Ps 29

11 January 2004

Baptism of the Lord

“Waters”

            I want to begin my sermon with a conclusion.  It’s the narration by director Robert Redford at the end of the movie, “A River Runs Through It.”  The film tells the story of the early 20th century Montana Presbyterian minister / fly-fisherman played by Tom Skerritt—he and his sons, played by Brad Pitt and Craig Sheffer, who inherit their father’s love of fly-fishing.  It’s Craig Sheffer’s character, Norman Maclean, who is speaking in the twilight years of his life, after so many family and friends have died, including his beloved wife, Jessie.

            “Now nearly all those I loved and did not understand when I was young are dead, but I still reach out to them.  Of course, now I am too old to be much of a fisherman, and I usually fish the big waters alone, although some friends think I shouldn't.  But when I am alone in the half light of the canyon all existence seems to fade to a being with my soul, and memories and the sounds of the Big Blackfoot River, and a four count rhythm, and the hope that a fish will rise.

“Eventually, all things merge into one, and a river runs through it.  The river was cut by the world's great flood and runs over rocks from the basement of time.  On some of the rocks are timeless raindrops.  Under the rocks are the words, and some of the words are theirs.  I am haunted by waters."

            The whole movie is worth watching, just for that final scene.  Maybe you noticed the line about words under the rocks in the river—something of an echo from my sermon last week.  But it’s that final assertion…that confession…that Norman is “haunted by waters” which captivates me.  I must admit:  I’m not sure what it means, but it’s the mystery that draws me in.

            And “mystery” seems to be a good word for today, baptism being a sacrament.  That word, “sacrament,” comes from the Latin sacramentum, which translates the Greek mysterion, “mystery.”  Be they the waters of nature or the waters of baptism, there is more than a bit of mystery to them.  Who knows what goes on in the water?

Speaking of being “haunted by waters,” what is a “mystery” to me is the, in my opinion, counterproductive bickering that still goes on about the mode of baptism—that is, immersion, pouring, or sprinkling.  Those who are familiar with NFL football know that when a referee’s call is challenged, the instant replay must show conclusive evidence for the call to be reversed.  Well, the scriptures just don’t have that conclusive evidence when it comes to baptism!  We tend to ignore the fact that it is a gift from God.  Enough said!

            As we turn to our psalm reading, notice that it does not provide the stuff of lullabies.  We don’t see any dreamy angels, lazily strumming harps as they float by on big puffy clouds.  We hear no soothing melodies as we drift off into a blissful slumber.  No, in the 29th Psalm, we’re assaulted by the full fury of nature’s wrath, a raging storm.  Verse 3 roars, “The voice of the Lord is over the waters; the God of glory thunders, the Lord, over mighty waters.”

So besides being plunged into the tempest, that verse also introduces us to “the voice of the Lord,” which the psalmist compares to lightning strikes.  This voice does works of power:  it “breaks the cedars of Lebanon,” “flashes forth flames of fire,” and “strips the forest bare” (vv. 5, 7, 9).  Seven times the psalmist reports on the exploits of the voice.  For all these reasons, Psalm 29 has been called “the Psalm of Seven Thunders.”[1]

One might ask, is it really necessary to mention “the voice of the Lord” seven times?  Well, as Banu is fond of saying:  “Repetition is a good thing.”  (To that, I reply:  “Well, it depends on what is being repeated!”)  Remember, the psalms are also songs, so refrains should be expected.  And besides, it’s not like we don’t submit ourselves to repetition of much less worthwhile things—like the jingles in commercials.

In a rare moment in the Bible, human beings are not the primary ones being addressed.  That phrase in verse 1, “heavenly beings,” is the Hebrew, !yliae yneB] (b^eney ‘elim), literally, “sons of gods.”  Most commentators see this as an affirmation that it is Yahweh, the Lord of Israel, who is the Most High over the various gods of the ancient Middle East.  Some say the b^eney ‘elim are stars, which themselves were once thought to be divine.  Either way, the psalmist points to Yahweh as God of all by calling all these others to worship.

So, be that as it may, why should Psalm 29 appear as a text for today, for the Baptism of the Lord?  It’s not like it describes anybody getting baptized…unless, of course, you figure somebody had to be getting drenched by that storm in the psalm!  No, I suppose it’s more likely that our gospel reading from Luke provides the necessary clue.  Just as in our psalm, we hear the voice of God—in this case, addressing Jesus as “my Son, the Beloved” (3:22).

Jesus receives a name at his baptism.  Once upon a time, the naming of children was a ceremony, one that occurred at baptism.  The “christening” of a child, in former times, reflected that connection with, and identification with, Jesus Christ.  These days, the naming of a child is something that usually happens at a hospital, in a more or less bureaucratic procedure.

            Today, as we once again reaffirm the baptismal covenant that we’ve entered into, I want us to consider something.  While the voice of God was probably not heard by anyone at our baptism, we nonetheless have received a name from God.  Revelation 2:17 tells us, “Let anyone who has an ear listen to what the Spirit is saying to the churches.  To everyone who conquers…I will give a white stone, and on the white stone is written a new name that no one knows except the one who receives it.”  There’s a promise that the name known only to God will be revealed.

            Through baptism—through following Jesus into the water and into a new name—we are set apart.  Retired UCC pastor Jack Good has said that baptism “sets each of us apart as a particular kind of person—one owned by God.  Those who have been baptized are called to live out the meaning of this remarkable reality.  The unbaptized also belong to God, but they have had no public opportunity to announce and celebrate that fact.”[2]

            Following Jesus into baptism and living by the vows made at baptism demonstrate obedience to the voice of God.  Rev. Good goes on, “Multiple forces will attempt to redefine the child after she leaves the baptismal font.  Commercial messages will attempt to convince her that she is owned by a great economic machine whose purpose is to make her a voracious consumer.  Other voices will tell children that they belong to no one but themselves, that individualism is the supreme god.  Government will attempt in myriad ways to establish its ultimate claim on our [offspring].”  It will convince the church to yield “its young men and women to Caesar to become cannon fodder in whatever adventures or misadventures Caesar contrives.”[3]

            Reaffirming our baptismal covenant is one major way of reminding ourselves to whom we belong.  By yielding ourselves to Jesus Christ, we let the voice at the waters of baptism have the final say over the other voices we hear.  We say “no” to the voices that would fill us with anxiety—voices that say we can’t, we’ll fail, and to be honest, we shouldn’t even care to begin with.  Believe me; I hear those voices, too!  But having faith in God means understanding that those voices are telling lies.

            Our final hymn today is “Out of Deep, Unordered Water.”  Hear the second stanza:  “Water on the human forehead, birthmark of the love of God, / Is the sign of death and rising; through the seas there runs a road. / There is water in the river bringing life to tree and plant. / Let creation praise its giver:  there is water in the font.”

            That line about creation praising its giver because there’s water in the font is certainly in the spirit of our psalm reading.  It’s a celebration that one of the most basic, and one of the most important, substances in all the earth—water—is used for such an exalted purpose.

            But I suppose it’s the line, “through the seas there runs a road,” that brings me full circle back to where I began the sermon—back to the mystery of being “haunted by waters,” in which “a river runs through it.”  Friends, this journey we take through the waters, of heeding the voice that gives us a divine name, is about far more than we can think or imagine.

            I said last week, upon reflecting on a gift I received that forbids the use of words, that I like words.  Well, here’s a case in which words fail.  We can explain various meanings of baptism, various modes of baptism, but they must fall silent before the simple majesty of the water itself.  We come through the water changed, reborn, a new creation.  So let’s live that way!

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