You Are My Beloved

Mark 1:9-13

When Robert and I were in Israel, we went to the Jordan River in Yardenit. It's quite a production they have there, one of the biggest attractions in "Jesus Land," which is what we started calling the tourist parks built around holy Christian sites. People know Jesus wasn't baptized here but probably a few miles away. That land is under Palestinian control, however, and the Israelis are better organized. There's a concession stand with changing rooms to don the cheap white garments they sell. Plastic bottles for collecting holy water, only a few sheckels, Jordan River postcards, placemats, dishtowels. It looks clean and attractive, with pretty stone walls and airport-style guide rails to help form proper lines. People stand in line patiently. Pastor Jim stands in the water to dunk you backwards, and Pastor Bob says the words. There is even a video camera trained on the spot, recording every baptism, available for purchase. Something sweet about it, anyway. People who are watching with their cameras break into "Amazing Grace" and "Shall We Gather at the River".

I wade in by myself. I ask my husband to stop talking to me. I want something from this place, cheesy as it is. I want to make some sign of commitment. I say words like, "I freely choose to follow you on your difficult path." I have no idea what I'm doing.

I think about Jesus coming here to ask John for baptism. Matthew gives them a friendly argument: "No man, really. You should baptize me." But it seems more likely that Jesus would come to his cousin John, searching out a teacher, guide, and witness to his difficult choice of ministry. It says that people come to John to repent of their sins. "Sin" was never a big part of my excitement as a Christian, but I understand the desire for a fresh start, a way to shed your mistakes, to commit anew. I could see how Jesus would want this.

In Mark and Matthew, it's clearly a vision Jesus has, perhaps not something everyone else could see or hear: the heavens opening up, the dove coming down, the voice that says, "You are my beloved son; with you I am well-pleased." The dove (my friend David calls him "a bird of prey") drives Jesus out to the wilderness. Luke and Matthew say "led", but I think Mark packs more punch. He is in the wilderness for 40 days, echoing the Israelites' stumble through the wilderness for 40 years after liberation from slavery.

There are moments when I feel I'm clearly on the right path. I understand who I am and how precious I am to God. And moments later, I'm driven out into the unknown. You get such clear signals in the beginning - the heavens open up, the Red Sea parts. You belong to God, you get your sign, go. And then you promptly get lost. You wish there had been a video camera trained on the spot, recording what happened. Maybe it would help.