Americans are fascinated with being the best. Young people in warpaint and costume are regularly seen running up and down the sidelines at sporting events, index fingers thrust in the air, shouting, "We're number one! We're number one!" Who, after all, wants to be less than the best? But wait a minute! I know people who love to sing, but won't utter a note because they don't sound like Pavoratti. I admire the chap who said, "Anything worth doing is worth doing poorly." There is a place in this world for the mediocre -- that's most of us. If I have to be the best at whatever I do, I won't do much.

The Guinness Book Of World Records describes in graphic detail just how far this fascination with being number one can go. The most bizarre record of human achievement is in the category of eating. In one year a certain chap consumed ten bicycles, one supermarket cart, seven television sets, six chandeliers, and one Cessna airplane.

Even religion has its record holders. Guinness reports that the longest recorded sermon lasted 120 hours. The book fails to report the longest time anybody spent awake listening to a sermon. You can bet it was something short of 120 hours. I have observed those whose personal record is about seven minutes. While these "for the record" contests are not to be taken seriously, there are religious figures and institutions so caught up in the competitive enterprise that being number one is their goal. Consider the congregation which advertises itself as "the most exciting church in town." And aren't we all envious of those who report the most people out on Sunday morning, or the biggest budget, or the largest youth group?

Religious institutions which get to be number one usually arrive on the back of a superstar. A few religionists in our era have built multi-million dollar enterprises by playing up their own names and personalities. They name colleges after themselves, employ teams of public relations experts to see that their names stay in the press, raise money by using their personal charisma. While all this makes for fame and fortune, it may not advance the cause of Christ, honor God or otherwise accomplish what the church should be about. Sometimes the superstar has to get out of the way so that people can see Christ.

I do not stay awake worrying about my popularity -- either its over- or its under-supply. I have earned some modest respect, and there are enough people around who believe it is their task to keep me humble. I do not want to be the star of this church. The congregation was here long before I arrived and will be here long after I am gone. If it depends on me, it is not the church I think it is. There is a good reason for pastors not to stay too long in the same place, lest the church be known as "Rev. X's church." One of the marks of a faithful ministry is how few people depart when Rev. X does. Even so, the cult of the personality in the modern religious scene is widespread.

John the Baptist was an impressive figure -- not necessarily attractive, but impressive nevertheless. When he appeared at the Jordan River Mark says: "And there went out to him all the country of Judea and all the people of Jerusalem." That's a high level of visibility -- a lot of folks! "He baptized multitudes," reports Luke. That must have looked good on his yearly report. We have to fill ours out this week. Instead of putting down a number, it would be great fun to write in "multitudes." But fascinating the multitudes is no sign of authenticity. Consider the names, Jim Jones and Jim Bakker.

John got the attention of the multitudes. It was an age when God's people were desperate for some sign of hope. Expectations of the one God would send to free them from the Romans and reestablish Jerusalem as an independent capital of a free people were everywhere. Hopes for the coming of the Messiah were on everyone's lips.

"Even though he is hard on us, perhaps John is the Messiah," they began to say. And all the more they paid attention to him, followed him, hung on his every word. Had John been an opportunist, a lesser man, he might have had his head turned by this adulation. "After all, if everybody says how marvelous I am, who am I not to believe it. Maybe I'm God's chosen one after all." What a temptation!

"Woe to you when all speak well of you, for so their fathers did to the false prophets," Jesus would later say to his disciples. But in God's providence, John was not on an "I'm number one!" kick. John knew that the glory was not his -- he was the announcer -- the Messiah was coming on the stage later. "I am not even worthy to untie his shoes," John said. "Don't think too highly of me. I don't want you to remember me. I want you to see the Messiah, the Christ, the one God is sending to rescue you."

"I baptize you with water," he continued, "mine is just a physical symbolic act. All the water in the Jordan River can't save you. But one is coming who will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire. The real baptism, conversion, salvation, hope is not in me; it is in Jesus." Shortly thereafter John disappears from the scene. He bows out so Jesus can bow in.

Our text goes on to report that when Jesus came to John and was baptized, God confirmed Jesus' Messiahship as the heavens opened up, a dove descended and a voice was heard, "Thou art my beloved Son."

The importance of this text for the modern church cannot be overstated. It is a thin line we walk. We want our church to thrive, don't we? Is there anyone here who doesn't want to see more people, a larger program, a more enthusiastic spirit, a greater recognition in the community of our congregation? Don't we want to be known as the church to go to? We want the most attractive building, the best program, the finest choir, the most appealing preacher. We want to be this city's religious numero uno! We all want that. I want that. But when success becomes our goal, our obsession, our reason for being, the source of our pride, we need to stop in our tracks.

The mission of the church, like the mission of John the Baptist, is to present Christ, not to aggrandize itself. We live on a narrow boundary between being a vital body which has pride and power, and getting out of the way so that people may see Christ and follow him. How do we know if we are getting out of the way? There are three clues.

1 -- If we never soft peddle the hard truth because it won't be popular. "Preach to us smooth things," says the unredeemed world. Cover everything with sugar. Tell us how good we are and how bad are our enemies. Justify our violence and opulent lifestyles in a hungry world. Make us feel good about national goals which are contrary to the goals of Christ. Wave the stars and stripes. Never mention sin. Steer clear of the cross -- it is a most unpleasant subject. Say what people want to hear and they will never see Jesus. A church that does those things will be certain the masses will see it but won't see the Christ, who according to John, comes with "his winnowing fork in his hand, to clear the threshing floor and to gather the wheat into his granary, but the chaff he will burn with unquenchable fire."

2 -- If we never gear worship so that everyone will say how exciting it is; make certain what is done is not done to elicit congratulations; never substitute a good show for worship. Stop and think if everything is applauded. Stop and think if people come to be entertained or amused. If you want to be certain Jesus is hidden, put on a good show. Transform the chancel into a sound stage. Eliminate, or at least do as quickly as you can, things like the eucharist. It is dull. After all, what is exciting about a bit of bread and a sip of wine? So it defines the presence of Jesus -- is his memorial. People don't care about that. What they want is something loud, snappy, upbeat. Keep people focused on how they feel. Be entertaining. Give them a holy buzz, and you can be guaranteed that you will be popular and they will never see Jesus.

3 -- If the arms of the church extend to those the rest of the world hates. The church is not a club for the well, but a hospital for sinners. If people are to see Jesus then welcome those society fears. Say to gays and lesbians, "You are welcome among us. You are our brothers and sisters." Say to the poor and the destitute and the left out, "Consider yourselves at home." Wrap your arms around the lepers, in our day that means victims of AIDS and their families. Consider those of other nations, races, tongues and political loyalties our brothers and sisters in Christ -- those for whom he died. Be clear that the church does not exist for our entertainment or comfort, but to minister to the lost and the rejected.

In other words, embody Christ. Become as much of Christ as you can. When the left out see you, feel your love, know there are no boundaries or borders on your compassion, believe you are willing to risk yourselves for them and with them, then they shall see him. They will hear his voice when they know the church exists to serve them, no matter who they are. The church gets out of the way so people can see Jesus when we are more concerned about ministering to the last and the least and the lost than we are about the elegance of our building, the emotion our worship generates, how good it makes its members feel, how comfortable everybody is and how nobody unpleasant, poorly dressed or peculiar ever passes through out doors.

No, we're not number one. Christ is number one. Our task is to get out of the way so people of every sort can see him, follow him and know that he is Prince of princes, Lord of lords and the hope of the world.