Baptism Meditation for Advent 3

Loosely based (I mean tangentially, folks!) on Isaiah 35: 1-10

Isaiah 35:1-10

35:1 The wilderness and the dry land shall be glad, the desert shall rejoice and blossom; like the crocus

35:2 it shall blossom abundantly, and rejoice with joy and singing. The glory of Lebanon shall be given to it, the majesty of Carmel and Sharon. They shall see the glory of the LORD, the majesty of our God.

35:3 Strengthen the weak hands, and make firm the feeble knees.

35:4 Say to those who are of a fearful heart, "Be strong, do not fear! Here is your God. He will come with vengeance, with terrible recompense. He will come and save you."

35:5 Then the eyes of the blind shall be opened, and the ears of the deaf unstopped;

35:6 then the lame shall leap like a deer, and the tongue of the speechless sing for joy. For waters shall break forth in the wilderness, and streams in the desert;

35:7 the burning sand shall become a pool, and the thirsty ground springs of water; the haunt of jackals shall become a swamp, the grass shall become reeds and rushes.

35:8 A highway shall be there, and it shall be called the Holy Way; the unclean shall not travel on it, but it shall be for God's people; no traveler, not even fools, shall go astray.

35:9 No lion shall be there, nor shall any ravenous beast come up on it; they shall not be found there, but the redeemed shall walk there.

35:10 And the ransomed of the LORD shall return, and come to Zion with singing; everlasting joy shall be upon their heads; they shall obtain joy and gladness, and sorrow and sighing shall flee away.

Dancing Wet
(The water always wins…)
December 16, 2007, Advent 3
Isaiah 35:1-10

It seems that whenever human beings get into a situation with water, water always wins. The vast majority of weather troubles in the world involve water—or lack thereof.

Last Tuesday when an ice storm was predicted I spent three different occasions outside shoveling snow—three different kinds of snow. The first shoveling I did was to get a couple of inches of fine powdery snow off the driveway before ice fell on it and turned it to concrete. But as I lifted every shovelful to throw it onto the ever-growing snow bank on either side of the driveway, a gust of wind would send a shower of it right into my face. When I was finished, some 25 minutes later, I was soaked. I came in, dried off, changed clothes.

A few hours later, the snow had changed. It was big, wet, monster-sized flakes this time, and accumulating fast! In order to keep up, and avoid having to shovel snow covered with ice—which was still predicted—I suited up and went out again. Unfortunately I was out there with out a hat, so my hair was dripping within minutes, as the gigantic flakes melted as soon as they hit my head. The most discouraging thing about this time was looking at the beginning of the driveway from the end of the driveway and barely being able to see that I had made any progress—oh, and breaking the good shove, the one that had been MacGyver-ed together last year after a big snowfall!

By late afternoon, those big flakes had taken their toll and Spouse was due to get home from work. Still trying to avoid ice-coated snow, I went out for the third time , my coat still pretty wet from the second shoveling. I was using the puny back-up shovel this time, and the snow was heavy, and the banks were higher. It wasn’t blowing in my face, or melting on my hair, but it was breaking my back! I watched as my neighbor’s husband came home with their newly repaired snow blower and quickly finished off their driveway. I softly cursed, under my breath, our decision to stay “green” on the snow removal issue. Green, like our impossibly wimpy little bargain store shovel, which now felt like a child’s plastic sand toy in terms of usefulness against all that water.

Nearing the end of the driveway—the worst part, since it always gets plowed in every time the snowplow comes through—I had my head down, intent on my work and determined to finish, even if it killed me. Suddenly I could hear the sound of another shovel scraping through the crusty, icy ridge where driveway meets cul-de-sac. I looked up to see a neighbor who had seen my distress and had come over to help me.

“That’s so kind of you.” I said, truly grateful for the help. “I was really starting to think I would never finish.” “It’s okay”, he said, “We’ll get ‘er done.” I felt kind of silly for a moment, as hot tears sprang to my eyes and I tried to fight them back. I mean, who cries because their neighbor shovels a little snow? But, you know, when a person battles water, water always wins.

Each of us begins our lives floating in water. It is under the dark and mysterious cover of the waters of the womb that the miracle of life transforms from two cells to an entire person. We cannot be born until the waters give way, leading us out into the bright light of a waiting world. Once we are born it is water that sustains us—we cannot live without it. Springs, pools, streams and wetlands were the promise of God through Isaiah to a people desperate for signs of renewal and life—evidence that God has not forgotten them. Just when we think everything that is good and right has dried up, God sends water to refresh and revitalize.

When I was in seminary, taking a class on worship and the sacraments, we practiced baptisms with dolls, borrowed from the children of students in the class. The purpose of the practice was to give us some idea of the juggling act that had to happen—book, baby, pitcher, handful of water. But no practice in the world is adequate to prepare one for the moment when it all comes together, when water meets spirit meets congregation meets parents meets child. That is a juggling act no one can prepare for. It’s more like a dance, really. A spontaneous wet, spirited dance.

We all here today are partners in that dance. When we baptize a child in our midst, we are promising to continue that dance, to be the drop—or glass—of water for that family in a dry season—trusting in the One who makes all things new with streams of mercy, pools of forgiveness, springs of love, fountains of joy, and veritable swamps of grace. We may even be called upon to help shovel the stubborn icy remnants, if need be.

Sometimes when a person grows up, they fight their own baptism, trying desperately to deny the flood of God’s love and caring that we enact in worship with our three handfuls from a bowl. It happens. But ultimately, fighting water is futile. Water always wins.

Several years a go I was flying from California to Alabama, in a flight path that took me over Arizona. The pilot warned us that if we were to look out the left windows we would get a glimpse of the edge of the Grand Canyon. I looked out when he said to, saw some canyons and thought to myself, ”Hmm…it must look bigger up close, because that is not all that spectacular.” I went back to my book. Suddenly the plane banked slightly and all over the cabin, a collective “Aahhh” went up. I looked up in time to see what was causing all the fuss. What I had been looking at was not the Canyon at all.

We were looking at the grandeur of the Grand Canyon, and children were exclaiming and grown-ups were just quietly admiring , and the pilot—who surely must have seen it hundreds of times—came over the public address system and said, “This is what a trickle of water will do, folks.”

In Christ the trickle became the stream became the river became the flood. It was as if heaven itself rained down in a torrent of renewal, of transforming redemption. The water always wins. We might as well dance.

Thanks be to God!