Blessings to you on this beautiful day! This is the day that the Lord has made, and I rejoice and am glad in it. I rejoiced early this morning as I walked to church and saw the early morning sun spreading its warmth over the basin; I rejoiced as I felt the warmth of the sun and the warmth of my own body flow through me as my blood began to flow and my body became more awake and alert. I rejoiced at the sights I saw and the sounds I heard: neighborhood cats keeping watch, winter birds chirping, and undeveloped buds on the trees, bearing the promise of spring. And now I rejoice that we are gathered here, together, to worship the God who created us and calls each of us by name.
I like to walk. My wife and kids think I’m crazy, choosing to walk even when a ride is available. Twice now, I’ve taken our high school youth on a walk to get ice cream or frozen yogurt. I think the first time, they thought I was crazy; however last week they asked if we could go again, and I think we will, tonight. Maybe I’m winning them over.
Or, maybe, they just want some more frozen yogurt. It could be that.
As far as I’m concerned, the only thing better than going for a walk in this beautiful city of ours is going for a hike in some remote, wild place.
I have a good friend—his name is David—who also likes to hike, and we go venturing into some wilderness as often as I am able to find a free Saturday. In the past two years we’ve gone hiking in the Santa Monica Mountains and the Angeles National Forest. We’ve seen waterfalls and bighorn sheep. We’ve hiked near the ocean, and we’ve climbed through ancient pine forests at 9000 feet.
Many of the hikes we’ve taken were in areas that were scorched in the Station Fire: Tujunga Canyon, Mt. Lukens, Switzer Falls, the Gabrieliño Trail… The beautiful forests and chaparral we hiked through are now gone.
David drove up into some of those areas last weekend, and emailed me some of the pictures he took. They are truly unbelievable. It looks like a moonscape. The ground is all dark ash and dust. The few trees that remain are but blackened skeletons of what they once were. It was an all-consuming fire, which burned everything in its path.
Looking at his pictures, it was clear to me just how dangerous the situation now is for those who live in and near the canyons below the burn areas. There is nothing holding the soil in place. The ash and dust lay upon the land loosely. A few weeks ago, even some dry winds sent some of it into the air, filling the sky and nearly blocking out the sun.
We’ve already had some rainstorms this season, and there have indeed been mudflows. However, winter storms are capable of much harder downpours, and if one such storm does arrive this season, I can now see how such an event could result in disaster.
First the fire; then the flood.
In the ancient world of scripture, such forces were even more frightening than they are for us. Floods and deep water were especially scary. In the ocean’s murky depths, for example, ancient people saw only darkness, and the chaotic confusion of swirling waters. There is, after all, no apparent order to the rushing, gushing, thrashing waters of the deep.
Biblical people believed that the oceans and seas were the dwelling places for all the forces of evil, all the demons that are at work to undo God’s plan of creation. Those demons and evil forces like the dark chaos of the swirling floods.
When God created the world, God confined these deep waters to the seas. Dry land appeared, the waters were separated, and the demons were trapped. But their desire to destroy the order which God had created continued; their attempts to make chaos and confusion continue in the world persisted; and these demons remained a threat to the world God had created.
A significant part of Jesus’ ministry involved casting out demons, setting people free from the evil within them. In the book of Mark, there is a story about a man who was possessed by many demons. Jesus cast out the demons. Having been exorcised, and needing a new home, the demons found a herd of pigs to possess. When these evil spirits went into the pigs, the entire herd rushed down the hill and into the sea, and drowned. Why? Because the demons were returning to their watery home.
In southern California this winter, we are aware of the threat posed by watery chaos and thrashing waves, especially in areas below burned-up mountains and canyons. However, in biblical times, floods were not just a physical threat; they were also a spiritual threat. And sometimes, as a spiritual threat, the floods came without any water at all.
The nation of Israel was caught by a spiritual flood when it was subject to captivity. When Babylon invaded and took the people from their homeland, the order which God had established in the world seemed to have vanished. Even God, it seemed, was nowhere to be found. It appeared that the forces of evil had taken over.
The people of Israel were disheartened. They wrote psalms of lament, such as Psalm 88: “O Lord, my soul is full of trouble… Why do you hide your face from me? You have put me in the darkest depths. Your wrath lies heavily upon me; you have overwhelmed me with all your waves.”
The Israelites were caught in a flood. Like a leaf or a twig floating helplessly down a raging river, they were at the mercy of the current, forced to flow along helplessly. They felt overwhelmed by the waves…
…And so do we, at times. The waters come crashing on our door when a loved one dies, and the world becomes a blur. The waters rise over our heads when divorce, depression, or despair become a part of our lives. The waters rise up when our future is unclear, when employment is hard to find, when our life’s direction is up in the air.
How interesting is it that the symbolic, significant act of becoming a disciple, a follower of Jesus… is to immerse oneself in the waters of baptism; to allow that water to overwhelm one’s body. The act of becoming a disciple does not keep us safely on dry land. It plunges us under the surface, separating us from the air we need to breathe, the air that gives us life, and the Spirit that is as close to us as our own breath, the Spirit that, in the beginning, hovered above the surface of the water.
Jesus himself was baptized; which is to say that he was immersed in all the evil forces of the world that we ourselves are subject to. Jesus was also crucified on the cross, the very symbol of death for the Roman world in which he lived. Both water and the cross are symbols of a world where death, chaos, and evil forces reign, a world where God’s presence is not felt. In his immersion into the Jordan River’s chilly waters, Jesus demonstrated that he was not exempt from the possibility of being overwhelmed by a spiritual flood.
However, it is right there in the midst of the flood—right there in the rushing water—that good news is spoken. To the Israelites, God says through the prophet Isaiah words that are also spoken to you in the midst of whatever flood you face. God says, to Israel and to you, “Fear not, for I have redeemed you; I have summoned you by name; you are mine. When you pass through the waters, I will be with you. When you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. When you walk through the fire, you shall not be burned, and the flame shall not consume you…. Do not be afraid, for I am with you.”
Emerging from the watery chaos, new life begins. An epiphany takes place, a revelation; and a new identity emerges. When Jesus was baptized, a voice from heaven declared that he was God’s beloved son. Baptism, then, is a naming ceremony, at least in a way. “You are my beloved son. You are a child of mine.”
To the Israelites, God says “Do not fear; I have called you by your name; you are mine…” Then, having been rescued from the flood waters, the Israelites are told again: “Do not fear; everyone who is called by my name, whom I created … I am with you.”
In these baptism stories, being called by name, by one’s own name as well as by God’s name—and being called a child of God—seems to be extremely important. The message is clear: you belong to God.
Now this is quite a countercultural concept. In our world, we feel pulled to belong to so many different groups and organizations. that is part of the chaos of the world in which we live. Our very souls are constantly being pulled and tugged and yanked. Corporations and their advertisers, in particular, work really hard to make you believe that you belong to them. Coke wants you to belong to them. It’s not enough that you drink Coke; you need to proclaim your dependence on Coke by adorning your drinking glasses with Coke’s logo, and your t-shirts, and the walls of your house, and whatever else Coke can convince you to put their logo on.
The same with Abercrombie and Fitch, and Nike, and other clothing manufacturers. Don’t just wear the clothes; wear the logo that says you belong to them. I’ve even known someone who got a corporate logo tattooed onto his skin. I don’t remember which one it was. What’s that star-shaped logo? Volcom? I don’t think it was Volcom, but it was something like that; and he got that tattoo. Now if that isn’t the ultimate sign of showing who you belong to—a corporate logo permanently inked onto your body—I don’t know what is.
Well, in the church, we don’t use tattoos to publicly announce and celebrate to whom we belong. Instead, we use baptism. In fact, in the waters of baptism, we surrender all our allegiances to all the powers of this world that lay claim on us—or at least, we place them second behind our primary, number one allegiance, our allegiance to God.
The waters rush over us, and that part of us that belongs to the company, or that belongs to the advertisers, or that belongs to the culture—even that part that belongs to our friends and family—makes way for a new, number one allegiance.
After all, it is God who created us. It is God who called us by name—our name, and God’s name—even before we were born.
It is God who sees us through the waters. It is God who keeps us from being consumed by the fire. It is God who never, ever fails us.
We belong to God.
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