John 1:23

Letters to the Faithful - John 1:23

Berean Standard Bible

John replied in the words of Isaiah the prophet: “I am a voice of one calling in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way for the Lord.’”

King James Bible

He said, I am the voice of one crying in the wilderness, Make straight the way of the Lord, as said the prophet Esaias.

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To the beloved sons and daughters of God, scattered across the earth but gathered under one Lord, one faith, and one baptism—grace, mercy, and peace to you from God our Father and our Lord Jesus Christ. I write to you with trembling reverence and deep conviction, stirred by a single line spoken by a man whom heaven called “great,” though the world might have called strange. His clothes were rough, his diet unrefined, his voice unpolished, but his commission unmistakable. When questioned about who he was, he answered with clarity and conviction: “I am the voice of one crying out in the wilderness, ‘Make straight the way of the Lord.’”

This simple sentence, spoken by John the Baptist, is a declaration of identity and assignment, one that echoes with power across generations. It is more than a historical statement. It is a prophetic cry. It is the calling card of all who would prepare the world for the coming of the King. And in this present hour, the Spirit speaks again: Who will be the voice in the wilderness now?

John did not identify himself by name, title, or accomplishments. He did not seek to be known for his lineage, though he was the son of a priest. He did not boast in his following, though multitudes came to hear him. He did not attempt to elevate himself beside the Messiah, but rather to lower himself so that Christ might be seen. He did not say, “I am a prophet,” though he was. He did not say, “I am Elijah,” though he came in that spirit and power. He said only this: “I am the voice.”

Church, there is a holy humility in such a statement. John understood that he was not the light—only a witness to the light. He knew that the message mattered more than the messenger. He knew that his voice was not to draw attention to himself, but to prepare hearts for the One who would baptize not with water alone, but with the Holy Spirit and fire. In a world addicted to identity, to platform, to recognition, we must rediscover this kind of self-forgetting clarity. We must be content to be a voice—nothing more, and nothing less.

A voice does not speak of itself. It carries the message of another. It does not originate truth—it declares it. It does not demand the spotlight—it serves its purpose and fades. But oh, how powerful a voice can be when it is surrendered to God. John’s voice pierced through religious noise and spiritual drought. It broke into hardened hearts and stirred long-dormant expectations. It called sinners to repentance, the proud to humility, and the sleeping to awaken. His cry was not casual or sophisticated. It was not shaped for appeal. It was shaped by heaven.

And what was his cry? “Make straight the way of the Lord.” This is not a poetic phrase—it is a divine summons. It is the call to remove obstruction, to clear the path, to level pride, to tear down idols, to prepare not just the land, but the hearts of people for the coming of Christ. John’s cry was urgent, not because he knew all that Jesus would do, but because he knew the King was near. And now, beloved, that same urgency must fall upon us. The King is coming still—coming in revival, coming in judgment, coming in glory—and the Church must once again raise up voices in the wilderness.

What does it mean to be such a voice today? It means we must speak with truth, not trend. We must preach repentance, not just relevance. We must call people not to comfort, but to consecration. We must live in the wilderness—not as hermits, but as those detached from the corruption of culture, immune to the seduction of applause, separated unto God. The wilderness is not isolation—it is preparation. It is the place where we learn to hear God clearly so we can speak for Him purely.

To be a voice in the wilderness also means we must not fear rejection. John was not celebrated by all. His message offended. His appearance confused. His words cut. But his call was clear. Too many voices today have been domesticated by fear of man. They have softened the truth to maintain the crowd. But God is not raising up echo chambers—He is raising up voices. He is not looking for celebrities—He is looking for servants. He is not calling us to blend in—He is calling us to cry out.

Let every believer ask: Am I willing to be that voice? Am I willing to be unseen so that Christ may be revealed? Am I willing to proclaim truth even when it costs me influence, reputation, or safety? Am I willing to go into the wilderness of prayer, of separation, of suffering, that I may emerge with a voice that shakes nations and prepares the Bride?

And yet, beloved, being a voice is not only about what we say—it is about how we live. John’s entire life was a message. His simplicity, his purity, his devotion, his boldness—all of it testified to something greater than himself. The voice in the wilderness is not just a preacher—it is a living signpost that points to the King. Your life, surrendered and set apart, speaks even when your mouth is silent. Your obedience, your faithfulness, your hidden prayers—they all echo in the spirit realm, calling others to make straight the way of the Lord.

The time is short. The harvest is great. The King is near. And the call to be a voice remains. Do not wait for a stage. Do not wait for a microphone. Cry out where you are. Cry out in your home. Cry out in your workplace. Cry out in intercession, in witness, in service, in sacrifice. Let your voice carry the Word of the Lord into the noise of this age. Let it cut through confusion, complacency, and compromise. Let it declare that there is One coming whose sandals we are not worthy to untie—but who, in mercy, draws near to cleanse, to fill, and to reign.

May we, like John, find our identity not in the world’s categories but in heaven’s commission. May we not be distracted by status, but devoted to the assignment. May we decrease that Christ may increase. And when our time is done, may our voices leave behind an echo that still points to Jesus—the Lamb of God, the Light of the world, the Word made flesh.

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Almighty and Everlasting God, High and Holy One, the only wise and eternal King, we come before You in awe, bowed low in heart and mind, desiring not to be seen or celebrated, but to be surrendered. You who spoke all things into being with Your voice, and who in these last days has spoken to us through Your Son, we come not with eloquence or pretense, but with a desperate cry for You to shape our identity according to heaven’s design.

Lord, we remember the voice that cried out in the wilderness—a voice that did not seek its own, a voice that did not echo the world’s desires, a voice that did not amplify human ambition, but that made a way for the coming of the Lord. And we say to You now with trembling sincerity: make us that voice. Let us be the voice that cries out, not for popularity, not for platform, not for prestige, but for the preparation of hearts for Your glory.

Strip from us every false identity, O God. Remove every title we have clung to that You did not give. Burn away every image we have projected that does not reflect Your Son. Deliver us from the need to be known, to be followed, to be affirmed by men. Teach us the humility of the wilderness, where the crowds are smaller, but the communion is deeper. Teach us to value the secret place above the stage, and the approval of heaven above the applause of earth.

Lord, let us not just be a voice of passion, but a voice of purity. Not just a voice that stirs emotion, but one that carries Your burden. Not just a voice that calls out, but one that lays down its own comfort for the sake of Your truth. Let our cry not be shallow or self-serving, but born of prayer, shaped in silence, and soaked in the oil of consecration. We do not ask to be heard for our own sake, but that You might be heard through us. That every valley may be lifted, that every crooked path made straight, that every high thing be brought low before the Lord of all.

Raise up voices in this hour, Lord—not many voices speaking in confusion, but singular voices aligned with heaven. Let there be a clarity in the wilderness again. Let the sound go out that awakens the sleepers and disturbs the comfortable. Let the cry rise that breaks chains and exposes idols. Let the voice of repentance be heard again—not harsh or condemning, but holy and convicting, tender with truth and full of light.

We confess that we have, at times, been silent when You called us to speak, or spoken when You called us to wait. We have mingled Your Word with our opinions. We have feared the faces of men more than the fire of Your presence. Forgive us, Lord. Purify our motives. Cleanse our lips. Teach us to speak only what You give, and to live what we preach. Let our message not be in word only, but in power and demonstration of the Spirit and of holiness.

We ask that You send us again into the wilderness, not as punishment, but as preparation. Let us be set apart from the noise, that we may carry a word that penetrates it. Let us be sanctified from the culture, that we may serve it in truth. Let us be weaned from worldly methods, that we may walk in the unshakable anointing of heaven. Hide us, if necessary, until the voice becomes clear, and then release us when the time is ripe.

Lord, we ask that the road be made ready for Your coming—not just in history, not just in theory, but in reality. Let our generation not be found unprepared. Let the Bride be made ready. Let the Church arise not in entertainment, but in fire. Let every region and every people hear the voice—not just through preaching, but through lives that embody Your message. Let the earth tremble under the sound of true messengers, and let the heavens open as the King draws near.

Make us, O God, voices of mercy and truth. Voices of brokenness and boldness. Voices that cry out in the wilderness of confusion, injustice, compromise, and idolatry. Voices that point away from ourselves and toward the Lamb. May we decrease, may we disappear, may we be forgotten, so long as Christ is seen, heard, exalted, and obeyed.

Let Your Word run swiftly through our mouths, but let it first take root in our hearts. Let us not speak beyond our obedience. Let us not declare what we do not live. Let the voice carry weight because the vessel has been crushed. Let the sound be strong because the source is surrendered.

We ask now for the courage to speak, the humility to wait, and the endurance to keep crying out until every mountain bows and every heart turns. Do not let our voices fade into irrelevance. Let them rise in harmony with the call of heaven. Let the wilderness become holy ground as we stand, not in our own strength, but in the Spirit of the Lord.

And when our time is done, when our race is finished, let it be said of us that we were not the light, but we pointed to the Light. That we did not exalt ourselves, but we prepared the way. That we were only voices—but voices faithful to the end.

We ask all this in the name of the One whose coming we proclaim, whose path we prepare, and whose glory we long to see revealed—Jesus Christ, the Son of the Living God.

Amen.