YET, THE MARCH GOES ON
A sermon by the Rev. Dr. James G. Kirk
Harundale Presbyterian Church
Text: “This is my Son, the Beloved.” (Matthew 3:17)
First
Second
“A story tells that two friends were walking through the desert. In a specific point of the journey, they had an argument, and one friend slapped the other one in the face. The one, who got slapped, was hurt, but without anything to say, he wrote in the sand: ‘Today, my best friend slapped me in the face.’
“They kept on walking, until they found an oasis, where they decided to take a bath. The one who got slapped and hurt started drowning, and the other friend saved him. When he recovered from the fright, he wrote on a stone: ‘Today, my best friend saved my life.’
“The friend who saved and slapped his best friend asked him, ‘Why, after I hurt you, you wrote in the sand, and now your write on a stone?’ The other friend, smiling, replied: ‘When a friend hurts us, we should write it down in the sand, where the winds of forgiveness get in charge of erasing it away. And when something great happens, we should engrave it in the stone of the memory of the heart, where no wind can erase it.’”
That’s what
Jesus does when he asks John to baptize him.
He etches in stone how serious God is that all of God’s children shall
be forgiven. When Jesus came from
At any rate, Jesus replies to John’s statement with just as puzzling a comment, “Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.’” “To fulfill all righteousness” is where Jesus’ baptism etches in stone once and for all just how serious God is that all of God’s people shall be forgiven. At the same time God writes in the sand all the grievances that God has against us. Whenever we remember our baptism it’s as though the winds blow away all God’s grievances against us and what’s left is the indelible carving of God’s love for us in Jesus Christ.
Contemplating the horror of September 11th, we’ve come to realize how fragile and sacred life is. We’ve also learned how beautiful it is to be loved and to love in return and how important it may be on any given day to make sure those who love you know that you love them also. We’ve learned a little bit how not to dwell so much on things that don’t really matter all that much, but also to spend more time on those things that do. Why etch in stone a grudge or a complaint or some bitterness when it would be so much better to write it in the sand and be done with it? Let the winds of tomorrow take care of it.
What Jesus did in his baptism was to put things right between God and us in such a way that we couldn’t undo it. What do we say in the wedding service, “What God has joined together let no one separate.” The problem is, of course, that we do tend to lapse into the way things used to be. We do bear grudges, we do complain, we do let bitterness get the better of us. So, while we can’t undo our baptism, we go on living as though it never happened. We get back to the same problem Paul had when he wrote to the Romans: “For I do not do what I want, but I do the very thing I hate.”(Romans 7:15)
Martin Bell thinks, “God must be very old and very tired. Maybe he used to look splendid and fine in his general’s uniform, but no more. He’s been on the march a long time, you know. And look at his rag-tag army! All he has for soldiers are you and I. Dumb little army. Listen! The drum beat isn’t even regular. Everyone is out of step. And there! You see? God keeps stopping along the way to pick up one of his tinier soldiers who decided to wander off and play with a frog, or run in a field, or whose foot got tangled in the underbrush. He’ll never get anywhere that way. And yet, the march goes on.
“Do you see how the marchers have broken up into little groups! Look at that group up near the front. Now, there’s a snappy outfit. They all look pretty much alike—at least they’re in step with each other. That’s something! Only they’re not wearing their shoes. They’re carrying them in their hands. Silly little band. They won’t get far before God will have to stop again.
“Or how about that other group over there? They’re all holding hands as they march. The only trouble with this is those on each end of the line. Pretty soon they realize that one of their hands isn’t holding onto anything—one hand is reaching, empty, alone. And so they hold hands with each other, and everybody marches around in circles. The more people holding hands, the bigger the circle. And, of course, a bigger circle is deceptive because as we march along it looks like we’re going someplace, but we’re not. And so God must stop again. You see what I mean? He’ll never get anywhere that way!
“If God were more sensible he’d take his little army and shape them up. Why, whoever heard of a soldier stopping to romp in a field? It’s ridiculous. But even more absurd is a general who will stop the march of eternity to go and bring him back. But that’s God for you. His is no endless, empty marching. He is going somewhere. His steps are deliberate and purposive. He may be old, and he may be tired. But he knows where he’s going. And he means to take every last one of his tiny soldiers with him. Only there aren’t going to be any forced marches. And, after all, there are frogs and flowers, and thorns and underbrush along the way. And even though our foreheads have been signed with the sign of the cross, we are only human. And most of us are afraid and lonely and would like to hold hands or cry or run away. And we don’t know where we are going, and we can’t seem to trust God—especially when it’s dark out and we can’t see him! And he won’t go on without us. And that’s why it’s taking so long.
“Listen! The drum beat isn’t even regular. Everyone is out of step. And there!
You see? God keeps stopping along
the way to pick up one of his tinier soldiers who decided to wander off and
play with a frog, or run in a field, or whose foot got tangled in the
underbrush. He’ll never get anywhere
that way! And yet, the march goes on…”
(Martin Bell, The Way of the Wolf,
And yet, the march goes on. This past week I was doing a funeral service and got to the point of the commendation: “”Into your hands, O merciful Savior, we commend your servant. Acknowledge, we humbly pray, a sheep of your own fold, a lamb of your own flock, a sinner of your own redeeming. Receive her or him into the arms of your mercy, into the blessed rest of everlasting peace, and into the glorious company of the saints in light."” It all came together, particularly the part about “a sinner of your own redeeming.” That’s us. That’s who we are, sinners of God’s own redeeming. We are the ones who decide to wander off, to play with a frog, run in a field, or whose feet get tangled in the underbrush. Yet, in spite of it all the march will go on and God will continue to stop along the way to pick up on of his tinier soldiers.
In the meantime, let’s this year make a concerted effort to live our baptism more faithfully every day. Let’s let the winds of forgiveness take charge now and then and wipe away some of that stored resentment and bitterness, those grudges that we like to keep against people. Let’s resolve to etch in stone more than we have in the past the goodness that people show us and let them know how much we appreciate them and treasure their kindness. We may become like the marchers whose hands had no one to hold and so they held each other’s. Who knows, our circle of love may even grow to include those we didn’t think possible? All the while, remember that God won’t go on without us, no matter how long it takes. The march will go on!
Thanks be to God,
Amen