Deep River.
My home is over Jordan. Deep River, Lord, I want to cross over into campground. I find myself frequently asking and being asked, “How is this season treating you?” Implied by “season” in this question is a nod to COVID-19, justice work, physical isolation, working from home, young adulthood…For some of us, “season” might also imply navigating parenting and teaching, racial tension, furlough or job loss, injury or sickness, old age… “How is this season treating you?” is a vague question, loaded with baggage. So, in the spirit of attempting to maintain social norms, I tend to answer with the positive – I’ve been getting outside more, I learned how to brew kombucha and use power tools, reading through some books, flexibility in schedule… But, if I’m honest, what I want to say is that this “season” has been a season of wrestling. Wrestling with myself, with others, and even with God. It is a season which has brought me to my knees more often than I ever thought possible. A season which has thrown me into radical vulnerability with myself… May this sermon be an invitation to you to join our vulnerability together. The inspiration to be vulnerable comes because today in Genesis we encounter a story of vulnerability. We hear the story of Jacob. A man whose desire for power and wealth led him to cheat his own brother and father; then to dwell in a foreign land. And yet, paradoxically, he never lost sight of God – or, more accurately, God never lost sight of him…even in his struggle. Today, we encounter Jacob when he is brought to his knees at the edge of the Jabbok, a small river which flows into the mighty River Jordan, that deep river Jordan. One night, Jacob, standing alone at the ford, wrestled, scripture tells us.[1] We learn that Jacob wrestled with a “man,” but who this man was is uncertain. This figure could have been Jacob’s inner turmoil, his past actions or future hopes, an angel, or even God God’s self. We don’t know. Scripture isn’t clear. But what is clear – is that Jacob was living a season of wrestling which brought him to his knees, made him vulnerable, while he stood alone at the crossroads of the river’s edge. Perhaps you, like Jacob, like me, find yourself in a similar position of vulnerability this “season.” Perhaps, you’ve been wrestling with your inner self – your mind. In this season, you’ve been gifted more time than ever before to reflect, meditate, and consider your own emotional and mental well-being. As a result, you’ve found yourself standing alone in the dark of the night, like Jacob, like me, now forced to confront the inner workings of your mind. You’ve realized that you haven’t been showing yourself compassion, mercy, love. You’ve been trying to be like Christ for others, while neglecting to honor the image of God in yourself. You’re fighting the voices that tell you that you’re not good enough, not worthy enough, not holy enough. The voices of anxiety, depression, insecurity. The voices that keep you from crossing the Jabbok, that small river which leads to the Jordan, on whose opposite bank – recounts the old spirituals – freedom awaits you. This season brought you to your knees on the bank of the Jabbok, reminded of the tears cried like a river as we struggle with the dark night of the soul. Perhaps, in wrestling with your inner self, you’ve also been wrestling with your own history. This, too, is vulnerable work. Jacob did it. On the ford of the Jabbok, Jacob had to wrestle with – to confront – the injustice he showed toward his brother, Esau. The night the figure confronted Jacob in a wrestling match was the night before Jacob was to meet Esau to ask for forgiveness for stealing Esau’s blessing of land and progeny. Jacob was terrified. He thought that Esau was coming for revenge. And, likely, Jacob was terrified of not only Esau but also the daunting task that is…self-forgiveness. Maybe this is where you are in your journey, too. You’ve learned the history of the United States, of the Church, and you cannot fathom how forgiveness for injustice – against others, against yourself – is possible. The waters of the Jabbok which flow into the Jordan seem far too deep, far too insurmountable, to cross. This season brought you to your knees on the bank of the Jabbok, reminded of the history which gives life to the spiritual “Deep River” which preaches temporal and spiritual freedom. Perhaps, while wrestling with yourself, if that wasn’t enough, you’re also wrestling with God. You know all too well that God is present because it is God with whom you grapple on the bank of the Jabbok. It is God who causes you to pause and listen – who calls you, calling me, into radical vulnerability with ourselves and with others. There no longer seems to be a void between the secular and the eternal. Rather, in this season you are experiencing Divine encounters. God is showing up, calling you to something, making present, as the spiritual says, the gospel feast on this side of the Jordan. Yet, for these Divine encounters to sink in, they require a slowing down. A wrestling. A remembrance. This season brought you to your knees on the bank of the Jabbok, reminded of water. The water of baptism by which we receive the Holy Spirit and through which we are made members of God’s holy family, vulnerable babes brought afresh into the world.[2] Made worthy enough. Made redeemable. Inner turmoil, history, and all. In some way, we’ve all been brought to our knees on the bank of the Jabbok this season, confronting the dark nights of our souls, histories of injustice, the call of God. We’ve been reminded of where we’ve been, invited into vulnerability – and yet the river also reminds of where we’re going. It is in these waters of baptism of which we are reminded when brought to our knees on the bank of the Jabbok in which we can find our hope. Jacob’s story doesn’t stop with this maiming encounter. Rather, Jacob crosses the river. He repents. Esau forgives. Jacob receives God’s blessing, becomes Israel. From his lineage, comes Jesus – the Jesus who was baptized in the deep River Jordan into which the Jabbok flows, who fed the 5000 from 5 loaves and 2 fish so that no one would go hungry,[3] the same Jesus who was hanged on a tree so that we all might be redeemed, the Jesus who is our ultimate source of freedom from ourselves, from unjust systems, and freedom found in God. You see, because we are reminded of the waters of baptism when we are at the crossroads of the river’s edge, brought to our knees in our vulnerability, we are confronted with the cross. That life-giving, liberating cross through which all of creation is redeemed and by which we are called to reconciliation. The cross which transforms. For through baptism, we are made members of Christ’s Body – brought into union with Christ, ourselves, and the world, through his death and resurrection.[4] So, in my wrestling this season, I turn to the Gospel. I turn to the cross as a source of hope and preach it unabashedly[5] – a lesson I learned from Black preachers and theologians, through word and spiritual, like “Deep River.”[6] Spirituals like “Deep River” enable me to see that the Jabbok flows into the deep River Jordan, and be reminded by this that our story doesn’t end in struggle. Rather, the story just begins. May we in our vulnerability, when we are brought to our knees at the crossroads of the river’s edge, find ourselves at the foot of the cross. Amen. [1] Gen 32:24. [2] BCP 1979, 858. [3] Matt 14:13-21. [4] BCP 1979, 858. [5] James Cone, The Cross and the Lynching Tree. [6] Inspiration and preaching style thanks to Dr. Luke Powery, Preaching the Spirituals, DDS, Fall 2019. |