For three consecutive summers, starting when I was seventeen, I was on staff at Camp Mirimichi, but it wasn’t until I was eighteen that I was allowed to drive the boats.
There was only one way to get to Camp Mirimichi, and that was by crossing Huntington Lake, a five mile-long lake high in the Sierra Nevada, surrounded by rocky peaks rising above forests of lodgepole pines and fir trees. There were two large boats that could each hold 20 or 30 campers and their gear; and there were a couple of smaller boats that were used when the larger boats weren’t necessary.
One evening as the sun was sinking in the western sky, the camp director assigned me the task of taking the day’s trash to the dumpsters on the other side of the lake. We had to do this each day because of the bears, which would tear through the trash if it remained at camp.
He gave me the key to the smallest, fastest boat, which wasn’t nearly as fast as the speedboats that pulled waterskiiers across the lake every afternoon, but fast enough that, if it wasn’t carrying too heavy a load, it could skim the small waves and cause water to spray up into the air, and made it fun to ride.
So I ran down to the dock. I was in a hurry for two reasons: 1. I was excited to take this boat out and have some fun, and 2. I needed to be back before dark, as the boat was not equipped with lights for night time.
I made my way across the lake as the sun met the lowest part of the horizon, off the port side. (One of the cool things about taking a boat out is that you get to say cool things like “off the port side.”) The western end of the lake was the farthest end of the lake, nearly five miles away, and it was also where the outlet was, which means it was the only spot where the sky came down low and touched the water. The sunsets there were amazing, and on this night, with a few clouds overhead that changed from white to pink to purple, it was exceptionally gorgeous.
Once I was on the other side of the lake, I quickly unloaded the trash, then began the return trip. The sun had set. The sky was now a milky grayish-blue, except in the east where the purple shadow of the earth began its rise.
With a boat that was empty except for me, the hull seemed to barely touch the tops of the waves. Cold spray occasionally rose into the air and onto my face. I felt like I was flying, travelling at a phenomenal speed that may even have reached 12 or 13 miles per hour.
I remember that the planet Mars was exceptionally bright in the sky that summer. It appeared, and I gazed in wonder at its red light shining above the mountain known as China Peak, which was itself reddish-brown and barren. The planet was so bright that I saw it twice: in the sky, and reflected in the water.
And in that moment, with the cold spray and the wind in my face, and the blue and purple sky and the red shining planet above the mountain peaks, I lost myself. I don’t know how else to describe it. I would say I was possessed, but the dictionary says that the word possessed refers to being under the control of an evil spirit, and there was nothing evil about whatever it was that was possessing me.
Maybe captivated is a better word; captivated by the beauty of God’s creation, captivated by the universe itself. I felt as if I was one with the universe, one with the mountains, one with the air, the water, the sky; even one with a planet that was millions and millions of miles away.
In the words of Joseph Campbell, where I had thought to be alone, I became one with all the world.
In the words of T.S. Eliot, I felt as if I’d moved “into another intensity, for another union, a deeper communion.”
For that moment, my individual identity ceased to exist. I felt completely embraced by something much, much greater than I. I was in heaven, and it was wonderful. I wanted to shout, and I was sure that Mars would hear me, for Mars and I were one.
This experience will always stand out in my memory. Maybe that’s because of when it happened. 18 years old is the beginning of adulthood, an age when people are figuring out who they are. It’s an age when a person begins to think about making a name for himself, asserting his own individual identity, breaking from the connections of childhood, and finding independence.
That was certainly me. A couple of weeks later, I would move in to Braden Residence Hall at Chapman University, living on my own for the first time. Establishing my independence. Asserting my individual identity.
So to have an experience in which my individual identity – my individual self – all but disappears, and to experience joy and wonder at feeling so connected to the universe, to all that is… it was a strange, mysterious, wonderful thing.
Why am I sharing this story with you? Because it helps me understand what I think Jesus experienced when he came to the Jordan River.
Many people came to John the Baptist at the Jordan River, confessing their sins, getting baptized…. I think they were all looking for a new identity, a new self. They were dissatisfied with who they were. They were dissatisfied with their broken lives. They wanted a new life. They wanted a new identity. They wanted an extreme makeover.
So they came. They confessed. They were baptized in the water, hoping it would wash away their old identity and give each of them a brand-new, individual identity.
Jesus also came down to the river, from Nazareth, to be baptized by John. He got in line with everyone else, waited his turn,… but he wasn’t looking for an extreme makeover. He didn’t want to begin his life over. He didn’t want to establish a new, individual identity.
Instead, he wanted to allow his individual identity to be completely swallowed up by something much greater than him. His desire was to lose himself, to let his individual identity cease to exist, and to become one with God.
I think my moment on the lake was but a small glimpse of what this was like.
One thing that English translations often miss here is the subtle difference between the words in and into. In Greek, it says that the people were baptized in the river Jordan, but that Jesus was baptized into the river Jordan. He completely surrendered himself.
And the Spirit came in and took possession of him.
Again, possession doesn’t seem like quite the right word, because the dictionary definition implies that possession is evil. There is nothing evil here, although some would later accuse Jesus 0f being possessed by demons.
The dictionary also lists, as a synonym for possessed, the word crazy… and yes, there would be those who would accuse Jesus of being crazy and out of his mind.
But we don’t have to use the word possessed. We can say that Jesus was captivated by the Spirit. We can say that he was baptized with the Spirit; the others who came were baptized in water, but Jesus was baptized in and with the Spirit. He lost himself to the Spirit, which took control of him, and made him one with God.
And when he was baptized, Mark says that the heavens were torn apart. Later, at the moment of Jesus’ crucifixion, Mark alludes back to this moment when he says that the curtain in the temple was torn apart. All this tearing apart is a tearing apart of the boundary between God and humanity. In Jesus, that boundary no longer exists. Jesus is made one with God. Humanity is made one with God.
All we who have been baptized have done so in imitation of Christ. Our desire is to follow the example he set.
We were baptized in water, just as he was, but we also hope that we have been baptized into something else, something much greater than water. Our hope is to be baptized into the Spirit.
Our baptism into the Spirit began on the day of our baptism in the water, but unlike our baptism into water, our baptism into the Spirit continues. Baptism in the Spirit is ongoing. It is a lifelong process.
Our baptism into water symbolizes our baptism into the Spirit, and it takes a lifetime because we have to learn, over and over, to step into the water (metaphorically speaking), to trust the water, to completely immerse ourselves in the water. It takes a lifetime to learn to step off the dry land. It takes a lifetime for us to lose ourselves, to let go of our individual identity, and to find a new identity in the Spirit.
Constantly, each individual is trying to assert his or her own self, to create an identity that is completely his own or her own. And this is an important task in life. We have to know who we are before we can give ourselves completely to God.
But in time, we are called to move beyond that, and to lose ourselves and give ourselves over to the God of the universe.
Richard Rohr, a Franciscan priest, wrote that “mature religions, and now some scientists, say that we are hardwired for the Big Picture, for transcendence, for ongoing growth, for union with ourselves and everything else.”
We’re hardwired to lose ourselves, to connect our identity with others, and ultimately to lose ourselves in God.
No wonder we live in families, build communities, and worship together in congregations.
And this is why, historically, becoming a Christian and joining a church are linked. To be honest, I spent much of my life wondering why the two were connected. Couldn’t one become a Christian without joining a church? Couldn’t one be an independent Christian, with one’s own personal, individual faith?
But now I realize that the phrase, “independent Christian” or “individual Christian” is an oxymoron. If a life of faith involves losing yourself, connecting yourself with humanity and God,… you can’t do that by yourself. By yourself, there’s nothing to lose yourself into. By yourself, all you have is yourself. There’s nothing greater than yourself, if yourself is all you have.
That’s why Jesus said that the church exists and the Spirit is present where 2 or 3 are gathered together in his name.
The challenge, of course, is that we try too hard to hold on to the self. It’s not always easy to walk humbly with God….
Remember Paul on the Damascus Road? Up until that moment, he was very proud of who he was, what he had done, and the name he had made for himself. He didn’t want to lose himself. He didn’t want to stumble and fall. He didn’t want to fail. And he wasn’t planning on a period of despair, a time of soul-searching, a time of losing himself.
But God had other plans, and Paul learned how to let go of his life, and surrender control to God.
Psychologists and spiritual elders know that developing one’s self, one’s identity, one’s individuality, is an important life task; but there is a 2nd task, which comes later, and that is letting go of the self we have created, and giving it over to God. Losing oneself, and then finding oneself, this time as a being united with God and united with all that is.
Whether or not those who came to John the Baptist understood this, I think John himself did understand. “The one who is coming is more powerful than I,” he said. “I baptize with water; he will baptize with the Holy Spirit.”
On another occasion, John said: “he must increase, but I must decrease.” To me, that sounds like John is learning to lose himself in Christ, just as Jesus lost himself in God.
So how about you? Are you ready to get lost in the Spirit? Are you prepared to let yourself be captivated?
What would your life look like if you allowed yourself to be completely captivated by God’s Spirit? What would you become if you immersed yourself completely in the God of the universe?
What would our church look like, if each of us, starting today and throughout the coming year, could find ways to sink into union with God, to lose ourselves in order to find our real meaning and purpose?
And what would our world look like, if all Christians and indeed people of all faiths, embraced communion with God and with one another? What would our world become if each of us lost ourselves in God and found ourselves in the Spirit that unites all people with one another, the Spirit that unites us with all of creation?
Think of the possibilities.
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