Life in the Shadow of the Cross: From the Water to the Wild. Mark 1:9-13. 02/18/2024
Life in the Shadow of the Cross: From the Water to the Wild
Mark 1:9-13 Rev.
Dr. Rhonda Abbott Blevins
February 18, 2024
In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” And the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. He was in the wilderness forty days, tempted by Satan; and he was with the wild beasts; and the angels waited on him.
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There’s a legend that hails from the Cherokee tradition about a boy’s rite of passage into manhood. Here’s how it goes:
The boy’s father takes him into the forest, sits him on a stump, blindfolds him, and leaves him alone. To pass the test, the lad is required to sit on that stump all night long without removing the blindfold until the morning light shines through it. He cannot cry out for help. He must sit there, blindfolded, alone, enduring the darkness. If he survives the night, he is a man. He can’t tell the other boys about the experience, because each boy must face the same challenge on his way to manhood.
Obviously, the boy is terrified. Wouldn’t you be? In the dark, in the woods, blindfolded—the mind begins to play tricks on the boy. The wind blows through the grass and trees, the nocturnal animals hunt their prey, coyotes and wolves and bobcats make their growling, howling noises. He will surely die! But the boy must sit still, no matter what, and never remove the blindfold. This is the only way he can become a man.
Finally, after a fearful night, the sun appears. The boy is free to remove his blindfold. As he peels the cloth from his eyes, what does he see but his father sitting on a stump nearby! Without the boy knowing, his father has been there the entire night, protecting him from anything that might cause harm.
Maybe you’ve heard this popular story before. I suspect the reason that this story is so widely beloved is that each of us can relate to the boy. Each of us, at some level, has felt blindfolded and alone, terrified of what’s out there. Who wouldn’t want a strong father watching over us as we face our most difficult challenge? Who doesn’t want to believe that we are loved and protected when we journey through our dark night of the soul?
And so we begin our Lenten journey with this imagery—a strong and loving Father, watching over us as we walk in darkness and in the shadows.
The word, “Lent,” comes from the Anglo-Saxon word for “lengthen,” as in the lengthening of daylight during springtime. Traditionally, Lent is a time of fasting and prayer, a period of 40 days (excluding Sundays) that follows a distinct biblical pattern:
40 is the number of days it rained as Noah and his family survived on the ark (Genesis 7:12).
40 is the number of days that Moses fasted atop Mount Sinai as he prepared to receive the 10 Commandments (Exodus 34:28)
40 is the number of days that Elijah fasted on his way up that same mountain (1 Kings 19:8)
40 is the number of days that the spies searched out the Promised Land (Numbers 13:25)
And of course, 40 is the number of days that Jesus fasted and prayed in the wilderness before he launched his public ministry (Mark 1:13).
Which brings us to today’s scripture lesson.
In Mark’s gospel, the story of Jesus’ baptism and journey into the wilderness moves at breakneck pace. Other gospels give us more details, but Mark doesn’t spend a lot of time on the details. “Just the facts, ma’am,” for Mark. Think about it: Jesus’ baptism, blessing, and entire wilderness experience—all together—comprise only five verses in the first chapter of the Gospel of Mark.
But one detail Mark was careful to include, one detail he could have easily left out if he’s going for economy of words, was this voice from on high calling Jesus “beloved.” This same detail—a voice on high calling Jesus “beloved”—is included in all three synoptic gospels. All three writers find this curious detail important to the story of Jesus they will tell.
Why?
God knows what Jesus is about to go through as he faces 40 days of fasting alone in the desert. God wants to make sure that Jesus has something to fill the emptiness—the physical, emotional, and spiritual emptiness he is about to endure. What is it that God gives Jesus to carry with him into the desert?
A blessing. “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”
Before he went to fast and pray in the wilderness, before he called his disciples, before he launched his public ministry, before he healed, before he taught, before he did anything of consequence—anything worthy of recording in holy writ—God blessed Jesus and called him “beloved.” At this point in time, Jesus had done nothing to earn his belovedness. (Neither do we, by the way.) This blessing, the fact that Jesus understood his nature as that of the “beloved,” gave him power to face the 40 days and nights of fasting alone in the wilderness, and so much more.
This past Wednesday was Ash Wednesday. Many of you came through to receive the imposition of ashes, marking the beginning of the season of Lent. And for those of you for whom I had the honor of imposing ashes, I offered the same blessing. “You are the beloved son of the Most High God.” “You are the beloved daughter of the Most High God.” It’s a very intimate moment, which I do not take lightly. Hearing this blessing in this way caused some—women and men—to become misty eyed. To be reminded of our belovedness . . . it’s powerful . . . it’s moving . . . it sounds like deep and profound truth. Why? Because it is.
You see, the God who called Jesus “beloved” blesses each of us, through Christ, with that same powerful truth.
You are the beloved child of the Most High God.
The season of Lent reminds us of the 40 days of hardship and trials and temptation that Jesus faced in the desert. Lent also reminds us of the fact that he did not face this hard, hard path alone. He carried with him a profound blessing—the deep truth of his belovedness— with him. Unlike the young boy sitting in the wilderness through the dark night blindfolded, Jesus knew his Father was with him.
Even though God, through Christ, offers us this same blessing, for many of us, it’s as if we do not have ears to ear the blessing—we cannot discern the voice of God calling us “beloved.”
So we go through life blindfolded, imagining that we’re facing the darkness and the wilderness alone. We don’t realize that the presence of Christ is with us. We live our lives in the shadow, imagining that the shadow is all there is.
But there’s more to the shadow than meets the eye.
Recently I was reminded of the story of two young fish swimming together in the ocean, when an older fish swims by and says, “G’morning, boys! How’s the water today?” He swims on by, and the two young fish keep swimming along quietly, until one of the young fish asks the other, “What the heck is water?”
You and I . . . we’re like the two little fish completely unaware that we live and move and have our very being in the light of God’s love. God’s love is so ubiquitous, we don’t even know we’re swimming in it! So here’s the truth about the shadows we face: shadows only exist because of the presence of light. There would be no such thing as darkness if not for the daylight that follows.
Our Lenten theme this year is “Life in the Shadow of the Cross.” The events of Good Friday, culminating in the execution and death of Jesus, cast a long shadow. Throughout the 40 days of Lent, we remember that the cruelty and violence and ultimate darkness as experienced by Jesus on the cross—this is a part of our reality.
But we hold that alongside our foreknowledge that “Weeping may endure for a night, but joy comes in the morning.” (Psalm 30:5) Why? Because on the other side of that cross is a brilliant, radiant light of resurrection! Thanks be to God!
In the meantime, the shadow of the cross looms large. But as we make our way through the shadowlands, we are not alone. We carry the truth of our belovedness with us. And because it’s not our first Lenten season—because it’s not the first time we’ve walked through the shadows—we trust that the truth of our belovedness will carry us through.
I don’t know what the shadows look like for you on this first Sunday of the season of Lent. I know some are facing diagnoses. I know some are dealing with crippling grief. I know some just can’t break that addiction. I know some are facing losing everything. You heard the many prayer requests shared by those who received the imposition of ashes on Wednesday. For most of you, however, I have no earthly idea what you’re going through.
But I have one heavenly idea, which is this: you do not walk your shadowland alone. You are the beloved child of the Most High God! You are the beloved son of the Most High God! You are the beloved daughter of the Most High God! And because I so firmly believe this truth, I also believe this: nothing will break you. Nothing in heaven or on earth will break you. Because the light of God’s love is shining on the other side of whatever cross you bear. No shadow could exist without it.
So yes, you may find yourself in the shadows this first Sunday of Lent. If not today, you’ll find yourself there at some point down the line. When you find yourself in the shadows, remember there is light beyond the cross.
So as Jesus came up from the baptismal waters, he heard the voice of the one calling him “beloved.” And that, for Jesus, was enough to carry him through unbelievable hardship in the days ahead. From the water to the wild . . . the truth his belovedness was enough.
My dear friend, the truth of your belovedness is enough for you as well.
I close with a poem I’ve entitled, “From the Water to the Wild”:
baptized and blessed
we are not always sent to the
places of tranquility and rest
but from the water to the wild
of turmoil and strife
this is life in the shadow of the cross
baptized and blessed
we are not always empowered
standing with the oppressed
but from the water to the wild
of hardship and pain
this is life in the shadow of the cross
baptized and blessed
we are not always picked
as the brightest or the best
but from the water to the wild
of shame and disappointment
this is life in the shadow of the cross
baptized and blessed
we are not always aware of our
chosen nature or our place in God’s breast
but from the water to the wild
of unknowing and isolation
this is life in the shadow of the cross
but . . .
life in the shadow does not mean all is lost
life in the shadow does not mean we are alone
life in the shadow does not mean the shadow wins
no . . .
love wins on the cross
hope wins on the cross
reconciliation wins on the cross
so there
in the wilderness
in the shadow
of unknowing
of shame
of hardship
of turmoil
look up
there is light beyond the cross
else there would not be a shadow
there is light beyond the cross
from the water to the wild
and every space between