We say a picture is worth a thousand words, but in this case I'm not sure. For what the pictures present in a static way, the words describe dynamically. There's water in a flowing river, air, and sky, and noise with the voice, and not a dove that just hangs in the sky as in a painting or mural, but a dove that swoops...and mud. That's the other thing you never see in the art of Jesus' baptism - the mud.
I grew up in river country. The rivers around here are what we call creeks back in Missouri. And you northerners know about beautiful sandy beaches along lake fronts. In fact, on the cover of your bulletins, that's a beach like you find at an ocean or lake. But that's nothing like a river bank. Rivers are muddy and messy. Mostly you climb down the river banks, squishing and sinking in, making the going difficult.... So let me tell you about one of my most embarrassing moments...
I was in sixth or seventh grade - those years when you're transitioning, gaining a little independence and freedom, and definitely into exploring. My friend and I had found a trail along the Missouri River, and we were making good progress, playing like Daniel Boone, until we came to a creek that flowed into the river. That's where the going got tough because the creek and river were high and the creek had washed away a part of the trail. We could see where it continued on, but to get there you had to traverse this dirt wall that was fairly vertical and didn't have much to support you. And if you fell you would land in the mud.
What was there to lend assistance was a root sticking out of the dirt wall that seemed just like a handle, perfectly placed. My friend grabbed on, swing himself down and around to the other side and turned around, waiting for me. But instead of moving quickly as my friend had done, I tried to be too careful. And I got myself more stuck, feet pushing against the dirt wall, my hand grabbing the root to counterbalance that, until...the root gave way and sent me flying into the mud. You know the sound....luuucch, about waist deep in it.
After my friend straightened up from being doubled over with laughter and helped me out, the next most embarrassing part was the walk home. I took all the back streets and alleys I could, but I had to cross 5th Street and publicly display my folly to everyone who was passing by.
That's my story of a close encounter with a river bank. And I don't think there are any artists who want to paint that picture.
So what if we were to re-imagine the scene a little more realistically...for the muddy, swirling way it was? We'd have a sense that Jesus' feet are in the mud, even while this heavenly voice is affirming his heavenly calling.
What's more, I think this new rendering actually brings into view something of the real theological point. For while the heaven's open and speak of relationship, the feet of Jesus are down, deep in the soil of the earth. And God's whole concern through scripture has been to keep reaching out in relationship, finding a way to convey this relentless desire to nurture this creation that was brought into being with a Word.
And now the heavens open and the Word speaks again. But this time all that desire to be in relationship gets conveyed through someone who is like us - who has feet that sink into the mud.
At Christmas time we talk about the vulnerability of the child. We sing our lullaby's and remark on the dependency. But here is Jesus, full grown, the King of the ages, the Messiah, the Lord with feet in the mud.
Madeleine L'Engle writes, "When we were children, we used to think that when we were grown-up we would no longer be vulnerable. But to grow up is to accept vulnerability." (Walking on Water, p. 190, North Point Press, 1995)
She continues, "During the Second World War one of my friends was an English-woman who was married to an RAF office. Daily she walked with vulnerability, not knowing whether or not his plane would be shot down. One day he was allowed an unexpected leave before a dangerous mission and came home to London for a brief visit with his wife and three small children. Joyfully, she left him at home, took all their food coupons, and went shopping to prepare as festive a meal as could be procured in wartime London. While she was gone there was an unexpected daytime raid, and her house was hit. Her husband, her three children, were killed.
"During the rest of the war she worked hard, was helpful to many other people, did her passionate grieving in private. Ultimately she met a man who fell in love with her and asked her to marry him. It was, she said, the most difficult decision she had ever had to make in her life. If she did not marry again, if she had no more children, she was safe; she could not be hurt again as she had been hurt. If she remarried, if she had more babies, she was opening herself to total vulnerability. It is easier to be safe than to be vulnerable. ...But she made the dangerous decision. She dared to love again..." (P. 192-3)
Now what that story illustrates in a dramatic way is a decision we face in more simple ways but no less significant ways every day. We take up our stance in many ways, whether we love again, whether to risk relationship, whether to trust in hope or to give in to fears.
In the scene that this story presents it would appear that all the action is up above - the opening sky, the descending dove, the voice - but except for the mud I think the cover of the bulletin has it right...the real action is down below where the feet touch the earth.
And in Jesus' submission to the baptism of John we see something of God's persistence in love, and perhaps are encouraged in our own persistence too.
Let us pray,
Sometimes, O God, we wander and lose our way. The dangers seem overwhelming and the hurts are real. And then you come among...and you call us out...inviting our trapped spirits to be free, inviting us to live in peace, inviting us to life - full and abundant. Give us faith to respond to this call. Amen.
Children: camera captures you? No, but it can remind me of you! The stories of Jesus remind us of God's relationship with us.