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Learning the Script
Sermon by Cynthia A. Jarvis May 7, 2006, Presbyterian Church of Chestnut Hill Isaiah 54:1-10 Acts 16:16-34
“Dear Harper,” begins Reynolds Price’s letter to his godchild on the occasion of Harper’s baptism, “It’ll be some years before you read this, if ever. But given the uncertainties of all our futures, I’ll set it down here at the time of your baptism and hope that—should you ever need it—it will be legible still….I certainly won’t guess at what your own relation to faith may be, though your parents and godparents have vowed to guide you toward it….None of us who know you in the bright wonder of your laughing, open-armed childhood can begin to imagine who you’ll be and where you’ll want—or need—to go in your youth or your maturity. So here, by way of a gift, are some thoughts that may interest you in time.” Likewise here, by way of a sermon, are some thoughts that one day may interest you, Henry; or to be more honest about what we are up to with you, here is the script, the means of grace, that one day may be of real help to you and to each of the many sons and daughters we already have promised and yet will promise to raise in the faith and life of Christ’s church. In the first place, Henry, we are baptizing you into a story. It is a story whose plot stretches from the first light of creation in the beginning to the final city where there will be no need of sun or moon to shine on it for the glory of God will be its light. We will introduce you to its characters whose adventure with the promise-making God just may shape your own imagination for a great trust. Early on we will tell of Noah’s animals marching two by two up the ramp of an ark to get out of the rain and of the rainbow that sealed God’s promise never again to destroy God’s good creation; we will tell of Abraham who went out not knowing where he was going with Sarah who, in her ninetieth year, bore a son from whom descendants as numerous of the stars of heaven were promised by the same God who had promised Noah; we will tell of Moses and the Hebrew people who escaped slavery across a parted sea and stumbled into the land God had promised as an inheritance to them forever; we will tell of the kings, especially David from whom God promised never to take his steadfast love and whose house God promised to establish forever; and we will tell, as though your life depended upon your hearing because we believe it does, we will tell of Jesus through whom we are made heirs of the same promise and members of God’s household forever. But we also are baptizing you into a story that does not mince words about the darkness around you and within you. Therefore we will tell you of Cain who was so jealous of his brother Abel that he killed him; of Noah too drunk the night he docked the ark to notice is own nakedness; of Abraham proving his love for God by his willingness to sacrifice the son of God’s promise; of David plotting to have his mistress’s husband felled in battle so that he could have whatever he desired; of God’s people, the people of God’s choosing, who chose again and again to bow down before other gods, lesser gods, gods who were powerless to help them in times of trouble; of the powers and principalities who could not bear God’s promise revealed in flesh and so completed the cycle of murder begun in Cain by nailing God’s Son, God’s only Son, God’s beloved on a cross. This, I repeat, is a story, Henry, that tells the truth; a story whose main character appears mostly off-stage; a story set in the reality of human history and steeped in the complexity of human brokenness; a story with the power to send you into the days of your one precious life with a purpose greater than you could imagine without it or us. Put another way, we are handing you a script which already has, written into it, a part for you to play. From your baptism on, you step onto the stage as a character in this drama whose plot turns on God’s astounding choice to be for you and with you. Now you may refuse the part, may quarrel with the lines as they are written or with their meaning, may pick up another script for awhile and see where the action takes you. But your baptism is the public moment and we are all witnesses to the fact that this is the script you have been handed by your parents, your godparents and this community of faith. We are handing you this script because we believe it is the story that will make sense of the disparate facts of your life, no matter what they may be, more than any other. You must decide, of course, for yourself in the years to come. Granted in the beginning it is our special responsibility to help you learn the script, perhaps at first simply by having you memorize some of its lines: lines like The Lord is my shepherd, for instance, or God so loved the world, or God is my refuge and strength, a very present help in trouble because, as you have yet to experience, you will find yourself someday walking in the valley of the shadow of death or you will think yourself unloved and unlovable by those closest to your heart or you will tremble before some enormous trouble certain that you are alone. This would all appear to be the case except for these lines written on your heart which have within them the power to remind you of the One who has gone before you in all these things and accompanies you even and especially in the darkness. Curiously it is the poet, the artist, the musician who has taken up the gauntlet laid down at my baptism, who continues to insinuate these lines onto my imagination, who reminds me of life’s paucity before their cadences sounded in my ear. To wit, Brooks Haxton writes:
she gave me his morocco Bible. I took it from her hand, and saw the gold was worn away, the binding scuffed and ragged, split below the spine, and inside, smudges where her father’s right hand gripped the bottom corner page by page, an old man waiting, not quite reading the words he had known by heart for sixty years: our parents in the garden, naked, free from shame; the bitterness of labor; blood in the ground, still calling for God’s curse. His thumbprints faded after the flood, to darken again where God bids Moses smite the rock, and then again in Psalms, in Matthew every page. And where Paul speaks of things God hath prepared, things promised to them who wait, things not yet entered into the loving heart, below the margin of the verse, the paper is translucent with the oil and dark still with the dirt of his right hand. |