January 19, 20 2008
2 Epiphany
The Rev. Barbara Schlachter                   

 

We are deviating from the Gospel of Matthew this morning by having another account of Jesus’ baptism from the Gospel of John.  It must be that Jesus’ baptism is pretty important and not only do the New Testament writers want us to understand that, but the people who put the Lectionary together want us to get it, too.

 

Oh, my, wait a minute.  (Put on sunglasses.)  That’s better.  You all were shining so brightly, I was dazzled; I could hardly see!

 

You do remember that was the collect this morning, right?  That in remembering  Jesus Christ is the light of the world, we might be illumined by Word and Sacraments to shine with the radiance of God’s glory.  Shine Jesus Shine, in each of us.

 

The hymn we just sung, On Eagle’s Wings, has that wonderful refrain—And I will raise you up on eagle’s wings. bear you on the breath of dawn, make you to shine like the sun, and hold you in the palm of my hand.

 

We are meant to shine—we have been created in God’s image and are good at the core of our being like all of God’s creation.  And if we get tarnished over time like an old silver teapot, if we forget who we are and whose we are, we have scripture and prayers like these today to help us remember, to be remembered.

 

Unlike Jesus, most of us do not remember our baptism.  I think that is a darn shame considering how pivotal it is in who we are.  Thirty-one years ago today I was ordained to the priesthood, and I will never forget that day.  It made my wonderful wedding day pale by comparison, and perhaps only childbirth can rank up there with it.  But most of us are not ordained.  It is our baptism that is the foundational call to ministry.  Yet we can’t remember it and we can’t begin to believe that renewing our baptismal vows four Sundays or so a year is the equivalent of a deep spiritual transformation.

 

So—here’s a thought.  If you aren’t ordained, you need a deep spiritual transformation, like Jesus’ baptism.  Even if you are ordained or even if you’ve had one, you might need another one from time to time.  I’m talking about a life-changing, life-renewing experience where you have had an encounter so deep with God that you know you are not the same and you will never look at life the same.  You have been given a new heart, new eyes, a new pair of glasses, if you will.

 

I had one of those transformations nine years ago, toward the end of my treatment for cancer, between six months of chemotherapy and six weeks of radiation.  I have never shared this experience with anyone.  I have considered it too personal, too risky.  But this week in my morning prayer time, I have wrestled with telling it, because of the Gospel readings, because of the anniversary of my ordination, because of walking with others through their cancer journey, because of reflecting with some wonderful women about the significance of baptism, because this is a healing service Sunday, because it seems the Holy Spirit is nudging me.

 

Mel and I had, by a marvelous set of almost miraculous co-incidences, the opportunity to leave our parish in Ohio during Holy Week and journey to Arizona to a retreat center to participate in a week of Healing with Brugh Joy, the father of healing touch.

 

I don’t remember if it was Maundy Thursday or Good Friday, but we were led in a guided visualization to a Holy Place.  It was our own particular temple, holy place, whatever was sacred for us.  For me it was an English country church.  And we were led to a certain point, and then the Spirit within us took us the rest of the way through our visualization experience, which was like a waking dream, where you know you, your ego, is not in charge, but something else is happening.  It is as close an encounter with the sacred as we can have, I believe.

 

I found an iron ring in the stone floor of the church, and I pulled it open.  It revealed a stair case descending.  I started to go down the steps.  They were steep, but well lighted.  There was no hand rail, and so I had to go carefully, with one hand on the rough stone wall.  Every ten steps or so, I would be on a little landing and then they would turn and go down some more.  I remember vividly my feeling of frustration,  “ How long? When will I ever get there?”  Wherever  “there” was, for I had no clue where these steps were leading.  Finally, after what seemed an agonizingly long journey, I arrived at the bottom of the stairs, in a chamber hewn out of the stone, again well-lighted.  There was a pool of water in it, whose water was bright blue.  I stripped off all my clothes and got into the water and swam a bit.  It was not a big pool, but big enough for a few strokes back and forth.  Then I got out and put on a white gown that was by the side of the pool, lying on a bench, obviously meant for me.  Beside it was a white lily.  Barefoot, in the white gown, carrying the white lily, I went back up the stairs, and up onto the floor of the church, and this time, it didn’t seem long or hard at all to be on those stairs.  I placed the lily on the altar and walked down the center aisle, out of the church and into a deep green woods.  That was the end.

 

Over the years, I have thought about this many times and drawn from its riches in various ways.  It has given me new understandings at different times.  One thing that seems clear to me now is that it represented a spiritual transformation; it was a baptism; I was buried in the water with Christ, and allowed to come back into the land of the living.  You need to know that was not a foregone conclusion at that point in my cancer journey that I would survive.  Was that the moment of my healing or was it the moment that my healing was revealed?  Who knows?

 

But I am here, and that profound experience has never left me.  It was a moment of rebirth, of redirection, like Jesus’ baptism.

 

Listen to John’s words again:  “Here is the Lamb of God who takes away the sin of the world!” Not sins, but sin.  Sin in the sense of our belief that we are estranged from God, that we are separate from God and from one another and from creation.  The Christ is the one who has taken away the illusion of our separateness and given us new eyes to see the world and our connection with it.  Each of us, in our baptism, is invited to see the Divine Unity of all that is, visible and invisible.  Each of us, in the eucharist, is invited to realize our oneness with Christ:  to embrace the Christ within us, within the Body of Christ the Church, and the whole great world of which we are not only a part, but one with.

 

“Come and see,” Jesus said to the disciples, “Come and see where I dwell.”  And Philip said to Nathaniel in the verses after the end of the reading we had this morning, “Come and see for yourself.  Don’t take someone else’s word for it.

 

One part of my morning prayer time is often to write a poem/prayer based on one of the scripture readings for the day.  This week the daily readings also featured the first chapter of John and so I share two brief reflections with you.  The first is based on the translation from the Message where Christ dwelling among us has been translated, he has moved into our neighborhood.

 

I ran into the street and shouted, “Come quickly!

I have a guest who wants to meet you—all my neighbors.”

Just then my neighbor ran into the street shouting,

“I, too, have a guest!”

And soon all my neighbors were in the street,

All talking at once.

Each had a guest who wanted to meet us all.

In our excitement, we finally realized

It was the same guest.

Christ had moved into the neighborhood and chose to dwell with each of us.

What a party we had!  We danced all night!

This one is based on John 1 and Hebrews 3.

I beheld Jesus and I asked him,

“Teacher, where are you staying?”

And he said to me, “Come and see.”

So I followed, and after some meandering

We came to a dwelling.

I looked and it was my own.

At the threshold I had gooseflesh.

I said, “Come in then.”

And he has been inside me ever since.

But not just in me: in you, too, because like Jesus, you are baptized.

In these gray, cold days, we are to shine like the sun.  But we must do our own inner work, with our own imagination in our own prayer time.  I hope for you to burst forth today from this place, bright as suns, not worried about whether you are forgiven, whether you are cured or healed, whether God loves only Christians, but knowing yourselves as the forgiven, healed, whole and holy people of God you are, ready to love and serve that great world out there.