Eclipse [Baptism of Our Lord]
The Rev. Jeremiah Williamson
Luke 3:15-17, 21-22
Eclipse
I don’t presume to know what John was thinking when Jesus
showed up at the river, at his river, John’s river. But I do know that the people who were there,
the crowds that journeyed all the way out into the desert, they came to see
him. They came to get a glimpse of the
man wearing the camel skins, eating the locusts. They came to experience his unique, fiery
style. They came to be pushed under the water
by his rough hands, in the corner of the river he carved out for himself. They came for John…until they didn’t. He was the star…until he wasn’t.
Until John the Baptist was eclipsed, like the secondary star
in a binary system. And then the people moved
on. And now, in our Bible, Jesus is the
primary star; John is a minor character, in the story only to support the main
character. Once he had his own disciples
– until they left to follow his much more important younger cousin.
John says all the right things. He says, “the one who is more powerful than I
is coming.” He says, “I am not worthy to
untie the thong of his sandals.” He says
all of the selfless things one might be expected to say. He says the right things and then he disappears
in the shadow of the one who eclipsed him.
He imagined a Jesus who was like him – just new and improved,
brighter and better. He imagined a Jesus
who would take his work to the next level.
John was fiery. But how he
imagined Jesus was as a prophet who was even more passionate, even fierier, if
that’s even possible. He predicts that
Jesus will baptize with fire, will burn the chaff with unquenchable fire. At least if he is going to be replaced, his
successor will be like him, build on his work, carry the baton over the same
finish line to which he was running.
But then it was all different. Different style. Different personality. Different temperament. John fasted.
Jesus feasted. John sang the
mourning dirge. Jesus played the festive
flute. John stayed in the
wilderness. Jesus rubbed elbows in the
villages, even visited the big city. John
baptized. Jesus’ ministry takes place
far away from the Jordan River, nary a baptismal liturgy in sight. The ministry looks so different from what
John imagined it would be, that, before he is killed, John has to ask Jesus if
he actually is the Messiah or if he should keep looking. John was so sure until Jesus’ ministry
departed so significantly from what John started.
I don’t presume to know what John was thinking as the river
crowds dried up, as his decrease became Jesus’ increase. But I am human. And you are human. So perhaps we have some idea.
I have ministered at churches and then left. And for a time the people with whom I
ministered were sad, but then they moved on, with a new priest whom perhaps
they love just as much, maybe even more.
And while I hope my former congregations grow and thrive beyond and without
me, of course, also I hope they do not forget me and all that we did
together. I have started ministries and
programs. And I hope they continue
beyond my leadership. But sometimes they
don’t and sometimes even when they do they become very different from my
original vision. I have children, two of
them. And for now I will raise them; I
will implant the values that I value.
But one day, like dandelion seeds, they will drift into adulthood. And my dreams for them will be displaced by
the dreams they dream, by the dreams they will choose to chase.
And then one day, despite the work left undone and the words
yet to be said, I, like you, will lay down to rest in peace. And others will stand in the pulpits in which
I have stood. And live in the houses in
which I have lived. My sermons will be
forgotten. My books will go out of
print. The world, with all of its
bustle, will continue to spin. Time will
go on without me. And a day will come
when I will fade completely from human memory.
But my fate is not unique. This
is true of most of the people who will ever live. And it is, I think, one of the great
mysteries of life: to be so uniquely created and so eternally loved and
remembered by the God of the universe, but also to be so completely replaceable
on this earth.
I don’t presume to know what John was thinking when Jesus
finally arrived but I imagine it felt like the beginning of the end. Maybe not a bad thing. Maybe not a good thing. But just a thing. Just life in the way that life always moves faster
than we can possibly keep up. We
decrease and someone else will increase.
It’s not the end of the world. And I suppose that is the point. In Olive Schreiner’s Dreams of the Hunter, she writes as the Seeker after Truth: “I have
sought; for long years I have labored; but I have not found her. I have not rested, I have not repined, and I
have not seen her; now my strength is gone.
Where I lie down worn out, others will stand, young and fresh. By the steps that I have cut they will climb;
by the stairs that I have built, they will mount. They will never know the name of the [one]
who made them. At the clumsy work they
will laugh; when the stones roll they will curse me. But they will mount, and on my work; they
will climb, and by my stair! They will
find her, and through me!”[1]
We are all supporting characters in God’s long salvation
story. We appear and disappear. But the story continues. The genesis of this story is far too ancient
to remember now. The names of those who
built the steps we now climb are long forgotten – except in the mind of
God. And for now, for this brief moment,
the work is ours. We reap what was sown
in the past and plant what others will reap in the future. We steward the inheritance that we will one
day pass along to the next generation. Where we finally lie down worn out, others
will stand, young and fresh. And on and
on until at last thy Kingdom come.
And while the cast of supporting characters come and go, it
is still Jesus who remains forever the star at the center of this story. And like the light curve of an eclipsing
binary with a shallower minimum we are eclipsed by his brighter light. Our decrease is his increase. Our light gives way to his. I don’t presume to know what John was
thinking as he faded into the background but I hope to find a way to follow his
lead, to fade just as gracefully into the shadow of Jesus.
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