Let There Be Light
Genesis 1:1-5, Mark 1:4-11
A couple weeks ago we came home late in the evening and as we were walking from the car to our house my 3 year old looked up at the very cold, dark sky and pointed. He said, “Mommy, is that the star for Jesus?” After all of the Sunday School lessons, books read and church services I was so delighted that the Christmas story had sunk in and after pausing for a moment I said “Yes, I think it is.” He then excitedly yelled, “I see it! Daddy I see the star for Jesus!” I wondered how much of that innocent excitement was experienced by those foreign sky-watchers so many years ago on Epiphany as they followed the star to Jesus. I also wondered how many people in the world today are looking up at a cold, dark sky and looking for light, looking for some sign of hope, that God is here. These bitterly cold January days leave many of us longing for light- longing for the lights of our warm home at the end of our day’s journey, or the light of a crackling fire as the snow falls outside, or the light of a Florida sun and a nice vacation. These long days of winter are cold, harsh and dark, and they may leave many of us feeling cold, harsh and dark, looking to the sky in search of something to hope for.
And it seems to me that those are just the type of circumstances in which the powerful light of God breaks through. After all, it did all start out that way. In the creation story from Genesis we hear about a dark and formless void … chaos. And with a mere utterance light comes through. “Let there be light.” This is how it all began. A dramatic shift from darkness to light.
The truth is that sometimes we forget that the light follows the darkness. Sometimes the night sky seems endless. The hopeless stories, the pain we are experiencing, the weight of depression, the questions, the suffering, sometimes it seems so thick, so all-encompassing that we can’t imagine the light will follow. Sometimes we forget that God says “let there be light.”
And in the Gospel of Mark reading today that light has come in a new way. Mark’s Gospel begins with anticipation, with pointing and waiting. First we hear the words of the prophet Isaiah, words about preparing, “Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.” And then the very next line says “John the Baptizer appeared in the wilderness …” And he is calling people to prepare, to prepare by repenting. To be pushed down into the water, into the darkness, to wash away their sins, and emerge clean, prepared, ready for the light. And John tells the people that good things are coming. The one, the one that many have waited for, the one who will baptize with the Holy Spirit is coming. Their darkness will be no more, the light is near. And then Jesus comes and is baptized.
The Gospel of Mark is written in a very hurried way. Everything happens “suddenly” and right away. There is no story of the baby Jesus, no beautiful words about the Word and the beginning like in John. Instead, this is the account Mark tells. A quotation from Isaiah, a brief description of John the Baptist and then he is here. Jesus. Straight from Nazareth and then off to begin his epic journey right away. If someone was new to Christianity and picked up the Gospel of Mark and started reading, they may not understand the hoping and waiting that took place before Jesus came. They might not know of the many generations that passed hoping for a Savior. Of the many who looked to the dark sky hoping for a star, but could only wait. In the Gospel reading today it all just seems to happen so quickly.
But we know, we know what it means to wait and hope. We know what it means to be in the darkness looking for light. Any of us who have felt sadness, grief or pain. Any who have struggled with depression, anxiety or loneliness. Any who have contemplated what it means to be human, to live on this earth, so vulnerable, so mortal, so attached to others who are also vulnerable. Any who have struggled to find answers, to find comfort, to see a future with hope. We know about the waiting, the fears, the chaos, the darkness that comes before the light.
But John the Baptist knew what the prophet Isaiah knew, what the waters of creation knew … that something good was coming. That the darkness would bring forth light. That God is here. And so Jesus comes and he is baptized. He is plunged into the waters and emerges in a beautiful light- the heavens “torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him.”
Today is Baptism-of-our-Lord. It is a day when we remember and celebrate that amazing and beautiful event that happened when Christ emerged from the waters. And we also remember and celebrate our own baptisms.
I have had the opportunity to be a part of the ritual of baptism from a number of perspectives. Of course as a baby I was baptized, and as a pastor I had the honor of baptizing many from newborns to adults, as part of the congregation I have participated in the service and watched from the pews, as a sponsor I have stood behind a dear friend being baptized and as a parent I have watched as both of my boys were baptized. So I can confess that each of these roles has unique challenges. As a baby I obviously had no idea what was going on other than a shock of water poured on my head. As the pastor there are so many things to think about for a baptism: sufficiently counseling the parents beforehand, making arrangements with the altar guild and others helping, making sure the congregation knows their part, wondering if the acolytes will remember their parts, keeping the baby from ripping my microphone off and making sure it all goes smoothly. As a parent you are just hoping that the timing will work out so that the baby is not hungry, screamy, stinky or spitting up. As the sponsor you want to remember your part. And as a member of the congregation you are hoping to see around the heads in front of you and all the while remember your own baptismal vows. It can all be an exercise in avoiding distractions. And yet, even with all of that … there is that moment. That moment in every baptism I have ever been a part of … that moment when it hits you. The presence of the Holy Spirit is felt and it is breath-taking.
Because beyond the adorable white outfits and well-spoken liturgy is this amazingly bold act. An act that connects us with Jesus and the earliest Christians. A vow that lasts forever and a rock solid faith that God is there, present in the water. An act that is defiant. It is defiant because we look death right in the face and say “you are not the final word.” We dive right into the darkness, drown in the waters of despair, death and sin, we fall deeply with courage knowing that we will come up, we will see the light again, knowing that the darkness brings the light. Knowing that God said “let there be light.” Knowing that Jesus does not leave us in the darkness. It is defiant because in our baptism and every time we reaffirm our baptism we say that this is what we will live by. In a world of fear and sadness and a darkness that at times can seem overwhelming, we will live above the waters, we will live as baptized Christians, we will live in the light of Christ.
This is our story as Christians. The story of Christ is one of darkness and light, but the light always has the final word. We dive deep into the waters because we know that we will come up for air, we will see the light. We follow Christ to the darkness of the cross because we know that resurrection will follow. And our eyes search the darkness of the night sky because we know the light is there, we know the darkness will not overcome us.
And when we don’t know this, when we lose sight of the light, when our faith waivers, when we are afraid, alone, hurting or just unsure … we can come again to the baptismal font and reaffirm those promises. We can take comfort in this community of faith praying for us when we are too weak to pray on our own and somehow, some way the light will come. Because the darkness brings light.
About a week before Christmas we got a call at the house from a member of my husband’s church saying that his wife had died in the night. This man is a devoted church member, hard-working, kind and well-loved. I prayed for him the day before Christmas Eve as he said his final good-bye and attended his wife’s funeral. I told him that when I saw him at the Christmas day service. He told me that he had lost a wife before this and had also buried children. He knew pain, he knew darkness, he knew the uncertainties of life. At the end of the service I sat my 10 month old son down in the aisle while I picked up all the snacks he and my other son had spilled from my attempt to keep them quiet for church by filling their mouths with snacks. My baby is in a phase right now where he is very attached to me and cries if anyone else tries to hold him or sometimes if I just put him down. So he started to fuss a bit. The man I was telling you about came over to say goodbye and my baby reached up his arms. So he picked him up. I turned around to see them happily giggling at each other and parading around for all to see their smiles.
It was a great Christmas moment …hope in the form of a tiny baby. Joy in the midst of tears. Loneliness on hold for love. And somehow some way light coming forth from the darkness.
A couple weeks ago we came home late in the evening and as we were walking from the car to our house my 3 year old looked up at the very cold, dark sky and pointed. He said, “Mommy, is that the star for Jesus?” After all of the Sunday School lessons, books read and church services I was so delighted that the Christmas story had sunk in and after pausing for a moment I said “Yes, I think it is.” He then excitedly yelled, “I see it! Daddy I see the star for Jesus!” I wondered how much of that innocent excitement was experienced by those foreign sky-watchers so many years ago on Epiphany as they followed the star to Jesus. I also wondered how many people in the world today are looking up at a cold, dark sky and looking for light, looking for some sign of hope, that God is here. These bitterly cold January days leave many of us longing for light- longing for the lights of our warm home at the end of our day’s journey, or the light of a crackling fire as the snow falls outside, or the light of a Florida sun and a nice vacation. These long days of winter are cold, harsh and dark, and they may leave many of us feeling cold, harsh and dark, looking to the sky in search of something to hope for.
And it seems to me that those are just the type of circumstances in which the powerful light of God breaks through. After all, it did all start out that way. In the creation story from Genesis we hear about a dark and formless void … chaos. And with a mere utterance light comes through. “Let there be light.” This is how it all began. A dramatic shift from darkness to light.
The truth is that sometimes we forget that the light follows the darkness. Sometimes the night sky seems endless. The hopeless stories, the pain we are experiencing, the weight of depression, the questions, the suffering, sometimes it seems so thick, so all-encompassing that we can’t imagine the light will follow. Sometimes we forget that God says “let there be light.”
And in the Gospel of Mark reading today that light has come in a new way. Mark’s Gospel begins with anticipation, with pointing and waiting. First we hear the words of the prophet Isaiah, words about preparing, “Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.” And then the very next line says “John the Baptizer appeared in the wilderness …” And he is calling people to prepare, to prepare by repenting. To be pushed down into the water, into the darkness, to wash away their sins, and emerge clean, prepared, ready for the light. And John tells the people that good things are coming. The one, the one that many have waited for, the one who will baptize with the Holy Spirit is coming. Their darkness will be no more, the light is near. And then Jesus comes and is baptized.
The Gospel of Mark is written in a very hurried way. Everything happens “suddenly” and right away. There is no story of the baby Jesus, no beautiful words about the Word and the beginning like in John. Instead, this is the account Mark tells. A quotation from Isaiah, a brief description of John the Baptist and then he is here. Jesus. Straight from Nazareth and then off to begin his epic journey right away. If someone was new to Christianity and picked up the Gospel of Mark and started reading, they may not understand the hoping and waiting that took place before Jesus came. They might not know of the many generations that passed hoping for a Savior. Of the many who looked to the dark sky hoping for a star, but could only wait. In the Gospel reading today it all just seems to happen so quickly.
But we know, we know what it means to wait and hope. We know what it means to be in the darkness looking for light. Any of us who have felt sadness, grief or pain. Any who have struggled with depression, anxiety or loneliness. Any who have contemplated what it means to be human, to live on this earth, so vulnerable, so mortal, so attached to others who are also vulnerable. Any who have struggled to find answers, to find comfort, to see a future with hope. We know about the waiting, the fears, the chaos, the darkness that comes before the light.
But John the Baptist knew what the prophet Isaiah knew, what the waters of creation knew … that something good was coming. That the darkness would bring forth light. That God is here. And so Jesus comes and he is baptized. He is plunged into the waters and emerges in a beautiful light- the heavens “torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him.”
Today is Baptism-of-our-Lord. It is a day when we remember and celebrate that amazing and beautiful event that happened when Christ emerged from the waters. And we also remember and celebrate our own baptisms.
I have had the opportunity to be a part of the ritual of baptism from a number of perspectives. Of course as a baby I was baptized, and as a pastor I had the honor of baptizing many from newborns to adults, as part of the congregation I have participated in the service and watched from the pews, as a sponsor I have stood behind a dear friend being baptized and as a parent I have watched as both of my boys were baptized. So I can confess that each of these roles has unique challenges. As a baby I obviously had no idea what was going on other than a shock of water poured on my head. As the pastor there are so many things to think about for a baptism: sufficiently counseling the parents beforehand, making arrangements with the altar guild and others helping, making sure the congregation knows their part, wondering if the acolytes will remember their parts, keeping the baby from ripping my microphone off and making sure it all goes smoothly. As a parent you are just hoping that the timing will work out so that the baby is not hungry, screamy, stinky or spitting up. As the sponsor you want to remember your part. And as a member of the congregation you are hoping to see around the heads in front of you and all the while remember your own baptismal vows. It can all be an exercise in avoiding distractions. And yet, even with all of that … there is that moment. That moment in every baptism I have ever been a part of … that moment when it hits you. The presence of the Holy Spirit is felt and it is breath-taking.
Because beyond the adorable white outfits and well-spoken liturgy is this amazingly bold act. An act that connects us with Jesus and the earliest Christians. A vow that lasts forever and a rock solid faith that God is there, present in the water. An act that is defiant. It is defiant because we look death right in the face and say “you are not the final word.” We dive right into the darkness, drown in the waters of despair, death and sin, we fall deeply with courage knowing that we will come up, we will see the light again, knowing that the darkness brings the light. Knowing that God said “let there be light.” Knowing that Jesus does not leave us in the darkness. It is defiant because in our baptism and every time we reaffirm our baptism we say that this is what we will live by. In a world of fear and sadness and a darkness that at times can seem overwhelming, we will live above the waters, we will live as baptized Christians, we will live in the light of Christ.
This is our story as Christians. The story of Christ is one of darkness and light, but the light always has the final word. We dive deep into the waters because we know that we will come up for air, we will see the light. We follow Christ to the darkness of the cross because we know that resurrection will follow. And our eyes search the darkness of the night sky because we know the light is there, we know the darkness will not overcome us.
And when we don’t know this, when we lose sight of the light, when our faith waivers, when we are afraid, alone, hurting or just unsure … we can come again to the baptismal font and reaffirm those promises. We can take comfort in this community of faith praying for us when we are too weak to pray on our own and somehow, some way the light will come. Because the darkness brings light.
About a week before Christmas we got a call at the house from a member of my husband’s church saying that his wife had died in the night. This man is a devoted church member, hard-working, kind and well-loved. I prayed for him the day before Christmas Eve as he said his final good-bye and attended his wife’s funeral. I told him that when I saw him at the Christmas day service. He told me that he had lost a wife before this and had also buried children. He knew pain, he knew darkness, he knew the uncertainties of life. At the end of the service I sat my 10 month old son down in the aisle while I picked up all the snacks he and my other son had spilled from my attempt to keep them quiet for church by filling their mouths with snacks. My baby is in a phase right now where he is very attached to me and cries if anyone else tries to hold him or sometimes if I just put him down. So he started to fuss a bit. The man I was telling you about came over to say goodbye and my baby reached up his arms. So he picked him up. I turned around to see them happily giggling at each other and parading around for all to see their smiles.
It was a great Christmas moment …hope in the form of a tiny baby. Joy in the midst of tears. Loneliness on hold for love. And somehow some way light coming forth from the darkness.
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