Today – the first weekend of Lent – we read from the Gospel of Mark, of Jesus baptism in the Jordan by John and of his temptation in the wilderness at the hands of Satan.
It’s a familiar text. One, for regular church goers at least, that we’ve heard time and time again. Yet, for me, regardless of how many times we’ve heard it, regardless of how well we think we know it – one we can’t hear enough. A reminder, that our baptismal life, if we’re truly living into it, as it was for Jesus, ain’t supposed to be easy.
Mark describes that as Jesus rises from the waters, the heavens are torn apart… the Spirit descending on him… the voice of God deeming him as the Beloved Son, with whom God is well pleased.”
While our children’s bible’s do a wonderful job depicting today’s gospel as this fairytale like scene – a goofy looking John the Baptist with wild hair, a few missing teeth, and some raggedy clothes… a sunlit sky, the clouds cracking open just enough for a cute little white dove to descend down from the heavens on a well-kept Jesus with perfect hair as he comes up out of a beautiful clear blue Jordan River – a more honest depiction requires a bit of parental controls…
As Mark writes of the heavens being torn apart, he uses the Greek verb – σχιζω (skhízō). Skhízō, as it sounds… Any guesses? Skhízō – schism… Jesus’ is baptized, and as he comes up out of the water, there is a schism… a split… a tear… a breach…… a division… in the heavens. The heavens are literally severed…
This verb skhízō, schism, is found just once more in the whole of the Gospel. Where? As Jesus cries out from the cross – My God, my God, why have you forsaken me… and the temple curtain is torn as the Christ breathes his last… In his baptism and in his death, the wall between God and humanity is broke open…
From here, the imagery only gets stronger. With Jesus’ baptism complete – he is cast out into the wilderness by the Spirit. Cast out – εκβαλλω in the Greek – the same word used later in the Gospel by Jesus himself, as he casts out demons from those possessed, those consumed by evil spirits.
Washed and renewed, Jesus is immediately exorcised into the wilderness. You’ve seen the movies, at the very least the previews – exorcisms, not the things of children’s books. He’s not softly led. He’s not asked politely or gently guided by the hand. The Spirit doesn’t delicately suggest – Jesus, if you have time… if you don’t mind… if you think you could manage… With a sense of violence, Jesus is hurled, he is driven, he is cast out into the wilderness by force – to the place where demons’ dwell, where the devil himself awaits, sent into battle to fight against evil…
Just a few days ago, we gathered in this space for Ash Wednesday. If you were here, unless you slept through the service, you likely spent some time thinking about your mortality, possibly the mortality of someone you love. The realization that we are but dust. That life on this plane is temporary. That we will all, each of us, die.
And while I would have thought our Ash Wednesday services here within these walls were a stark enough reminder of this truth, as we gathered, a far greater reminder was taking place outside. I wasn’t five feet beyond the sanctuary doors following Wednesday evening’s worship, before I was met with questions and comments about the events of the Kansas City Super-Bowl parade.
One dead – Elizabeth Lopez-Galvan, wife, and mother of two – returned to dust at the hand of another. More than twenty others shot and injured, some critically – half of which are under the age of 16, the youngest being just 8 years old. The carnage – what reports are claiming, is at least… at least… the forty-eighth mass shooting incident in the United States this year… Forty-eight…
Before we get our backs up and make this something it is not – the pastor getting political – that is not what this is about for me… it shouldn’t be for any of us.
Let’s just do the math. Wednesday was February 14th. If this was at least the 48th, we’ve had over one mass shooting a day across the good ol’ US-of-A so far this calendar year, not even two full months in. Over one a day. What should have been a day of celebration, in an instant, a day of catastrophe. The American dream. The wilderness. The place where demons dwell. A stark reminder of the Ash Wednesday truth – we are but dust…
St. Mark tells us that as Jesus goes face to face with the devil, as he finds himself surrounded by wild beasts, he is as well surrounded by angels who serve him… who attend to and care for him… who minister to him… And St. Mark, he records this verb serve in the imperfect form – an action that this happening in the moment and is ongoing as well. As Jesus battles against evil, he is cared for by angels, who will never leave his side – who will be with him till the end…
In an interview following Wednesday’s shooting, Kansas City Chief of Police Stacey Graves reflected on those countless bystanders who risked their lives to prevent others from losing theirs – those who, without hesitation jumped in to tackle one of the shooters… her fellow police… the Missouri Fire Department… and those EMT’s, doctors and nurses, who without, the loss of life would have been even more severe… Angels… We could add to the list, the famous Ms. Swift who without a second thought sent a hundred thousand dollars to the deceased’ family, simply because she could and because why not…
The Jewish Talmud – the primary source of religious law within Judaism, rooted in our Old Testament – rests on the core belief, that “to save one life is tantamount to saving a whole world.” To save a life is tantamount to saving a whole world. That, the value of human life is infinite – each of us, the whole world to someone. And because of this, the rabbis would say, there is nothing in the world of higher value, of greater importance than a human life. If only…
There are people of faith who intentionally avoid the season of Lent. You’ll never see them at an Ash Wednesday service. You’ll almost never see them during Holy Week. And their attendance on those Sunday’s in between is just less when compared to the rest of the year. We have some of these folks here at St. James. For the most part, I know who they are. And for the most part, they know that I know who they are, because I bug them more than usual to come to church throughout the season.
On the one hand, I understand their absence. Lent can be a bit depressing with its’ focus on death and sin and human brokenness. On the other hand, one could argue, I would argue, that it is a necessary time to prepare us for the harsh realities of our world and our lives that we cannot escape. To reflect on whether or not we are willing to enter into the wilderness as our baptismal rite requires of us. And if we are, to reflect on whether we will be among the angels attending to Christ or if we will be among the beasts who seek to destroy.
Along with the rabbi’s, we too would say that every life is sacred – those of us who have buried a loved one, know this to be true. On Ash Wednesday, as we entered into the season of Lent, we were reminded of our mortality. That we will all die at some point. Today, the first Sunday of Lent, and every Sunday between now and Easter, our gospels remind us of the Savior who came in human flesh to give his life for ours – that though we die, we will live.
This morning, we are left to ask ourselves what our baptismal life means to us.
If it means avoiding the wilderness moments of life, refusing to face those places of life where wild beasts roam and demons dwell… if it means making excuses for that which is evil or siding with it… if you’re inner thoughts are closer to that of the devil who seeks to destroy than they are to the angels who serve in love… it’s time to spend some serious time in prayer and repentance… For we are called to a way of life far different. Called to choose good over evil and life over death. To remember the truth of our baptism – that we are all children of God.
Filled with the Spirit, deemed as God’s beloved, let us resist the devil’s temptation and be as angels for those surrounded by wild beasts – serving, caring for, attending to, and ministering to our neighbor in need out of our love for Christ – for, as it is for each of us, to God, they too are the whole world. Amen.
~Pastor Andrew Geib
Sermons at St. James Gettysburg 