"A voice came"-Sermon for Epiphany 1, Mark 1:4-11
So, I admitted in my sermon back on my 50th birthday, Dec 3rd…in what I called my “Priest’s Look at 50”…rifting on Jimmy Buffett’s ballad a “Pirate’s Look at 40”…that my life has had its share of adventures, great joys, and a few regrets…if honest. And, today, I am going to share with you one of the regrets. And, as I don’t want to put you on edge…it might be in the more humorous than serious category. But, as I have noted before, for seven years I served as a session director for the High School summer camp program at Camp Allen. And, there are two traditions at Camp that tie into this story. The first is an occasional good-natured scare…popping out from behind a tree during a quiet nighttime walk…sort of thing. And, the second is campers sneaking out of their cabins at night, always with their counselors to keep things sort of under control, to steal Camp Allen’s famous cookies from the kitchen. We called it a “cookie run”. So, one year while directing, a counselor of one of the girl’s cabins let me know that they were planning a cookie run that night, as really these things are sort of planned fun, even if the campers think they are getting away with something. And, immediately, I had an idea…a mischievous one…I’ll admit. You see, between the girl’s cabin and the kitchen was another cabin that was not being used that session. So, I told the counselor to suggest to her campers that when they first sneak out of their cabin that they make a dash to the empty cabin, about half way to the kitchen, and all go in it and then wait a few minutes to just peer out the windows and be sure no one saw them leave their cabin and that the coast was clear…and then make a second dash to the kitchen.
Now, we timed this whole thing out. So, before the girls had even left their actual cabin…me and a few of the senior staffers hid ourselves under the beds in that empty cabin. You see where this is going. So, sure enough, 15 minutes or so, after hiding ourselves under the beds, the door to the cabin quietly opened and about 10 excited girls poured into the presumably empty cabin. They were quietly giggling with excitement and anticipation for the cookies that awaited. Their counselor was shushing them and telling them to be quiet and peer out of the bottom of the windows to be sure that no one was around…that no one saw them sneak out and the route to the kitchen was clear. And, then, just before they began their second run to the kitchen me and the staffers hidden under the beds reached out and grabbed their ankles and let out a giant roar. And, friends, utter chaos ensued. The girls began to scream and run in all directions bouncing off of each other, the walls and the beds. I immediately began to fear that someone was going to seriously hurt themselves. Bad…bad director! Thankfully no one did hurt themselves…and though they were all very mad at me…once satiated with milk and cookies…that I enjoyed alongside them…we all had a good laugh…and it went down as one of the most epic camp scares of all time. Thankfully no parents called camp to complain the following week.
And, I tell this story, that I do sort of regret…those poor girls were really scared…it was a little too successful of a prank…but I share the story as a metaphor for the things in life that hide under the proverbial bed that we fear…that have a sort of negative, manipulative hold over us. Sometimes, like a child who checks under the bed each night before they can go to sleep, these things are the fruit of an overactive imagination. But, again, speaking in metaphors here, often these gremlins hiding under our beds that seek to scare us, control us, define us…are all too real.
Brene Brown, borrowing from Theodore Roosevelt, talks about showing up in life as sort of like taking center stage in an arena. For, we do live our life, take risks, work, learn, lead, serve, play…before and with others…often in very publics spaces…and sometimes it feels like we are doing so all alone with a bright light shining on us for others to see and judge and criticize. And, when talking about the audience surrounding the arena that represents our real, live life…Brene Brown talks about the various voices that live in the arena…surrounding us as we take center stage…and they are many and varied. There are the critics, the cynics, the nay-sayers…those who want to control us to their own ends and desired outcomes…those who want to put us down as a way of lifting themselves up…those who would just assume to keep us small, insecure and second guessing ourselves. And, for some reason, they always seem like the loudest voices in the arena. And, these are the sorts of metaphorical monsters that too often live under our beds…and we all have them. We are all subject to them.
But…but, there are other voices in the audience as well…typically not hiding to sneak up on us and bring us down at our most unexpected moments…but, instead, typically standing in the open…in the light…waving at us…clapping for us…trying to get our attention…holding milk and cookies in their welcoming hands. Which is another metaphor for the warm and satisfying spiritual nourishment of kindness, a listening ear, genuine and unwavering support, honest feedback when requested, and expressions of gratitude…that we, also, so often offer one to another. These are the friends and companions who will tell us the truth about ourselves…that we are capable…that we matter…that we are beautiful…that we are smart and competent…that we have gifts that are needed…that we are created in the very image of love itself. And, our constant challenge is to hear these voices…among all the noise that so often surrounds us on all sides…our challenge is to see these beloved ones, these partners who have earned our trust and who tell and show us the truth about ourselves…among all the distractions that demand our attention that, also, so often surround us on all sides.
And, I share these musings with you in the context of our gospel reading this morning. Today, as we are still beginning a new year, we are also beginning a new season in the life of the Church called Epiphany. Moreover, the first Sunday in the Epiphany season always tells us the story of Jesus’ baptism. And, Jesus’ baptism represents the very moment that Jesus takes the stage in his own arena. Other than the two versions of Jesus’ birth and a handful of other childhood moments, most of Jesus’ first 30 years on life’s stage are simply unknown to us. And, that is not to suggest that his life to this point has not mattered or been profoundly valuable…but still it is mostly lost to history. Perhaps this is because it was mainly spent among family and friends…perhaps spent mainly living a quiet life in a carpenter’s workshop in a small Galilean town. The truth is we don’t know…but what we do know…is that this is all about to change. In the three years following Jesus’ baptism, he will become a very public figure in Israel…and will go on to become among the most well-known people ever to live and breathe on this earth.
And, his time of public ministry will include immense challenge. He will speak the truth to power and it will mainly not be received well. He will carry and heal the wounds of the broken-hearted…the marginalized and outcast…the sick, sad and diseased. He will work and teach and travel with little rest or comfort. And, of course, the hardest part awaits him at the end…when even many of those closest to him will abandon him…as he meets his end, his painful execution branded as both an enemy of the state and of his own religious leadership. It would seem the metaphorical monsters under his bed were legion and the abuse he endured to have no end. And, still, he lived his life always and entirely, despite the suffering and abuse encountered along the way, in the way of love…as a healer, a life-giver and love-spreader…never surrendering…never giving up. And, at the very end, for we know the very end of the story, the love of God that filled Jesus’ life and that holds the life of the world in its hands…prevails. God’s love in Jesus overcomes all the suffering that he endured, even the taking of his life. And not for Jesus alone…but for all of us…all of us…for Jesus’ final and forever defeat of sin and death, which is the substance and source of all the monsters under every bed, is for all people, for all time, for everything that has been or will exist…for you…even for me.
But, here’s the thing, I actually think that Jesus needed some help along the way. He needed some love and support to get to the very end of his earthly story. He needed his own milk and cookies sorts of voices and relationships…beginning, at the beginning of his time in the arena, at his baptism. For, I know you recall Mark’s words we heard read just a short time ago, “In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.’” These are words of profound spiritual nurture and empowerment spoken from parent to child…you are mine…I love you…I am so very pleased with who you are. These are not words shared to simply leave a strong impression on John and the others present who may have overheard them. They are not just a narrative tool to foreshadow Jesus’ identity. These are words intended for Jesus very personally and intimately to fill Jesus up with love and encouragement…with power and praise…with the wonderous truth about himself. That he might live into the call on his life…overcome all the suffering and abuse he will encounter with love alone…to, at the end, prevail. And, it is not only God who provides these voices of spiritual nurture in Jesus’ life. If you will look, the gospel is dappled with moments, gestures and words of kindness and unfailing support and devotion and love directed to Jesus by his friends and followers. And, I believe he needed all of them…to overcome the darkness lurking under his own bed…he needed all of them.
So, as we look to a new year ahead, may we be such people and voices for one another all the year long. Not a bad camp director…but folk with open hearts and hands full of milk and cookies…a sort of spiritual nurture that looks like a smile or hug, words of gratitude and appreciation, a non-judgmental, safe presence for each other, a listening ear, trusted partner, the sorts of people willing to express love in word and deed…willing to tell each other how very capable and beautiful we really are.
For, such a willingness to be God’s own voice for each other, is the very thing we need to prevail over whatever might be lurking under our beds…to prevail over whatever and whoever seeks to hold us back and keep us small. We are, our words and lives, are God’s own words and life coming alive among us, and they are the spiritual nourishment we each need to overcome. And, not for ourselves alone, but for the very life of the world. Amen.