16th Sunday after Pentecost, Year B
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Saint Paul's Episcopal Church
Chattanooga, Tennessee
Ritual Mass with Baptism
Psalm 1
Mark 9: 30-37
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One of the greatest joys of being a father is being able to take your children to the amusement park. Funnel cakes, ice cream, and my personal favorite, cotton candy; the amusement park is one of the great pastimes for any big-kid at heart. It’s a place where you can lay aside any sense of decorum and let the good times roll. It’s a place where the ride takes control of your life, twisting and turning on a path unknown.
This summer, I was able to take my daughter to Camden Park back in my hometown. As a child growing up in West Virginia, the possibility of even going to Camden Park was an unbelievable treat. And now, some twenty years later, I find myself passing through the same ticket gates now holding my daughter’s hand. Not surprising, the same rides were still there and still working. We started off slowly, working our way through the kiddy rides, which are pretty big to any ambitious two-year old. The carousel, the boats, and the requisite train ride around the perimeter of the park felt as natural to me as reliving my childhood. But, looming in the far off distance was the ubiquitous water ride called the Log Flume, a giant among rides in the Park that ends with a steep descent crashing through a monstrous wall of water. I could see in her eyes that water plus a fun ride was surely going to equal one great time with Daddy. I smiled.
We stepped into our boat and shoved off for the twisting turns of the deceptively calm, flowing water. Now, just in case you have any misgivings about this giant drop at the end there is a smaller version that first tests your resolve, it prepares you for the next monumental climb coming just around the corner. Well, after that first, tiny splash, she began to cry, “I do want to ride this anymore.” To which I responded, “it’s too late to change your mind now. Just hold on to daddy and close your eyes!” The belts began to pick up our little log boat and up we climbed. Up, up, and up still some more. And then, of course, there’s that brief moment of levelness, a feeling that everything will be okay, and then woosh! As our stomachs raced to our heads, we plunged down, down, down and until finally the king of all splashes hit us. We were safe and horizontal—soaked, water-logged might be more accurate. Her cries were fairly audible throughout the entire park, but as we came back to the starting house, there stood grandma and grandpa taking pictures and cheering us on. The crying quickly stopped, and before you knew it, my daughter was telling her little brother how much fun she had; she passed through the water and the water forever changed her experience of fun.
Mark’s Gospel this morning continues the narrative from last week, where Jesus instructs his disciples to take up their cross and follow him, warning us that there is no profit in gaining the whole world only to forfeit life itself. For Mark, the mystery of the cross and its implications for discipleship dominates the Gospel. Today, the teaching takes on yet another twist: “whoever wants to first must be last of all and servant of all.” To illustrate the point, because the disciples in Mark never seem to understand, Jesus takes in his arms a small child. Why a child? Perhaps it was the nearest warm body to make his point, or perhaps that in this culture children were seen as both small and insignificant. Fortunately, this has changed greatly over time.
In his rule for forming monastic communities, Saint Benedict urges new communities to include the young in the councils, chapters, and decision-making groups, because, he believes that more often than not, the Holy Spirit speaks through youthful souls. Children help remind us to never let go of our sense of wonder. Through children’s eyes we are free to regain our creative, curious nature that keeps us in awe of God’s unfolding plan of creation. We will join and pray in a few minutes following baptism, that these newly baptized candidates receive the gift of joy and wonder in all of God’s works. For if we dare to lose that sense, we risk losing our reverence of the great mystery of God’s sovereignty. So Jesus’ illustration with the child is not lost: whoever welcomes the least, the lost, and last welcomes Jesus. Whoever welcomes people who may seem insignificant, those who live on the margins, who are powerless, who have no status in society, welcomes the Lord and Savior of the world. So, who is the greatest among you?
In this culture of honor and shame, this was a very important question, and Jesus overturns these accepted norms using a child. To be great in the community of Jesus is to be a servant of all; reaching out and embracing those on the fringes of our world. The Ubuntu theology from South Africa expresses this clearly: I am because you are. Honoring the sacred presence of Christ in every person we encounter is the new norm—regardless of gender, orientation, ethnicity, or anything else. These are the new norms of the Kingdom. “The Kingdom of God has come near,” John the Baptist proclaims in the beginning of Mark, and even as the Gospel ends with the finality of the cross and empty tomb, leaving out any post-resurrection stories, the implication for us is to carry on the work of the Kingdom. And here is where we connect with Baptism.
This morning at Saint Paul’s we’re preparing to join with these new candidates for a water ride of their own. Baptism is the indissoluble covenant between God and us: we go down into the water, buried with Christ in his death, only to then rise up sharing in His resurrection. Baptism is at the very heart of our common life of faith in Christ. Baptism has shaped our Book of Common Prayer and how we witness the Gospel equal with our sisters and brothers. For many of us who were baptized at a very early age, it is so easy to see this as a past event—all I can do is look at the photograph of my parents holding me next to the font when I was a mere three months old. And yet, baptism is not a past event, it is a real present reality.
The Episcopal Church embodies this in the form of the Baptismal Covenant, a reminder at every baptism that we all are presently sharing in the work of the Kingdom. If baptism is the great equalizer for the Kingdom of God, then our Baptismal Covenant names before God our commitment to proclaim by Word and Deed the Good news to everyone, to seek and serve Christ in all persons, striving for justice and peace among all people, and respecting the dignity of every human being. This is our bond, this is our obligation to the Kingdom! It is always before us. And we cannot do this alone; we must share in the Apostle’s teaching and fellowship, accomplished only within the community of faith. It is done by dying to ourselves and truly taking the plunge down the steep waterfalls in our lives, so that we can honestly say, “it is no longer I who live, but Christ who lives in me.”
The bonds forged by God in the waters completely and forever change our whole world. With Christ alive inside of us, we are like trees planted firmly in the ground, with strong, hearty roots feed by deep streams of water. With Christ alive inside of us, we bear fruit for the Kingdom, we can weather the turbulent storms in our lives and not be blown away. With Christ alive inside of us, we can, as our Collect this morning says, hold fast to the heavenly things that endure. We cannot pass through the walls of water and hope to emerge the same person. We, who are baptized, are bound and beckoned to be the hands of Christ, the voice of Christ, and the love of Christ yesterday, today, and forever. Life in Christ floods everything that we do: how we choose to spend our money, where we spend our time, and ultimately which god we worship in the center of our being.
So we rejoice today as our household continues to grow and be flooded with the Holy Spirit. May that same spirit flood our souls and continue to burn that celestial spark where Christ lives and moves and grounds us. Amen.
Out came the hands. So I did what I knew, I carefully took the wafer, made the sign of the cross and said, “the body of Christ, the bread of heaven.” At that point, I had no earthly idea what Common Worship said about any of this, nor was I about to embarrass the vicar by asking Lord David his opinion on the matter. Vicars in the Church of England have absolute, legal authority over their parishes. So off I went. One by one, I distributed the bread in the most reverent manner possible. What struck me the most as I walked back and forth behind the altar rail was the image of one broken human being handing over the bread of wholeness to another. The eyes, their eyes were very telling. So much of the pain of life, the joy of life, and the hope for Christ was all bound together in their eyes. It was palpable. 
