“Faith is Not A “Get Out of Jail Free” Card”

            You might think that right now we are experiencing or should be experiencing a mountain-top experience. We made it through those long weeks of Advent and growing winter darkness and shortening days, and then, at last, Christ is born, and angels sing, and shepherds glory, and magi come from afar to worship and bring gifts.

            And for Mark, the evangelist whose gospel has no birth narrative, we have that awesome moment when Jesus learns his identity and mission, his baptism by John in the river Jordan. (Mark 1:9-15)

            And so, now what?

            Will Willimon tells of the pastor whose little daughter was playing alone in her room. When he checked in on her, he heard the toilet flushing repeatedly in her bathroom. Drawing closer he heard her repeating the words, each times she flushed, “I baptize you in the name of the Father, the Son, and down the hole you go.” Seems she was a bit confused about baptism “in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.”

            Or maybe not.

            Because here is Jesus at what should have been, what must have been, a pinnacle experience, rising from the water, the Spirit descending upon him as if a dove, the voice of his heavenly Father ringing in his ears, proclaiming his love and pleasure. And then, down the hole he goes.

            Immediately that same Spirit, the one descending moments ago like a dove, now like a screaming eagle drives Jesus out into the wilderness, where he will be tempted for forty days. Just as the Israelites, having escaped from Pharaoh’s Egypt, endured forty years of temptation in the wilderness, so too Jesus endures a period when he must wrestle with what he will do with his life, how he will exercise the powers attendant to the special relationship he has been gifted with.

            And it gets no better after that wilderness testing, for Jesus emerges to be greeted by the news that John has been arrested, and in a few short chapters will have his head served up on a platter to Herod. And not too long after that, Jesus will once again find himself tested, this time in a garden after the Passover meal, and then writhing in agony on a cross while onlookers mock him.

            Down the hole he goes.

            The Christian faith is often presented to folk as the solution to all their problems. A “Get out of Jail Free” card to life’s troubles. Having trouble finding a purpose for your life? We can help you with that, got a book and a few lesson plans that should do the trick. Kids acting up? We can help you with that, just bring them to Sunday School and youth group. Got an addiction you want to beat? Take a few steps up into the Meetinghouse. Financially insecure? Some churches will say we got you covered there as well. A National Football League quarterback with few conventional quarterbacking skills, but a devoted follower of Jesus Christ his personal Lord and Savior? Yeah, according to many of his fans, he’s covered there.

            But to be fair to Tim Tebow, the Bronco who wears eye-black patches under his eyes reading “John 3:16”, who kneels for a moment of prayer after victories and big plays, he has yet to say, as do some of his fans, that God is on his side when it comes to the outcome of football games.  I think he knows that his faith does not exempt him from the challenges of professional football, will not prevent his being sacked, will not mean that he will never fumble or throw an interception, will not stave off the bone-jarring hits that are part and parcel of life for a professional athlete.

            It is, sadly, the same for us. Baptized into the faith and family of Jesus Christ, far from being handed that “Get out of Jail Free” card, down the hole we go. We rise from the waters of baptism, dead to the old life, ready for a new life in Jesus Christ, and find that if we really do what we profess, if we really try to follow in the footsteps on the one in whose name we are baptized, that new life might look a whole lot different than we had expected.

            Because we remember that Jesus told us that he came not to be served, but to serve. And so if we are to walk with him, we will be serving as well. And we remember that Jesus told his followers it was about a new community, which means that we have to deal with everyone else who somehow got into this place called “church.” And we remember how he told his follows, after he set his face towards Jerusalem, as he readied himself for the last leg of his journey, a journey that would take him to arrest, and torture, and death, “If any want to become my followers, let them deny themselves and take up the cross and follow me.”

            Because we remember that Jesus, far from exalting himself and aiming for the skies, humbled himself, even to the extent of taking on lowly human form and vulnerability and suffering. And so if we are to imitate him, those mountaintop experiences will be few and far between, and mostly we will find ourselves down in some valley ladling soup in a homeless shelter, or hammering nails on a Habitat for Humanity build or a New Orleans Katrina restoration project, or standing in the cold outside of the halls of power holding a sign urging justice for all and care for the poor, or wiping the nose of a crying baby in the crib/toddler room on a  Sunday morning, or out on a balcony in Memphis in the crosshairs of a rifle, or yes, even doing the unglamorous task of writing out a check each week to help enable ministries here and in the world beyond.

            I guess the good news of all this is that Christianity is a faith not just for the mountaintop experiences -- the Christmas and Easter celebrations, the joy of baptism and the excitement of Confirmation, the occasional “aha” moment or even, for some of us, that special moment of intimacy with the divine. Christianity is also a faith for the valleys. Because most of us don’t live on the mountaintop in a world of continual spiritual highs and visions and glowing satisfaction – we live down in the valley where we basically trudge along, try to make it all work, try to do what we can when we can, dealing with blitzing linebackers and red dogging safeties and a life than can seem like a two-minute hurry-up offense.

            And yet it is there, right there in the muck and mire of daily living, that God comes to us. God does not wait for us to come to him, to climb the spiritual mountain, to master the life of prayer, to outdo Sister Theresa in good works.  Jesus comes to us there, in the mess of a manger, in the muddy waters of solidarity, in the dust of the long road, even on the smelly garbage heap at the end of our days. Maybe not offering a “Get out of Jail Free” card, no – but always offering his hand, a smile, and a promise to be with us always – both down in the hole, yes, but also along the banks of the river of the water of life which flows  through the heavenly city.