God, the Tightening Hope

I confess to reading, over Christmas vacation, before bed and after playing with assorted grandchildren, a couple of Harry Potter books. I know. I’m terribly late to the party. Harry has been around for quite awhile, maturing in print and on the screen with all his secret wizardly gifts.

I came away from J.K Rowling’s fictional world with a couple of thoughts. One was the nagging question of what it would be like to hide under a disappearing cloak, discharge sparks from a wand, or go back in time. But that’s what happens with a story. It drags you in and carries you along, regardless of how unrealistic it may seem from the outset.

Another thing was this: Harry wore me out. During the summer his world was filled with oppressive guardians, and during the school term with spells, confrontations, sleepless nights, cantankerous spirits, and certain classmates and teachers bent on disgracing him. Then there was the ongoing challenge he faced of sorting out which aquantances were good and which were not. First appearances weren’t always correct. So for Harry it was one trial after another, seemingly 24/7. Wizards, I thought, must be inexhaustible. Harry was ADD on Starbucks.

As non-wizardly humans we risk not so much being worn out as worn down. The evening news alone is enough to lead one into despair. What if Iran gets the bomb? What if the terrorists sneak through? What if the economy continues to crumble, the Democrats (or Republicans) remain in office, the globe warms, the DaVinci Code is true, or planets collide?

Christians aren’t immune to anxiety and despair. The things that mislead us most frequently are poverty-stricken interpretations of scripture, the ones suggesting that God makes certain promises and then fails to follow through. As one author points out, “The prosperity gospel, which promises that material prosperity will come to the faithful, may have contributed to the economic crisis. Sermons on the hope of divine blessing have encouraged people to take financial risks, like signing on to subprime mortgages and tapping out their credit cards. In some instances, banks preyed on poor people through the church: pastors invited loan officers to speak at wealth-building seminars, and in exchange the banks would give $350 to the church for each mortgage taken out.”[1]

My personal hunch is that the pastors who encouraged these investments got a cut. They aren’t hurting with their own mortgages now. Personal financial prosperity? Scriptural assurance goes in a different direction: “Therefore, since we have been justified through faith, we have peace with God through our Lord Jesus Christ, through whom we have gained access by faith into this grace in which we now stand. And we rejoice in the hope of the glory of God.” (Romans 5:1-2)

God’s promises have little to do with personal wealth and a lot to do with relationships - first, with our relationship with the Lord, and second, our relationships with one another. To be at peace with God is the overwhelming promise, and the certain assurance, of the Gospel. In the meantime we are called to confront the desire to take advantage of others, financially or otherwise. When it comes to both greed and despair, God is agin 'em. Or as John Shea puts it in the poem "A Prayer to the God Who Will Not Go Away,"

Lord,
you are the poetry of wordless lives,
the salting of tasteless purposes,
the reminder that we are more than
the sinking spiral of the dying sparrow …
you are the tightening hope
that someone has stretched a net
beneath this high wire act of ours.[2]

[1] Hanna Rosin, cited in “Mixed Blessings,” The Christian Century, January 12, 2010, p. 8.
[2] Shea, John, The Hour of the Unexpected, 1992, p. 57.

A Baptist's View of Baptism

The business of baptism confused me for awhile. Apart from my own baptism at age 12, I first began thinking about what Baptists call this “ordinance” as a biblical teaching during seminary. One day a pastor – I can’t recall his name – came around promoting his book. It argued that Baptists were the Christians who were truest to scripture because they were spiritually descendants of John the Baptist. That seemed like quite a jump to me, but I didn’t have the energy to refute his thinking.

In the liturgical calendar we recall the baptism of Jesus at this time of the year. Luke tells us about it: “The people were waiting expectantly and were all wondering in their hearts if John might possibly be the Christ. John answered them all, ‘I baptize you with water. But one more powerful than I will come, the thongs of whose sandals I am not worthy to untie. He will baptize you with the Holy Spirit and with fire.’

“When all the people were being baptized, Jesus was baptized too. And as he was praying, heaven was opened and the Holy Spirit descended on him in bodily form like a dove. And a voice came from heaven: "You are my Son, whom I love; with you I am well pleased." (Luke 3:15-18, 21-22)

John demanded repentance. He warned his listeners that the axe was already at the foot of the trees, and that every tree not producing good fruit would be cut down and thrown into the fire. Then Jesus came to be baptized, but he had a different take on repentance. And here’s where I think we sometimes miss the point. We get stuck on the part about repentance, which is important, but we overlook the kind of baptism Jesus calls us to experience. Our inclination is to dwell on past sins, repeatedly praying for God’s forgiveness. We don’t want to get tossed in the fire, and we are convinced that the unrepentant are headed in that direction. We suppose that by some public act of contrition, namely baptism by immersion, we can persuade God to let us off the hook.

Jesus insists on repentance, but his focus is different. He connects it with belief in the reality of who God is. "The time has come," he said. "The kingdom of God is near. Repent and believe the good news!" (Mark 1:15) Repentance is a turning away from one thing toward something else. Jesus demands that we turn away from our belief that God is not loving, that God is “only too ready to cast us into the fires of hell given half an excuse,”[1] and begin living as recipients of forgiveness. “Getting baptized” doesn’t persuade God of anything. That would be salvation by works, not by grace.

For Jesus repentance is no longer maintaining a checklist of wrongs (committed by us, or by others whom we like to keep close tabs on). It’s an affirmation of God’s love for us.

For Jesus the event at the Jordan is a debutante ball, a coming out party, when his true identity is revealed. The words, "You are my Son, whom I love; with you I am well pleased," echo Isaiah’s: “Here is my servant, whom I uphold, my chosen one in whom I delight…” (Isa 42:1) That association defines Jesus not as a punishing judgmental deity, but as the servant who is despised, rejected, crucified, and cut off from the land of the living.

And God affirms his love for him with a sign of peace, the dove. Just like in Noah’s day the dove announces that despite suffering and hardship, everything will be put right in the end. God will wipe the tears away and conquer death. Or as Julian of Norwich put it, “And all shall be well, and all manner of thing shall be well.”

At his baptism, Jesus is immersed – in the fire of suffering love. That’s what the Holy Spirit bestows. It’s the awareness that as God’s people, we are baptized in the same way. Like Jesus, we are sent out into a hostile world armed with the passion of God’s love and forgiveness. At times it costs us. But underlying the expense are the words that are inscribed on our hearts: “You are my child, my beloved; with you I am well pleased.” And resting in that belief, "all manner of things shall be well."

[1] “Fire and Water,” http://www.laughingbird.net