Mark 1:4-11
Water flows throughout scripture:
- the waters roiling from the very beginning as God creates everything in the universe;
- the waters rising and covering the earth as Noah, his family, and all those pairs of animals float above the sinfulness that God was attempting to drown out;
- Moses parting the Red Sea allowing liberation and freedom for a people;
- those same people, the Israelites in the wilderness, having their thirst slaked with water flowing from a rock;
- the Psalmist reminding us that God’s voice can be like the tumultuous roar of a waterfall;
- Amos exhorting justice to roll down like a mighty water;
- water becoming wine at Cana;
- the waters in the pool Bethsaida churning so that someone may be cured;
- and I’m sure you can think of others but our attention is called to the waters of the Jordan in which Jesus sought out John for baptism.
And so it is with baptism. The noise, brightness, and confusion are no less jarring when, as baptized people, we look all around us and yearn for a world in which sin does not reign and the clamor of greed and power do not drown out our attempts at quiet, spiritual lives. We think of Jesus there in the Jordan, and ache for that same dove-descending, water-rippling moment in our lives.
If we really look at the text, if we pay close attention to the gospel accounts of this amazing moment, especially the version from Mark that is the lectionary reading for today, the peace might be shattered a bit.
First of all, there is John. John is not a peaceful individual. The last time we heard from John was when he was leaping in his mother Elizabeth’s womb as the pregnant Mary approached. Well, now it’s some thirty years later and John has grown into a really interesting character. So interesting in fact that Mark, our sparest gospel writer, takes the time to tell us about John’s diet and wardrobe. He’s a societal outsider with his camel hair and leather and locusts and honey.
But even more so, John is operating way outside the religious establishment with his baptism of repentance. People were flocking to the Jordan to be washed clean of their sins. But you know what? That was the religious authorities job. Wild-eyed John was usurping the clout of the priests and scribes and rattling the cages of the big boys.
And it is to John, this power-appropriating outsider, that Jesus shows himself one day for baptism with all the other seekers and those looking for new life, a new beginning. And John, without really much fanfare from Mark, does just that; he baptizes Jesus.
What happens next though is interesting: Mark tells us that Jesus sees the heavens torn apart and the Spirit coming down upon him. Mark uses the Greek word for ‘torn apart’ only twice in his gospel: here and when the curtain in the temple is torn in two at Jesus’ crucifixion. The action bookends Jesus’ ministry for Mark.
This is not the skies just opening up to let the Spirit out; this is a violent, physical event. If you think back to a little over a month ago, you might remember that Isaiah implored God to “tear open the heavens” the very first week Advent. Isaiah was praying that God would get Godself down here to earth and take care of the whole mess through a ripped open heaven.
Well, here at the Jordan, centuries later, Isaiah’s prayers are finally answered. The heavens are torn apart; ruptured by the rush of the Spirit getting down to earth for this momentous event.
Baptism is not an easy-going, calm event. Baptism is earthy; it is tumultuous; it is, if one listens, life-changing. It is both cleansing and initiative; by washing clean the slate so far, those who are baptized enter into new life, a new start.
They got it right in the movie clip I started this sermon with from the movie “O Brother, Where Art Thou?”. The film follows three escaped convicts as they seek to get to a treasure before a dam is built and the waters of the reservoir cover the treasure forever. Delmar, the slowest-witted of the trio, rushes headlong into the water, bypassing all the white-robed folks waiting their turns, jumping at the chance for a new start, ignoring the believers in their neat lines. The wrongs and sins from his past are over and gone; forgotten, he’s certain, by God and therefore, he believes, by everyone else. He is starting anew and, later in the movie, shows that new start.
We too often look back on our baptisms as placid affairs, done because it was the expected thing to do perhaps. Don’t feel badly though; centuries of art have portrayed it that way, as we see in this sculpture from the late 15th or early 16th century. The artist missed too the
earth-shattering event that was going on as we catch a glimpse of Jesus just before the water hits him. So our tendency to thinking of this episode as a calm one is backed up by many years of others doing exactly the same thing. 
In the taming of this feral event though, we miss the renting of the heavens and the voice telling us just how beloved we are. I have no doubts that Delmar saw and heard and experienced the whole messy affair as he put the robbing of the Piggly-Wiggly behind him and even the lies that he told in asserting his innocence. But we, in our calm, composed lives that probably have more in common with the authorities in Jerusalem than they do with some wilderness guy named John who needs a haircut and has a dandy recipe for locusts with honey, miss out somehow on the truly exciting, heaven-rending occasion that is baptism.
Baptism is a one-time event for most of us. Of our two sacraments, it is the single occurring one while communion is the on-going experience. So what’s done is done and there’s no turning back the hands of time to see if we can capture that experience of baptism that folks from Jesus through to Delmar have had.
But all is not lost; because we are called to remember and relive our baptisms daily, hourly, and even more frequently. We wade into the baptismal waters when we work to end poverty and when we aid those who are the least among us and when we comfort those who grieve, and there is plenty of grieving going on all around us these days.
It doesn’t matter how you were baptized or how old you were when it happened. It doesn’t matter if you have no recollection of the actual event whatsoever. It doesn’t matter if it was in a lake or a pool or a tub or beside a fount. What matters is that you remember and in remembering you are born into new life.
And as you do so, in the whole earthy, messy, outside-the-realm-of-social-convention-and-religious-authority practice of it, listen…listen carefully. A voice, perhaps a still, small voice, is going to be saying, “oh loved one…you really make me happy.”
The Baptism of Christ sculpted by Andrea Sansovino around 1500 in the Museo dell'Opera del Duomo in Florence, Italy. (Sansovino only did the sculptures of Christ and John; the angel was a later addition.)
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