Believing Good

Bob Stillerman
Baptism of the Lord Sunday, 1-10-2021
Mark 1:4-11

01.10.2020 Baptism of the Lord

In the past several years, our norms for decency have been shattered. We no longer find it inconceivable that a gunman could use an assault weapon to shoot up an elementary school or a house of faith; It’s no longer inconceivable to believe that terrorists might disrupt airports or train stations; It’s not inconceivable to imagine refugee families being ripped apart from one another, nor to imagine violence doled out against black and brown bodies who peacefully protest their rights, or simply go for a morning jog. It’s certainly not inconceivable that politicians, on both sides of the aisles, could ignore longstanding precedents of honor and discipline and ethics, and be rewarded for their efforts. And this week, we learned it’s not inconceivable for a mob to storm our capitol building, and disrupt the free, orderly, and sacred transfer of political power from one president to another.

I was especially shocked to see the image of a Confederate flag in the sacred rotunda, hoisted there by a mob who entered in bastille-storming fashion, and flanked by passive police officers. Such an image stood in stark contrast to scenes in Richmond, Raleigh, and other Southern cities this summer, where police in riot gear swarmed peaceful assemblies demanding the removal of that unsightly flag from public spaces.

And I had a sickening thought: why aren’t the police brutalizing this mob in the same way they’ve done all summer to so many peaceful and righteous protesters associated with the Black Lives Matter movement? And even more sickening, there was a part of me that really wanted to see the use of aggressive force. Maybe a demonstration of force would be a signal of righteous rage and comeuppance directed at the agitators of this nonsense; Maybe to see such use of force would negate the idea that only the vulnerable and marginalized are the targets of such frequent attacks, because if this violence is doled out on everyone, then it really is just an issue of poor policing, not deep-rooted bias and prejudice; and we really can train people to act with restraint and caution in hostile and volatile situations; Maybe it would just be something entertaining to watch as I made dinner.

All I know, is that such a scene laid thread-bare the inequalities of our political, judicial, economic, and social systems. And I admit it. My privilege is so engrained in me, my world has been so positive, that even having seen SO many similar illustrations of blatant injustice and inequity, even in the past year, I have still tended to believe in the good of people.

But it occurred to me that this past Wednesday, something changed for me, and maybe you, too. Wednesday was a kind of Garden of Eden moment, one where we’ve been transported to a world of consequence: I think we’ve moved into a world where we no longer expect the best out of our systems and leaders, and even our neighbors. It’s one where we no longer afford them the chance to be good. Instead, I think we’re living in a world where we expect the worst out of our neighbors, and leaders, and systems. And maybe worse, we are hoping to see the worst out of such neighbors, leaders, and systems.

We’ve been forced to put a lock on the front door of the people’s house. And for the first time ever, the consequences of locking that door – pessimism, bad theology, poor hospitality, a lack of transparency, the weakening of national unity, increased volatility, the loss of our identity, the idea of might influencing right – such consequences are muted against the possibility of losing our house entirely.

Let all of this sink in: we now live in a world where it’s not outrageous to have an armed guard in church or school, or even the Senate Chamber; where you should bring a gas mask if you plan to attend even peaceful protests; where it makes sense to brace for the worst rather than expecting the best.
I think it’s worth noting that Jesus’ ministry begins in a similar context. If you had lived under Roman rule, without the benefit of being a citizen, how optimistic would you have been about your welfare, and how confident would you have been in the virtue of your more prosperous and powerful neighbors? The only neighbors that you would have trusted to do the right thing were the ones who looked like you, and thought like you, and acted just like you.

It’s in this very setting, that Jesus decides to enter baptismal waters. I think like you and me, he was discomforted about the idea of living in a world that primes us to expect less, encourages us to empathize less, and bids us to ignore the potential and possibility of growth, change, and even repentance (that’s the turning back toward God’s good purposes) in both those we deem friends, and those we deem enemies.

Jesus lived in a world that told him to expect the worst. But Jesus entered the baptismal waters because he dared to dream of a world that could be its best. And emerging from baptismal waters, Jesus determined to spend every moment offering radical hospitality, pursuing authentic truth, searching for God’s spirit in all he encountered, and choosing to live in the energy of God’s love.

I think often times, when we think about Jesus’ ministry, we remember the cheering crowd on Palm Sunday, or the multitudes that were so moved by his teachings that they forgot to bring dinner. But Jesus didn’t begin his ministry in a macro context. It was tiny. It started with one moment of decision-making. And he replicated the intentionality of that decision – the consummate love of God and neighbor – in every moment of his life. It started with a few dozen friends, all committing to stop using Caesar’s standards for seeing good, and instead buying into the audacious possibilities of the Spirit. Jesus refused to participate in systems that perceived the value of people based on material and finite things like wealth, gender, and citizenship.

Instead, Jesus committed to a relational approach – he was confident in his beliefs; accessible in answering the questions of those who both agreed and disagreed with him; ever-conscious of inner beauty; skilled in identifying the timely gifts of others; always willing to believe in God’s possibilities of transformation, even when, especially when, that belief didn’t benefit his wellbeing in the present.

Jesus didn’t ignore the anger and grief he felt in a world that continually refused to be just and equitable. Instead, Jesus sought to empathize with the hurt he witnessed, and even experienced firsthand, and he redirected that hurt with love. He dared to believe that love, with God’s help, can accomplish what indifference and hate cannot: to bring about God’s world. And Jesus leapt into the arms of God’s constant grace and mercy; assured that God buoyed him (just as God buoys me and you, too) with all the space and support to keep trying, reconciling, living, evolving each day.

I don’t think I have a cathartic explanation to offer this congregation this morning about the volatility of this world we’re living in. And I don’t have a checklist for you to follow on what to do next. I’ll simply offer the same musing I shared with a friend on Friday night. I’m going to encourage and affirm the goodness I see in others; And I’m gonna try my hardest to embrace the ones with whom I disagree, and with whom there is conflict. I’m aware that my direct efforts may not be successful, but I also know that I’ll continue to ask God to offer them the same assurance, the same enough-ness, the same presence God so freely offers me.

And I am going to trust that God can help bring about things I cannot do on my own. After all, Jesus had a dramatic effect on a centurion, and a tax collector named Zacchaeus, and a Pharisee named Nicodemus. That’s a pretty small percentage of his enemies, and there’s no telling how many times he was rejected or spurned; but it’s also hard to argue the significance these three relationships afford the two-millennia witness of our faith. And could you imagine the impact, if each of us gathered here today were to pray for, or develop even a nominal relationship with, or to commit to loving in some way big or small, three persons representing a group or position we strongly oppose? I dare say it would have a transformative impact in our community.

Friends, God doesn’t call us to be perfect in endeavors of empathy and actualized compassion. God calls us to be faithful. We will stumble, we will be clumsy, and sometimes we’ll even shine. Whatever our footing, God offers us the space and the grace to keep being a people of love, to keep working for a better world.

I think Jesus found that space and that grace in baptismal waters. And while he was only baptized in a formal way one time, I think he bathed in the Spirit every chance he had. Because baptism is the leap of expectant hope paired with the commitment to selfless love that allows us to both work for and experience God’s inbreaking realm.

Friends, may we too, enter water, in order that we might arise as people who hope and love in every moment, with every breath, and every step we take.

And maybe, just maybe, we’ll trust in, even expect God’s best, rather than bracing for Caesar’s worst.

May it be so, and may it be soon! Amen.