11 January 2009                                    
Carolyn L Roberts
Mark 1.1-11

The story goes that when an admirer was looking at one of Pablo Picasso’s simple line drawings of the dove with an olive branch in its mouth–a universal symbol of God’s holy spirit bringing the gift of peace–Picasso was asked how long it took to draw. Picasso’s answer was about 10 minutes...and a lifetime. It’s the same idea for defining moments.

What makes a defining moment? For those in a committed relationship is it the day you met? The first date? Your engagement? Your wedding or civil union? Or is the myriad choices we make throughout the course of a day, a week,  a month, a year that determine how faithful we are to the commitment we have made publicly. The answer is yes. Yes, a defining moment is the one we put on the calendar; we may even celebrate on its anniversary. And yes, a defining moment is all those less-spectacular moments when we choose to be true to our commitments and to the light of the Spirit’s presence. Or not.  Our country’s defining moments include not only the Civil Rights movement, the Voting Rights Act and an end to government-sponsored segregation, but also the murders of Malcolm X, Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., Medgar Evers, John and Bobby Kennedy. Our defining moments include  not only the Twin Towers and the heroics of countless men and women, but also waterboarding and Abu Ghraib.

A defining moment is a moment of choice, a choice is framed by the defining moments of our past and the options we envision in our future. So like Picasso’s 10-minute  line-drawing, a defining moment is the choice we make in our present-tense experience and choices of a lifetime of experiences and choices. Sometimes our defining moment is consistent with that past; sometimes it is a complete break, like an addict’s decision for sobriety. Even then, that first defining moment may break with the past, but every subsequent decision presents the choice again.

Today’s gospel reading is the story of a defining moment, the story of Jesus’ baptism and call. It is a story that Mark begins with words from Exodus and from the prophets, succinctly bringing forth Israel’s faith history, building a foundation for the ministry of John the baptizer: ‘Prepare the way of the Lord, make his paths straight.’ John’s call to repentance is a call “to return, to follow ‘the way of the Lord’ that leads from exile to the promised land. The Greek roots of the word [also suggest that repentance means going] beyond the mind that you have.”[1] Jesus responds to John the baptizer’s prophetic call to prepare God’s way through the act of baptism in the river Jordan. The larger symbolism of that act–recalling the Exodus–is as apparent to the Jews of Jesus’ time as Barack Obama’s train ride to the inauguration is in ours. Those in the United States will make the Lincoln connection; those in Roman-occupied Palestine make the Moses/Exodus/liberation connection.

From one defining moment to another, Mark sets the stage for Jesus’ call. God speaks to Moses through a bush that burns without being consumed, but the hearing of that speech begins in Moses’ experience of the Hebrews’ enslavement in Egypt; God speaks to Jesus through the waters of baptism, through the vision of the heavens being ripped open, and the Spirit in the form of a dove, but the hearing of that speech begins in Jesus’ response to John the baptizer’s call to repentance, to go beyond conventional understandings of what life with God is all about.

Father John Powell tells of Tommy, atheist in residence at the Catholic university where Powell was teaching theology of faith. Tommy smirked his way through class, whining and arguing about the existence of a loving God. When he turned in his exam at the end of the course, he asked, “Do you think I’ll ever find God?” Powell answered with an emphatic “No!...but I’m absolutely certain God will find you.”
Tommy graduated and went on with his life, but a few years later, Tommy developed terminal cancer. He showed up in Powell’s office, where they talked about what it was like to be 24 years old and dying. Tommy said it could be worse. He could be 50 and have no values or ideals, thinking that booze, seducing women, and making money are the real biggies in life.

Tommy shared that when the cancer hit, he began searching for God in earnest–without success. But in addition to Powell’s response to Tommy’s question about finding God, Tommy remembered another comment Powell had made: that the essential sadness is to go through life without loving. Powell had a corollary:  it is almost equally sad to go through life and leave this world without ever telling those you love that you loved them. Tommy proceeded to do just that, to tell his father, mother, and younger brother of his love for them. And when he was no longer looking, Tommy found God. Not as a private possession, a problem solver, or an instant consolation in time of need, but rather by opening to love.[2]

Mark tells us that the heavens are ripped apart as Jesus experiences the holy spirit descending on him like a dove, claiming him as God’s beloved son. In baptism, Jesus experienced an opening to God’s love. A defining moment. As we face defining moments nationally, defining moments within the life of this congregation, defining moments in our personal lives, may they be moments in which we are open to God’s love.

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[1] Reflection and Focus Questions: Epiphany 1B2009, Kate Huey, ucc.org
[2] The story about Tommy was emailed by a colleague. Father John Powell is identified in the story as a professor of theology at Loyola University in Chicago, but a check of Loyola’s faculty shows no one by that name. However the writer insists that it is a true story.