Jesus came up out of the waters after he was baptized in the Rio Grande and he looked around at all of the people on the bank of the river. They all just looked at him and there was silence in the air. It was the kind of silence that is a bit disconcerting. You can hear the wind, you can hear the water, you can hear a bird or two, but the silence of many people all gathered together and not talking is always odd. Even John the Baptizer was silent, which is hard for him.
Jesus sloshed to the shore, fully drenched. He wiped his face off and looked around and smiled, the water coming off of his beard.
“Huh.” He thought.
His eyes meet a woman in the crowd, “What gives?” his eyes seemed to say, and she looked down to avoid his gaze.
A Ford F150 pick up pulled up the edge of the crowd and the silence of the moment was broken by the skid of the tires in the rocks. The silence was also broken by the sound of the radio playing, Jesus could barely make it out, the Gypsy Kings’ cover of “My Way.”
The crowd, still silent, parted as Jesus sloshed over to the truck. The Holy Spirit was sitting in the front seat swaying back and forth to the song. Watching the Holy Spirit sway to music is always interesting. She has a habit of swaying and then clapping and then swaying again with a sincere humming that sounds like creation. When she gets too excited she taps the roof of the cab of the truck and her hands, and then they go through the roof, which is ok to do, if you are the Holy Spirit.
Jesus got into the passenger side and shut the door. The crowds gaze following his every move. The crowd was not sure which was more fantastic a moment. The current one, with the driver of a pick up dancing in herky-jerky movements to a Spanish band’s cover of a Frank Sinatra tune, or the moment when the young man came up out of the water and the line between the human and the divine was broken and a voice came from no where and said, “you are my beloved son, with you I am well pleased.” Which moment they were witnessing was the more fantastic one, they were not quite sure. The crowd didn’t have much time to think about, as the truck pulled away. They were left there, dumbfounded. Even John the Baptist. Even Ray the Pharisee. Even Carla the widow. All three were usually chatty, but not now.
Inside the truck, Jesus looked around for a towel. The Holy Spirit laughed, and breathed on him and he was dry. “Nice trick” Jesus said. The radio played another Gypsy King tune, and they drove into the wilderness.
“What is in this wild place?” Jesus asked as they bumped along in the truck. “Where are we going?” He wanted to know. “Maybe I should get some food.” He stated. “Maybe I should get some sleep?” The Holy Spirit laughed to herself. “You need to shed it, you have to go out there on your own. I am just dropping you off. This is your deal, not mine.”
After about two hours, the truck stopped. Jesus had fallen asleep. The Holy Spirit, quietly opened the door and then gently nudged the Son of God awake. It was about 3:00PM. Jesus looked around and his look asked more questions than the Holy Spirit could answer. “Over there.” She said. “You are alone on this one. But God’s good. I will see you in about forty days.” “Forty Days?” Jesus asked. “Yeah, forty days.” “Forty Days?” Jesus asked again. “Heal the deaf brother Jesus, yes, Forty days.” “Forty Days.” Jesus said to himself. “Ok, forty days.” “You’ll be fine” She said, as she hoped back into truck. “You’ll be fine.”
As the truck drove away, and the dust from the tires rose into the air, Jesus looked out in the distance and saw someone leaning on a bolder near a dry creek bed. “Oh great” he said. “You.” He said. “Me.” Satan said. “You.” Jesus said.
Satan looked at Jesus, looked him up and down, and after a few minutes said, “I thought you would be taller. They told me you were taller.” “They were wrong.” Jesus said. “Well, no matter. This is a silly exercise. Forty days with me, here in the wilderness. Adam couldn’t do it, and he was the first son. His children couldn’t do it, even after a parting of the Red Sea and being fed in the middle of no where, they still went back to the idols. And who are you? What are you this time?” Satan was such a goof, Jesus thought. Jesus looked at Satan, looked him right in the eye. Looked at him and the silence was again in the air. And in a flash, Satan disappeared, and Jesus was left alone in the wilderness.
His first thought was that it was getting late. His second thought was that the dessert teaches everyone, and even the beloved son has something to learn from her. “What have I got to shed in order to survive in nothingness?” Jesus thought. Strip it down to its bare bones, and the wilderness teaches you that you are very small, very insignificant, very fragile. The wilderness can eat you. The heat can melt you. The cold can freeze you. There is nothing between you and the creation except your skin. You are a part of the very creation that will kill you. “This place can be the end of me.” Jesus thought. “I die.” Jesus thought. And ten days passed.
The wilderness also teaches you that you are a part of it. A created part of it. Inside your DNA is a piece of wilderness commingled with divinity. You came up out of it. The water, the air, the blood, the bone, all of it is joined in some odd way. Earth and spirit, finely tuned, tuned so finely that sound comes out, and singing can occur and laughter happens and tears fall and love occurs. Inside each person there is a faculty for understanding and thinking and then creating something else. Ideas, calculations, rocket ships, surgery techniques, jokes, all of this is in the wilderness too. Love is in the wild. Shed of things, in the emptiness, underneath the stars in the silence love is there. As is if we thought it had ever left. Love is there, sitting there, waiting there. “I love.” Jesus thought. And then more days passed.
Thirty days in, thirty days without. Thirty days of fasting and prayer, Jesus looked around. He was a bit dirty. He had lost some weight. He could use a bath, any bath. That wild baptism bath with wacky John the Baptist looked better all the time. “Man, John is wacky.” Jesus thought. Jesus forgot how long he had been sitting slumped up against the rock. The days seemed to pass slowly and with purpose. Jesus just couldn’t figure out what the purpose of the days was for. Just sitting there. “What do I need?” He thought. “What do I really need? I need that Holy Spirit to come back with that truck and pick me up. That is what I need. What do I need? Do I need? Do I want? Do I go? Do I hide? Do I make? What is this time for? No food. No stuff. Just me and this dessert and this rock and this time. I need that Holy Spirit to come back in that truck. Look at me, the beloved Son of God babbling to the air in the middle of nowhere. I need nothing.” And ten more days passed.
On the fortieth day, Jesus was lying on the ground and Satan was standing over him. Satan moved Jesus’ arm with his foot. With his walking staff he poked at him. Satan stood over Jesus and looked at him for a long while. After a some time, after just looking at him an old women came running up saying “shoo, shoo you devil, shoo away from him. You get away you nasty thing. Shoo. Go on get. Get away from him.” Satan looked over at her. She looked deep into the devil’s eyes and in a loud voice, louder than anything Satan had every heard, louder than the noise of creation, in a loud piercing voice she yelled, “Get away from the Son of the living God you nasty terrible awful deadly, rotten cursed thing of all creation.” And in a blink Satan was gone. And the women lifted Jesus up with a strength that did not match her appearance. “You’ll be fine.” She said. “You’ll be just fine.” And she carried him out of the wilderness. In her arms she carried him, just like she had done when he was born, and sadly, just like she knew she would do in a very short time when he would die. But for now she carried him in such a tender way, as only an angel of the Lord can do.
When Jesus woke up, the Holy Spirit was standing next to her truck with an obnoxiously large sombrero and a very silly looking serape. “What are you wearing?” Jesus asked. “Leave me alone.” the Holy Spirit said. “What are you wearing?” she said in return. “Leave me alone.” Jesus said. The Holy Spirit helped lift him up. “Whew, you need a bath.” she said. “You stink. John the Baptist has been arrested, otherwise I would drive you back over there to get re-baptized you stinky Son of God you.” “Just drive the truck.” Jesus said. “Where to?” The Holy Spirit asked. “We have so much to do,” Jesus said. “Don’t you know it.” The Spirit replied.
As they drove back towards civilization, Jesus saw a man walking down the road. It was a hot day. They stopped the truck. “Hey.” Jesus said. “Hey.” the man said. “My name is Jesus, what’s yours?” “Patrick.” I replied. “So, Patrick, do you want to tell the world that the time is fulfilled, and the kingdom of God has come near; to repent, and believe in the good news?” “Yes I do.” “Then get in.”
Last Epiphany
You may know who Uncle Wallis Willis is, but there is a mystery as to where he is buried. You may have even heard of his wife, Aunt Minerva, but she too is lost to history. You may have heard of the Fisk Jubilee Singers, a choir founded in 1871 in an effort to raise money for their school, Fisk University. Fisk was named for General Clinton Bowen Fisk, who ran the Freedman’s Bureau which opened schools for newly freed slaves and their children. Wallis Willis is credited with the song “Swing Low Sweet Chariot.” The Fisk Jubilee Singers are credited with making the song famous. You know the lyrics I am sure.
Swing low, sweet chariot/Coming for to carry me home/Swing low, sweet chariot/Coming for to carry me home/I looked over Jordan and what did I see/Coming for to carry me home/A band of angels coming after me/Coming for to carry me home.
It fascinates me that Wallis Willis, a man born in slavery, a Choctaw Freedman, writes a song that the Jubilee Singers later make famous. The Jubilee Singers, who are named for the “Year of Jubilee”, which is a time of total debt forgiveness, who themselves come from Fisk University, a school started for freed slaves. I am fascinated by this song, Swing Low Sweet Chariot, and how it is sung by people who suffered much, the Choctaw and their trail of tears, Africans, and a story of slavery. A choir of newly freed salves, touring the country in 1871, five years after the end of Civil War, 83 years before Brown vs. Board of Education. It fascinates me that these words and those voices found each other and in a harmony rooted in pain plants a seed of hope in the ears of those of us who have heard this song sung. Swing low, sweet chariot/Coming for to carry me home/Swing low, sweet chariot/Coming for to carry me home. Carry me home. Meaning, this place, this time, these circumstances are not my home. My home, your home, our home, our place, our safety, our refuge, our old room, that place is not here among the hurt and the pain and suffering. And God will come, swinging the chariot low, low enough to catch even me. A sinner, someone in bondage against his will, whatever that bondage is, but someone like you and me, lifted to freedom, lifted to freedom by the power of God.
Elisha stands in the middle of the whirlwind watching in amazement as the man who found him and mentored him and led him in front of Kings and Queens to proclaim the news of the Lord. Elisha stands and watches as the prophet Elijah is carried away in “a chariot of fire and horses of fire”, and ascends in a divine and mystical moment into heaven. Elisha followed Elijah everywhere he went but he could not follow him into the chariot of fire. Elisha received double the spirit of Elijah, and he went on from there to become a great prophet himself. His works are legendary, so much so, that Jesus references him in his own ministry. Elisha’s ministry as a prophet was so great that the first disciples viewed him with awe. Elisha raises people from the dead. He provides food for people in times of famine. He heals foreigners. Elisha gives hope to the widow and the orphan. He watches his teacher be carried away in a whirlwind, and then he turns and walks into the suffering of the world and proclaims God to the kings and to the people of his time.
Jesus takes his own disciples up to a mountain, and is transfigured in front of them. Peter, James and John witness a mighty scene. Moses, the one who spoke to God face to face, who brought freedom and the law to the people, and Elijah, the prophet of God, the mentor of Elisha, who was taken up by the chariots, these two stand with Jesus in a fantastic moment of the divine, and all hear the voice in the cloud proclaiming who Jesus is and what we are to do. “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!” Listen to him. Listen.
At that moment, Peter does what we all might do, what I am sure Elisha wanted to do after the dust of the fire chariots had settled, and that is to stay put. Peter wants to make three tents. Elisha cries in a fit of grief. In both scenes, in the transfiguration and in the story of the chariots, both witnesses have an initial response to the divine moment and that is to stay put and cry.
In those moments we forget. We cry. We worry. We become terrified. We freeze up. We make emotional tents to stay where we are, hide us. When confronted with the divine we freeze. Why should God come and be with me? Who am I? I am a fisherman, a prostitute, a tax collector? Who am I that the divine would want to be with me? Who am I? I am a slave, a second class citizen, poor choir kid touring the country five years after a civil war. Who am I that the divine would want to come and be with me? I think it would be best that I stay put. That I not sing. That I not pick up the mantle of my teacher and keep going. It is best that I not leave this mountain where amazing things have just occurred. I will stay here.
Imagine what would have happened if Elisha had stayed put. The lives he later touched, the healings he did, the people he raised from the dead, the kings who learned of God through him, all of that would not have happened, and the story of the goodness of God would not have been known. Imagine if Peter and James and John had stayed on that mountain, after seeing the amazing things they saw. Imagine life without St. Mark’s, if the people who had been filled with divine revelation had not started this parish. All of those lives from Elisha, to Peter to you and me, all of our lives would look so different. The revelation of God is real, and the epiphanies are real. People are changed for the better. God is made known to all. If God calls you, you need to go. If you do not go and explore that call, be it to proclaim or to heal or to listen or to exonerate or to forgive, whatever. If you do not explore it, pick up the mantle and walk back across the Jordon, or find courage enough to walk back down the mountain, if you don’t do that, then think of what might be lost, who might have been made better by your work. Faith asks us to find courage to sing even in the midst of our worry and pain. Faith asks us to keep moving, even in the suffering, we must keep moving. We must come out of our terror and claim our rightful place. We are the heirs of Son of God. We stand in the line of great prophets like Elisha. We must come down off of the mountain and we must pick up the mantle of our teacher.
If a man, born into slavery and forced into work by others, if singers, marginalized and written off, if people can see their way past the indignity that is done to them and if they can sing of the hope found in God, and they can proclaim the good news of God, if they can sing of a future when God will swing the chariot low so as to get even the lowliest of us all. If they can sing that, then I can sing it too.
That is what makes these stories stay with us. God comes close, swooping in, filling our hearts and our minds and our souls with terror and amazement. And our souls still sing:
Sometimes I'm up and sometimes I'm down/Coming for to carry me home/But still my soul feels heavenly bound/Coming for to carry me home
The transfiguration amazed the disciples then and it still amazes us now. Jesus is who they say he is, the beloved son, God calls us to listen to him, and we must. In Jesus’ words are life. Life and release. And we sing as we come down from our own mountains:
The brightest day that I can say/Coming for to carry me home/When Jesus washed my sins away/Coming for to carry me home.
As disciples of Jesus we have work to do. That work is often very hard and very overlooked by the world. Yet, to the people who find themselves being ministered to by you in the name of Jesus, these people, they know. They know that you are anointed by God. They feel you heal them as you pray with them where they are. You are a disciple of Jesus, and you came down from the mountain and after the resurrection, filled with the spirit you proclaimed the truth of Jesus. You proclaimed the courage of Jesus. And in dramatic fashion, you lived out the verse of Wallis Willis’ song:
If I get there before you do/Coming for to carry me home/I'll cut a hole and pull you through/Coming for to carry me home
And the hope of the resurrection echoes in the last verse of the song:
If you get there before I do/Coming for to carry me home/Tell all my friends I'm coming too/Coming for to carry me home
Those of us left to do the work, we live in hope, the hope that Elisha carried as he got up and assumed the role of the prophet from Elijah. The hope that Peter, James and John and the Mary and the women all assumed as they watched Jesus ascend into heaven. This is work that we have passed on to every generation that has come after us, the work of the beloved Son, who we listen to everyday. This is the work of healing the sick, casting out the demons that bind us, bringing good news to the poor. Proclaiming the day of Jubilee for all of us, a day when our debts are all forgiven and we live as children of God, cutting holes to pull each other through, slave or free, rich or poor, male or female, old and young, we cut a hole in the universe to pull each other to God. And we remind each other if you get there before I do, tell them I am coming too. Swing low, sweet chariot coming for to carry me home, swing low sweet chariot, coming for to carry me and you home. Amen
Swing low, sweet chariot/Coming for to carry me home/Swing low, sweet chariot/Coming for to carry me home/I looked over Jordan and what did I see/Coming for to carry me home/A band of angels coming after me/Coming for to carry me home.
It fascinates me that Wallis Willis, a man born in slavery, a Choctaw Freedman, writes a song that the Jubilee Singers later make famous. The Jubilee Singers, who are named for the “Year of Jubilee”, which is a time of total debt forgiveness, who themselves come from Fisk University, a school started for freed slaves. I am fascinated by this song, Swing Low Sweet Chariot, and how it is sung by people who suffered much, the Choctaw and their trail of tears, Africans, and a story of slavery. A choir of newly freed salves, touring the country in 1871, five years after the end of Civil War, 83 years before Brown vs. Board of Education. It fascinates me that these words and those voices found each other and in a harmony rooted in pain plants a seed of hope in the ears of those of us who have heard this song sung. Swing low, sweet chariot/Coming for to carry me home/Swing low, sweet chariot/Coming for to carry me home. Carry me home. Meaning, this place, this time, these circumstances are not my home. My home, your home, our home, our place, our safety, our refuge, our old room, that place is not here among the hurt and the pain and suffering. And God will come, swinging the chariot low, low enough to catch even me. A sinner, someone in bondage against his will, whatever that bondage is, but someone like you and me, lifted to freedom, lifted to freedom by the power of God.
Elisha stands in the middle of the whirlwind watching in amazement as the man who found him and mentored him and led him in front of Kings and Queens to proclaim the news of the Lord. Elisha stands and watches as the prophet Elijah is carried away in “a chariot of fire and horses of fire”, and ascends in a divine and mystical moment into heaven. Elisha followed Elijah everywhere he went but he could not follow him into the chariot of fire. Elisha received double the spirit of Elijah, and he went on from there to become a great prophet himself. His works are legendary, so much so, that Jesus references him in his own ministry. Elisha’s ministry as a prophet was so great that the first disciples viewed him with awe. Elisha raises people from the dead. He provides food for people in times of famine. He heals foreigners. Elisha gives hope to the widow and the orphan. He watches his teacher be carried away in a whirlwind, and then he turns and walks into the suffering of the world and proclaims God to the kings and to the people of his time.
Jesus takes his own disciples up to a mountain, and is transfigured in front of them. Peter, James and John witness a mighty scene. Moses, the one who spoke to God face to face, who brought freedom and the law to the people, and Elijah, the prophet of God, the mentor of Elisha, who was taken up by the chariots, these two stand with Jesus in a fantastic moment of the divine, and all hear the voice in the cloud proclaiming who Jesus is and what we are to do. “This is my Son, the Beloved; listen to him!” Listen to him. Listen.
At that moment, Peter does what we all might do, what I am sure Elisha wanted to do after the dust of the fire chariots had settled, and that is to stay put. Peter wants to make three tents. Elisha cries in a fit of grief. In both scenes, in the transfiguration and in the story of the chariots, both witnesses have an initial response to the divine moment and that is to stay put and cry.
In those moments we forget. We cry. We worry. We become terrified. We freeze up. We make emotional tents to stay where we are, hide us. When confronted with the divine we freeze. Why should God come and be with me? Who am I? I am a fisherman, a prostitute, a tax collector? Who am I that the divine would want to be with me? Who am I? I am a slave, a second class citizen, poor choir kid touring the country five years after a civil war. Who am I that the divine would want to come and be with me? I think it would be best that I stay put. That I not sing. That I not pick up the mantle of my teacher and keep going. It is best that I not leave this mountain where amazing things have just occurred. I will stay here.
Imagine what would have happened if Elisha had stayed put. The lives he later touched, the healings he did, the people he raised from the dead, the kings who learned of God through him, all of that would not have happened, and the story of the goodness of God would not have been known. Imagine if Peter and James and John had stayed on that mountain, after seeing the amazing things they saw. Imagine life without St. Mark’s, if the people who had been filled with divine revelation had not started this parish. All of those lives from Elisha, to Peter to you and me, all of our lives would look so different. The revelation of God is real, and the epiphanies are real. People are changed for the better. God is made known to all. If God calls you, you need to go. If you do not go and explore that call, be it to proclaim or to heal or to listen or to exonerate or to forgive, whatever. If you do not explore it, pick up the mantle and walk back across the Jordon, or find courage enough to walk back down the mountain, if you don’t do that, then think of what might be lost, who might have been made better by your work. Faith asks us to find courage to sing even in the midst of our worry and pain. Faith asks us to keep moving, even in the suffering, we must keep moving. We must come out of our terror and claim our rightful place. We are the heirs of Son of God. We stand in the line of great prophets like Elisha. We must come down off of the mountain and we must pick up the mantle of our teacher.
If a man, born into slavery and forced into work by others, if singers, marginalized and written off, if people can see their way past the indignity that is done to them and if they can sing of the hope found in God, and they can proclaim the good news of God, if they can sing of a future when God will swing the chariot low so as to get even the lowliest of us all. If they can sing that, then I can sing it too.
That is what makes these stories stay with us. God comes close, swooping in, filling our hearts and our minds and our souls with terror and amazement. And our souls still sing:
Sometimes I'm up and sometimes I'm down/Coming for to carry me home/But still my soul feels heavenly bound/Coming for to carry me home
The transfiguration amazed the disciples then and it still amazes us now. Jesus is who they say he is, the beloved son, God calls us to listen to him, and we must. In Jesus’ words are life. Life and release. And we sing as we come down from our own mountains:
The brightest day that I can say/Coming for to carry me home/When Jesus washed my sins away/Coming for to carry me home.
As disciples of Jesus we have work to do. That work is often very hard and very overlooked by the world. Yet, to the people who find themselves being ministered to by you in the name of Jesus, these people, they know. They know that you are anointed by God. They feel you heal them as you pray with them where they are. You are a disciple of Jesus, and you came down from the mountain and after the resurrection, filled with the spirit you proclaimed the truth of Jesus. You proclaimed the courage of Jesus. And in dramatic fashion, you lived out the verse of Wallis Willis’ song:
If I get there before you do/Coming for to carry me home/I'll cut a hole and pull you through/Coming for to carry me home
And the hope of the resurrection echoes in the last verse of the song:
If you get there before I do/Coming for to carry me home/Tell all my friends I'm coming too/Coming for to carry me home
Those of us left to do the work, we live in hope, the hope that Elisha carried as he got up and assumed the role of the prophet from Elijah. The hope that Peter, James and John and the Mary and the women all assumed as they watched Jesus ascend into heaven. This is work that we have passed on to every generation that has come after us, the work of the beloved Son, who we listen to everyday. This is the work of healing the sick, casting out the demons that bind us, bringing good news to the poor. Proclaiming the day of Jubilee for all of us, a day when our debts are all forgiven and we live as children of God, cutting holes to pull each other through, slave or free, rich or poor, male or female, old and young, we cut a hole in the universe to pull each other to God. And we remind each other if you get there before I do, tell them I am coming too. Swing low, sweet chariot coming for to carry me home, swing low sweet chariot, coming for to carry me and you home. Amen
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Posts
