Readings

Quite a set of water images in today’s readings—and an opportunity to think about our baptism.

Peter compares the waters of Noah’s flood and the waters of baptism. Our first reading: a scene just after that flood. Meanwhile, Jesus’ baptism at the Jordan river, a location that in Israel’s memory is firmly paired with the crossing of the Red Sea. God parts the Red Sea to save Israel from the Egyptian army; God parts the Jordan to allow Israel to enter the promised land dry-shod. So: Noah’s flood, Israel passing through the Red Sea, Israel passing through the Jordan, Jesus’ baptism at the Jordan, our baptism.

All these water images juxtaposed with today’s psalm suggests that whatever baptism is, it’s not a “get out of jail free” card, a fast-forward to the “and they lived happily ever after” part. It’s a dangerous business—as spelled out pretty clearly in the prayer book (p.306):

We thank you, Almighty God, for the gift of water. Over it the Holy Spirit moved in the beginning of creation. Through it you led the children of Israel out of their bondage in Egypt into the land of promise. In it your Son Jesus received the baptism of John and was anointed by the Holy Spirit as the Messiah, the Christ, to lead us, through his death and resurrection, from the bondage of sin into everlasting life.

The water at the start of creation: the earth a formless void, darkness covering the face of the deep, a wind from God sweeping over the face of the waters (Gen. 1:2). Not somewhere we’d choose for vacation. At the bank of the Red Sea: stay here and die or enter that eerie dry path between the walls of water. “The baptism of John:” that’s the John whose arrest our Gospel records.

Back to the BCP: “We thank you, Father, for the water of Baptism. In it we are buried with Christ in his death. By it we share in his resurrection. Through it we are reborn by the Holy Spirit.” The world is such that our best option is being buried with Christ in his death. And this, pulling back the camera, after publicly declaring a change in allegiance (p.302): from rooting/working for Pharaoh to rooting/working for Moses.

Baptism, in other words, is something that happens in the middle of a war zone. Baptism doesn’t remove us from that war zone; it does begin a process of learning how to live there with integrity.

That’s not easy. Fredrich Nietzsche, one of the more interesting 19^th century philosophers: “Be careful who you choose as your enemy because that’s who you become most like.” Not always true, but true more often than we’d like. How do we avoid our cure being worse than the disease?

And that’s where psalms like Psalm 25 come in. The enemies are the presenting problem (v.1). But the psalmist is equally clear that not all the problems are external (v.6). Elsewhere in the psalm: “forgive my sin, for it is great” (v.10). So the dominant plea is not for protection—although that’s certainly there—but for instruction (vv.3-4). Vv.7-8 continue the theme—and the psalmist is clearly including themselves among the “sinners, humble, lowly.”

Humble. There’s a too-often ignored truism in management and military circles that what bites you is often not the unknown, but the unknown unknown, those areas where you’re not aware that there’s something you don’t know. I think that would have resonated with our psalmist. The psalmist—we, for that matter—isn’t in a position to say “Lord, teach me about A, B, and C.”  Too often—as friends and neighbors know—it’s the teaching about H, I and J that’s needed. Lent isn’t about coming up with another set of New Year’s resolutions. Humility: staying attentive to what God might be trying to each us despite our assumptions.

So, on this first Sunday in Lent: if the cries for help in Psalm 25 resonate, we shouldn’t be surprised. Our baptism wasn’t about getting us out of those turbulent waters, but about positioning us to live—to thrive—in them. Recall the prayer after baptism:

Give them an inquiring and discerning heart, the courage to will and to persevere, a spirit to know and to love you, and the gift of joy and wonder in all your works. (p.308)

I like the “gift of joy and wonder in all your works” part; I’d guess that the different petitions in that prayer are pretty closely related, so that if I want the joy and wonder, I’d best not shortchange the “inquiring and discerning heart” part. And I really don’t want to end up as another example for Nietzsche to use. Psalm 25’s petitions for ongoing learning might help me with that.