“With You”
Isaiah 43:1-7
Luke 3:15-16, 21-22
It is only natural that we hear and understand our scriptures through the lens of our own backgrounds and experiences. It is not only natural, but also good and right, that we interpret and reinterpret our scriptures—especially the stories we know so well—in the context of whatever is happening in our hearts, in our lives, and in this beautiful but broken world that God so loves.
This is part of what we mean when we say, as we do every Sunday, that “God is still speaking” through these ancient texts. God is still speaking through us and our lives. God is still speaking through developments, situations, and events happening in our world. God is still speaking in and through our scriptures, in and through creation, in and through our hearts and minds, in and through other people, in and through all that is happening and all that we experience as we live and love, work and play, learn and grow, connect and discover and try to make some meaning of it all.
And so I hope you will not be surprised or disappointed to hear that when I turned last week to the familiar story of Jesus’s baptism in the River Jordan, I could not help but see it this time in the context of our burning world and, more directly, in relation to all the loss, destruction, fear, and suffering caused by the Los Angeles-area wildfires.
Sure, we could talk about the role of climate change. We could talk about our human tendency to use and abuse our environment and other precious resources, in part because we love them and want to have a fuller experience of them. We could talk about mistakes that were made, go off on the greed of the insurance industry and capitalism writ large, or decry the petty political fighting that has already begun.
It’s not that there is no place for such conversations. In fact, we could even say that’s kind of what that wild-man John the Baptist was doing out in the wilderness when he wasn’t eating honey-drenched locusts. He was trying to bring people back to God and he was doing it in part by scaring them to death, telling them there would be hell to pay if they didn’t change their ways.
I’m sure John the Baptist was preparing the way for Jesus of Nazareth, but I’m not sure how many hearts he won or how many people truly changed their lives after he had baptized them for the repentance of their sins.
But then I imagine Jesus showing up and taking his place at the end of that long line of desperate Jewish peasants. I call the people in that line desperate because they surely must have been on the verge of despair and surrender to have left their towns and villages and made the long, dusty trek to the banks of the Jordan. Surely they were longing for something more. Surely they must have been willing to try almost anything to humble themselves by letting John immerse them in that muddy water.
But then Jesus showed up. They didn’t know who he was, of course, and it’s possible that Jesus didn’t even fully understand who he was or who he would become.
But he knew his scriptures. He knew that God’s brokenhearted anger with her children couldn’t last a single night; but that God’s mercies were new every morning. He knew that God’s love is tender, especially when God’s people are hurting and scared.
Chances are that Jesus knew that passage from the prophet Isaiah, the one where God says:
Do not fear, for I have redeemed you; I have called you by name and you are mine. … You are precious and honored in my sight, and I love you. Do not fear; I am with you.
For centuries, everyone from theologians and preachers to Sunday School children and Bible study participants has asked—just as John the Baptist did—why Jesus would have submitted to a sinner’s baptism. Jesus didn’t need to repent, did he?
Well, I can’t say that I know the answer to that question. But after several days of regularly checking in with several friends in the Los Angeles area, I have a theory. You see, while there was nothing I could do to protect my friends’ homes and churches and families, I could let them know I was thinking about them and praying for them and that I cared about how they were doing.
And what I learned from them is that checking in does help. Reaching out does make a difference.
“Thank you for checking,” said the friend whose church building had gone up in flames and didn’t know if her house was still standing.
“Thank you so much for reaching out and keeping tabs on us,” said another friend who spent three full days thinking she and her spouse might have to evacuate at any moment. “I’ve lived through a lot of things and there’s nothing quite like this,” she said.
Another friend texted photos of what had been her friends’ house and said her adult daughter had left her apartment because she was having trouble breathing. Still another friend shared that her daughter, son-in-law, and grandsons had lost their home and were trying to figure out where to go.
Then there was the friend of a Facebook friend who posted: “In this moment, we all have the power to reach out to those we love. To keep reaching out. To keep checking in. And checking in. And checking in. That is how you can help right now.”
And so I wonder if that’s what Jesus was doing when he went down to the river to be baptized. He was checking in on his community. He was reaching out. He was standing with the downtrodden and desperate. And he was showing us the importance of doing the same.
When you pass through the waters, I will be with you, was the word the prophet had delivered from God. When you pass through the rivers they won’t overwhelm you.
When you walk through the fire you won’t be burned, and the flame won’t consume you. I will be with you.
And so was Jesus with the suffering and seeking people of his community. And so Jesus, too, let John the Baptist dip him into and under the water.
And, when Jesus also had been baptized and was praying, the story says, a voice came from heaven saying, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.
I would like to think that Jesus wasn’t the only baptized person who heard that voice. I would like to think that any time someone acknowledges their need and opens their heart, any time we get down in the water or the fire or the grief or the loneliness or the depression with someone, any time we stand in line with the weary or walk beside the brokenhearted, any time we take a moment out of our lives to be still and let God be God . . . that we, too, will know the transforming power of God’s love.
Oh, we may not hear a voice—but we might be bowled over by the beauty of a star-filled sky. We may not hear a voice, exactly—but we might be surprised by joy. We may not hear a voice—but we might feel a new sense of hope, or at least a willingness to keep going. We may not hear a voice—but we might realize that we are not alone. We may not hear a voice—but we might be see an outstretched hand and choose to take it.
Do not fear, God says, for I am with you. Do not fear, for I have redeemed you. I have called you by name; you are mine. You are precious in my sight, and I love you.
Even now, beloveds, God is with you and for you. Even now, we can be with one another and others who are afraid and suffering and hurting. Even now, the Holy Spirit is with us and can bless others through us.
May it be so.
