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SERMONS

First Sunday after the Epiphany
January 11, 2009

By The Rev. Alston Johnson

Baptism of Our Lord

I love the sound of water flowing over rocks.

I always wanted to live in a place with water flowing over rocks.

Having grown up in Mississippi, swatting mosquitoes over fishing ponds, standing in frozen sloughs waiting for ducks, there has always been something elusive and beautiful for me about the sound of water flowing over rocks.

It is a kind of music, a kind of feeling that rises up in the mist.

Perhaps that was my draw as a young man to white-water rafting and canoeing. Finding that different stretches of a river can almost have their own kind of song; their own music, if you listen, really listen.

On a trip to the Holy Land with the seminary at Sewanee, I was very much underwhelmed by my first sights of the Jordan River, in that 10-15 mile stretch most likely visited by the John the Baptist. My North American need for aesthetics, for beauty, a need to be spiritually moved by a landscape; was not met.

The stretch of the Jordan River we stood over looked about like the Yalaboosha, the Tallahatchie, the Yazoo. I honestly wondered if we were in the right spot, or had gotten lost, or had been fooled; no good vibrations going on.

There was no water flowing over rock, no bubbling song, no alpine mist, only long, flat pools filled with algae that I could have seen just as easily at home. We walked down to the water talking with one another about filling bottles, and who was going to get in, neither of which seemed very interesting to me.

Then from somewhere behind, or beside us, we could hear a group of people speaking to one another in a foreign language. This group was very animated, a bit loud, and definitely Asian. They were crackling with energy. Almost like children; they were like children at the fair, so much to see, so much to do, there is just so much, so much . . . everything to take in - Cameras and Videos!

Our little group of seminarians took a seat on some rocks about 40 yards away, as we watched this small group of about 15 or 18 Asian pilgrims.

A man in the center was clearly the pastor, because he seemed to be doing all of the talking. He was a small, thin man, who produced this huge black leather bible. And as he spoke he raised his hand, lifted his bible, and let forth some Old Time Gospel truth in Japanese. Heads nodding, “Amen. Amen,” coming from the group of pilgrims.

Although their words were lost on me, the Spirit was not. They began to sing a hymn in Japanese and make their way down to the still, green water. The pastor stood in the water with his clothes plastered to his body as a few of the pilgrims lined up. The pastor held them in his arms as he leaned them back in the water and baptized them. Most of them came up talking fast with their hands up - there was much clapping, laughing, and some tears of joy.

By this time we found out that they had traveled over 24 hours. That some had saved for years to make this trip. That they had been preparing for baptism, or rededication, in the Jordan for many months.

We celebrated with them from a distance, and watched as they gathered in a big group on their rock, join hands, as they began to sing: odoroku bakari no megumi nari kikonomi no kegare o shireru ware ni

That got to me - that really got to me. One of the group, an older man, wearing a baseball cap and shorts, someone who might have been living in August of 1945, when two bombs were dropped on Japan by Christian nations, put together a makeshift flagpole, attached a flag with the red emblem of Japan’s rising sun on it, and held it up as Amazing Grace was ending; peoples hands rising into the air as though lifting up their nation in prayer: Amazing Grace.

For reasons known to God alone, that little band of pilgrims, traveling 24 hours in airplanes and airports, and our little group traveling our 18 hours, stood by the Jordan River together for a few moments. And the Spirit made a visit - a little theology lesson for seminarians traveling in the Holy Land.

For me there was no music in those waters on that day, yet God provided the music that was most needed, certainly most desired. He is the music in the water flowing over rocks - He is the music in the still pools - and He always was, and will be, that music. When the soul is dust, He comes like a river; that is the promise.

Yes, there are theological reasons for baptism, and I have read almost every one of them. There are also Baptismal moments - moments when God tears through the heavens and sends a dove upon us, as He sent it upon Jesus at the feet of John the Baptist.

And that dove speaks the language of our hearts and our souls, that dove is undeniable, that dove is sent for God’s children who have perhaps not found their way, or lost their way, lost their light, lost their music; it is from this Spirit, this dove that our theology rises up.

When we baptize souls into Christ’s Body, we are preparing them for the tearing of the heavens, we are preparing them for the music that rises up from within the soul - and most importantly we are preparing them for the moments when there is no music, and God sends his messenger the Holy Spirit to complete what has yet to be completed, to remind us that there are no lost children in God’s Kingdom; in the waters of Baptism, we step in the direction of our Lord’s footsteps. And those footsteps lead to God, who is our song and our home.

Sung by preacher and congregation:

When we’ve been there ten thousand years, Bright shining like the sun, We've no less days to sing God’s praise, Than when we first begun.