s the upside-down economy of the kingdom: the Pharisees and Sadducees, the celebrated rabbis of their day, are anonymous to us — forgotten in the process of trying to make a name for themselves. But 2,000 years later, on the other side of the globe, a church in Franklin, Tennessee is talking about John — and there are probably kids in the room named after him. He was totally content being anonymous, and God made his name unforgettable.
A baptism nobody had seen before
Matthew 3:5-6 — “Then Jerusalem and all Judea and all the region about the Jordan were going out to him, and they were baptized by him in the river Jordan, confessing their sins.”
Think about how hard it is to get people to show up to anything, even with snacks, even next door. Now picture an event in the wilderness that you have to walk to, and people are literally flooding out to get there. Something sacred was happening.
The word baptize comes from the Greek baptizo — to immerse, to plunge someone under the water and bring them up. And here’s where Bryan nerded out historically, because it matters. John did not invent ritual washing. Jews regularly washed before entering holy places — it’s why those large stone jars were on hand at the wedding where Jesus turned water into wine. The washing acknowledged a divide: God is holy, I am sinful, and I need cleansing before I draw near.
But those were regular, repeated washings. One scholar notes that John was calling for something historically unprecedented: a single initiatory baptism indicating the new beginning of a new commitment. A once-and-for-all plunge beneath the water — and a bringing back up that says: not again. Not again.
We still practice ritual washing today, even the non-religious among us. Bryan, drawing on his professional work, observed that people who have done something they know is deeply wrong — an affair, for example — will often wash themselves compulsively, trying to scrub away a filth that isn’t on the skin. Can I cleanse myself of what I’ve done? John’s once-for-all baptism points to the gospel’s answer: no — but Jesus can. He cleanses not just the outside of us but the inside, with the true forgiveness our hearts have always longed for.
That’s also why John keeps talking about fire. “He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and fire” (Matthew 3:11). Hebrews 12:29 says our God is a consuming fire — and fire either ruins everything or refines everything, depending on your relationship to it. On Pentecost, tongues of fire fell on the believers, and Bryan pointed out the marvel hiding in that scene: just as Moses wondered how fire could dwell in a bush without consuming it, we should wonder how the fire of a holy God can fall on a forgiven sinner and not consume them.
“Every believer at Pentecost becomes a burning bush.” — Bryan Barley
Because of the peace we have with God through the death of his Son in our place, the fire doesn’t consume us. It refines us and transforms us into the men and women we always longed to be.
And if you’ve ever wondered why churches like New River baptize by immersion — horse trough and all — Bryan heard every objection from adults he baptized at the church he planted in Denver: “You’re going to push me down into the water in front of everyone? That’s vulnerable.” His answer, every time: exactly. The image Paul draws on is meant to be that dramatic — buried with Christ, raised to walk in newness of life.
Not our performance, but our repentance
The heart of John’s message is one word: repent. And when the religious gatekeepers showed up, John aimed straight at their justification of choice.
Matthew 3:8-9 — “Bear fruit in keeping with repentance. And do not presume to say to yourselves, ‘We have Abraham as our father,’ for I tell you, God is able from these stones to raise up children for Abraham.”
The Pharisees and Sadducees were answering the not-okay question with their bloodline. Right bloodline, right pedigree — the first-century version of waving your 23andMe results at God. And John says: that’s nothing. If God wants children of Abraham, he can point at a rock. But a rock can’t be saved through the forgiveness of sins — and neither can a résumé.
“What makes it okay that we’re not okay — the front door into the kingdom of God — is not our performance, but rather our repentance.” — Bryan Barley
The problem is that “repent” has been ruined for a lot of us. We picture the guy outside the Ryman with a sandwich board and a bullhorn, announcing that God loves you and hates you at the same time. But Bryan offered a different definition, and it’s worth keeping: the heart of repentance is that it is safe to return home.
He pointed to Luke 15, the prodigal son — repentance illustrated. The familiar church illustration says repentance means turning around and walking the other direction, and that’s half right. But it leaves out the most important question: who are you returning to? And what is his face like when he sees you coming — you, who messed up as badly as anyone could mess up? Is he angry? Is he wagging the finger? Or is he running down the road, garments flying, telling someone to fire up the grill because his child has come home? Luke 15 answers it. There’s no recounting of wrongs. There’s a feast.
“I know a guy”
Bryan closed with a story he’d prayed about whether to share. The Friday before, he’d been at a Spurs-Thunder playoff game in San Antonio — not his normal life, he was quick to say, but he has one friend who plays for the Spurs. After the game, only players’ friends and family can stay, waiting in a section near the court — and you can spot them easily: they’re all tall, and they’re dressed in Prada, Gucci, and Louis Vuitton.
Bryan is not tall. He was wearing a plain gray T-shirt, knockoff workout pants his wife found on Amazon, and gray New Balances. So for an hour, security kept coming for him — “Sir, you’ve got to go. You’ve got to go.” And every time, he held up the wristband the team gives to guests, the band that communicates one thing: I’m supposed to be here.
“I just held up the wristband like, ‘I know a guy. I’m with a guy. I know I ain’t tall and I know I ain’t wearing Louis, but I know a guy. I’m supposed to be here.’” — Bryan Barley
That’s the gospel in a wristband. So many of us are trying to belong through our performance, but we will never dress well enough or perform well enough to secure the perfection required to stand before a holy God. What we can do, by grace through faith, is associate with the person and work of Jesus Christ — who lived the life we were supposed to live, died the death we deserved, and rose again, leaving sin, death, hell, and shame behind in the grave. So that anyone who repents and believes can say: I know him. And not because of me — because of him. What’s his is mine.
The heart of the gospel is not “here’s what I’ve done.” It’s “I know a guy, and he loves me.”
What this means for your week in Franklin
If you take this sermon seriously, four things change about this week.
- Name your strategy. Performance, blame-shifting, or hopelessness — most of us default to one. Notice which you reach for when you feel not-okay, and call it what it is: a substitute for repentance.
- Trade the bullhorn for the front porch. If “repent” still sounds like condemnation to you, replace the picture. Repentance means it is safe to return home — to a Father who runs. Whatever you’ve been keeping from God, bring it home this week.
- Take the anonymous assignment. In a make-a-name-for-yourself town, do something significant this week that nobody will ever see or post. The forgotten Pharisees had the platform; anonymous John got remembered.
- Hold up the wristband. When shame tells you that you don’t belong — at church, in prayer, at the table — don’t argue your case with your record. I know a guy. I’m with him. I’m supposed to be here.
Watch the full message
The full sermon — “Part 1: John the Baptist,” the first of two Scenes of Supremacy messages flowing out of the SUPREME series — is in the video above. We post a new message every Sunday from New River Church in Franklin, TN. Browse our message library for part two and other recent teaching.
Coming Sunday at New River Church in Franklin, TN
If this message resonated and you’d like to experience worship and community in person, we’d love to have you with us. New River Church meets Sundays at 9:00 AM and 10:45 AM at 1153 Lewisburg Pike in Franklin, TN 37064 — just minutes from downtown Franklin and easy to reach from across Williamson County, Brentwood, and Spring Hill.
You don’t need to dress up. You don’t need a good voice. You don’t need to know much about church or the Bible to come. We’re a community of ordinary people walking through ordinary life, trying to do it together with Jesus at the center. Whether you’ve been a Christian for forty years or you’ve never set foot in a church, you are welcome here.
If you’re new to the area or new to faith, our First Time Guest page walks through everything you need to know before your first visit: parking, what to expect on Sunday morning, what your kids will experience in River Kids, and how to find us when you arrive.
If you’re looking for deeper community beyond Sunday morning, our Community Groups meet across Franklin and the surrounding area throughout the week. Groups are where Sunday morning faith becomes Tuesday afternoon real life.
Whatever you’re carrying right now, you don’t have to carry it alone. There’s a place for you at New River Church in Franklin, Tennessee. Come as you are.
Watch more sermons: newriverfranklin.com/messages Plan your visit: newriverfranklin.com/firsttimeguest Find a group: newriverfranklin.com/groups
📍 New River Church | 1153 Lewisburg Pike, Franklin, TN 37064 | Sundays 9:00 AM & 10:45 AM
