“A PARENT’S LOVE”

Scripture Lesson: Matthew 3: 13-17

Dr. Matthew Brown

January 9, 2005

A toddler learns the science of the tsunami in the supervised environment of a slippery white porcelain or fiberglass bathtub when he shifts his little behind and watches with gleeful fascination as the displaced water rushes forward forming a wave that splashes ferociously against the front of the tub. Sooner or later the waves rise higher and an arc of soapy water hits the tiled floor, setting off the Parental Warning System and its deep tenured “I am serious” voice alarm. The waters recede and the scrubbing resumes.

Our tiny bodies are formed in water and consist to a large extent of water. We wash everything from our tires to our earlobes in water. We drink water to live and we pack up the minivan with buckets and boogie boards, heading to the shore to find our rest by the water.

Water is so essential to life that we gather around a baptismal and say that water is one of the chief signs of God in our midst.

Yet, as we cannot even begin to comprehend, the same water that gives, sustains, sanitizes, and renews life can quite literally sweep it away and snuff it out. Thus, in the actual wake of an event more cataclysmic than fifty 9/11s, we are left dazed and confused, bereft of understanding and ill-equipped to interpret the story of a Messiah walking into the water of the Jordan where he, too, would be submerged only to rise again.

I cannot fathom the devastation in South Asia, scenes so overwhelmingly grisly that a war grizzled Secretary of State was left dumbfounded, but I also cannot rid myself of the image of a child, so many children, being swept away from their parents arms.

It would be folly for me to stand up here and seek to offer an adequate theological explanation of the events in South Asia. I don’t know that there is one. Newsweek this week sought to offer the perspectives of the Hindu, the Buddhist, the Muslim, the Christian without much success. In the end what we can only say is that it is part of the mystery of God’s creation. Paul said, “For now we see in a mirror dimly,” the Greek here actually suggesting that life as we know it is a riddle. And at times like this that mirror seems mighty cloudy and our minds feel mainly muddled.

One way to deal with this is to do what our society tends to do so well and that is to ignore it. Their are Christmas gifts to be returned, school projects to prepare, committee meetings to organize, new gadgets and games to be obsessed over, minor inconveniences about which to complain, Super Bowl champions and American Idols to be selected.

Yes, one way to deal with our doubts, questions, and fears is to ignore them. Go on living as though they are not there. Besides, we just don’t have the time. And yet, I would suggest to you that there is another way, and that is to face the questions, give them voice. Faith, after all, is not about having all the answers. No, it is more about wrestling with and living with the questions.

Confront the question. Follow the example of the Psalmists who were never shy about asking the question that if not on our minds and hearts right now, will be at some point in our lives. Where in the world is God in all of this?

I think today, Matthew (the Gospel not the preacher) offers us some help with this very question as Jesus wades through the mud and algae of the River Jordan to be baptized by John.

Scott Johnston, a Presbyterian pastor, points out that in early Christian icons or devotional renderings of this scene at the Jordan River, along with John and Jesus, is included the curious figure of a small elderly man carrying a jug. He is supposedly the river god, the spirit of the Jordan, the sometime enemy of humankind. Though certainly not a part of our theology, this aqueous sprite reminds art lovers and the faithful that water is not always so friendly.

Scripture speaks of creation itself being formed out of a watery chaos. Water destroyed the earth in Noah’s time. It threatened to swamp the disciples’ boat in a storm. Paul experienced more than his share of being shipwrecked and lost at sea.

In one Eastern icon, from Yugoslavia around the year 1300, Jesus raises his foot to squash this river god. In addition, the waters of the Jordan in these icons are populated with dragons and great sea serpents. In these icons, when Jesus goes into the river, he goes to do battle against the powers of evil.

The point is not whether Leviathan exists. The point is that the Christ will never ask us to go somewhere that he is not. We shall not face the rising waters alone.

So where is God? God is there. God is there weeping with the father who aches and yearns to hold his lost child again. God is there with the fisherman struggling to overcome his fear of venturing out into the water again. The one who left an empty tomb behind and who said, “Let the children come to me,” is holding in his eternal and loving embrace so many children who shall know no more tears or pain. God is there.

When Jesus splashed in Jordan’s waters that day, his baptism signified his joining himself, his identifying himself with all humanity. He was declaring that we would not face the rising waters of life, or even the waters that bring death, alone.

Why? Because, just as I, being a parent cannot imagine the loss of my child, our heavenly parent will not imagine losing us. Listen to Paul: “We were buried with him by baptism into death, so that as Christ was raised from the dead by the glory of the Father, we too might walk in newness of life. For if we have been united with him in a death like his, we shall certainly be united with him in a resurrection like his.”

The old hymn says it well: “love that will not let us go.” I love the image offered in a Brief Statement of Faith, “Like a mother who will not forsake a nursing child, God is faithful still.” Where is God? God is there. We must keep repeating this to ourselves even and especially when images of desolation blur our vision and put our faith on trial. It is okay to ask the question. Indeed it is important to ask the question because at least then we will be listening for the voice we desperately need to hear.

On a sunny, September Tuesday three years ago the horizon also turned black and our faith was stretched and strained. Some of our memories are still raw while others have calloused over and others evoke the hope that comes from seeing the good that will not let evil have the final word. One of the mementos that columnist Anna Quindlen keeps from the morning of September 11 are three identical e-mails from her son at college, who like every other person trying to call New York on Sept. 11 or for three days afterward, could not get through. Each e-mail is dated September 11, 2001, and says in capital letters, “I REALLY NEED TO HEAR YOUR VOICE.”

Maybe that’s the prayer we need to lift up to our heavenly parent when the horizon goes dark and the fears and the doubts and the questions swirl around us stretching our faith to its limits. When Jesus stepped off the bank and into the Jordan to be baptized, he was declaring that we would not face the rising waters of life, or even the waters that bring death, alone. Where is He? He is there.

You know, an interesting thing happens when your faith is stretched. It grows. Amen.