Sermon by Reverend Dr. John W. Mann | January 7, 2024

Mark 1:4-11

It was the summer of 1983 and I was in my new office unpacking my gear, getting ready to start what I hoped would be a long and fruitful ministry in the Presbyterian churches of Clarion and Dows, Iowa.

One of the first people to greet me in my new charge was a fellow named Junior Everhard. Junior came in and sat down and said, “Pastor, I wonder if I could have minute of your time.” Age-wise he was in his mid-fifties, but those years had not worn well on him. He was a big guy and he was wearing what I would learn was his standard outfit – bib overalls and a shirt appropriate to the season, colored by the remnants of many past meals. How far past, it was hard to tell.

Junior told me that he and his wife had fallen on hard times and he was wondering if there was any way I could help him out with a few groceries. It was toward the end of the month and he just needed something to get through the week.

I was new enough not to know quite how things worked in the helping people out department and I told him so. But here was a guy in need, enough so to ask for help and I didn’t want to send him away empty. I looked in my wallet and saw a few bills and said, “I guess I could spare ten dollars,” thinking that amongst the clergy in town there must be a benevolent fund for such occasions.

Junior thanked me and I began to realize that his concept of a few minutes of my time was longer than mine as he launched into a monologue about the relative benefits of religion. What he got around to saying was that his church, the one he belonged to, had the true spin on all things Christian, while ones like mine were missing out on the truth.

I said, “You mean to tell me, I just gave you ten dollars so you won’t go hungry, and my religion is not as good as yours?” That was what he was telling me. “I think it’s time,” I said, “for you to hit the road.”

          As he got up and left he said, “God bless you pastor.”

          God bless me, I thought; the nerve of some people.

Soon after, I met up with the other ministers in town and told them of my encounter with Junior. “Welcome to Clarion,” they said, “You’ve been inducted by Junior.” Junior was always in need of a few groceries, just this one time. What it boiled down to was I was out the ten dollars. Consider it the cost of education. I was grumbling about it when one of the other ministers said, “Oh well, he is one of God’s children.” Right, and I’m out ten bucks.

That’s all I needed to hear; that I got conned out of ten dollars by one of God’s children. But I was wise to Junior now. You could almost set your clock by him. There’s Junior at the door, it must be the end of the month. Always the same story – times are tough, you know. If you could just help me out this one time, I promise I won’t bother you again.

It was clear the guy had some developmental issues. I couldn’t fault him for that. Even so, he was irritating in his way. As far as his church being the true church, I would just tell him, “You get your church to contribute to the food pantry, which by the way you use on a regular basis, and then tell me about religion. Otherwise I don’t want to hear it.”

And each and every time he always left with, “Thank you pastor. God bless you.”

Over the years one of the things I learned with Junior, was how to at least try to not be judgmental with charity. People don’t fit into neatly defined categories. Could he have done a better job managing his resources? Probably, but it’s always easy to judge looking in from the outside. I would just give him the groceries at the end of the month and keep my thoughts to myself.

One day Junior came in and said, “Pastor, I’m not here for groceries.”

I have to admit my first thought was, “Now what’s he going to ask for?”

But he told me that his wife had died. I didn’t know she had been ill. Now she had died. What he wanted to know was if I would attend her funeral. It was being conducted at the church he belonged to. He said, “You’ve always been real nice to me and it would do me a world of good if you were there.”

I said I would attend. I felt rather like a heel when he left by saying, “Thank you pastor. God bless you.”

It had taken me quite some time to see in Junior what he apparently always saw in me, that he was indeed one of God’s children. Maybe in his own way, he was able to see that in himself. Maybe his constant refrain of, “God bless you, pastor,” came from a heartfelt place. Most likely it did.

One of the challenges we have in this life is to see ourselves as God sees us. To cut through all the lies, to throw out all the rubbish and to get down to that core of our identity where we can look at ourselves and say, “Here I am.”

It’s not always a pleasant journey and it is by no means trouble free. The search for truth can be an arduous, life-long journey. But there is a reward, a prize. The prize is described by the word, “shalom,” which is all wrapped up in the meaning of words like, peace, security, salvation, wholeness and righteousness.

God reveals our identity by showing us Jesus. He said, “Follow me,” and invited us to embark upon a journey of discovery that leads ultimately to life itself; to the life God intends for us and to the life God makes possible. 

In the story of Jesus according to Mark, the first time we see Jesus is at the Jordan River. He begins his ministry as a face in the crowd, gathered to hear John the Baptist. John said that the kingdom of heaven has come near. It was time for people to repent, to turn toward God and embrace God’s will. John had great expectations for what God would do. He expected that God would soon send the Messiah, the great Savior and that life as we know it would change forever.

People waded into the water and were baptized. It was a symbolic act, like washing away their sins, showing that they were ready to meet God. Then Jesus went into the water. To be baptized.

As he came up out of the water, Jesus had a vision. He saw the heavens open and he saw the Spirit of God coming down and alighting on him, like a dove landing. He heard a voice saying, “This is my son, the Beloved, in whom I am well pleased.” The way Mark tells it, it was a private experience, a personal confirmation. The force of God’s statement is to say, “In you I pleasure.” God was pleased not because of anything Jesus did, but because it is in God’s nature to be pleased.

The poet Brian Wren wrote of when Jesus was baptized.  He wonders what happened in the heart and soul of Jesus when he was baptized.

          “Lord, when you came to the Jordan and asked to be baptized,

what was your vow and vision of love and sacrifice?

          Was there a sudden splendor of prophets, priests and kings,

a wind that stirred the waters, a blur of mighty wings?

          Was this God’s crowing moment of all you had become,

the Spirit’s power and blessing: Go now, you are my Son?

          Did scripture join with scripture in words of sharp surprise:

The Lord’s Messiah shall conquer, rejected and despised?

          Faith rests content with questions of when and why and how,

but craves the gift of seeing what God is doing now.

          Lord, bring us to our Jordan of newly opened eyes,

through love, immersed in living, as you were once baptized.”

Other than to step out from the crowd and be baptized, Jesus hadn’t done anything yet to please God. He had not earned God’s favor. All he did was show up. That, however, is the point. God was pleased with him not for what he did, but for who he was. One way of looking at this story is that if in his baptism Jesus identifies with humanity, then what God says to him, applies to everyone.

Therein lays the challenge of our faith journey, to discover that blessing for ourselves; to hear God say in our own heart and soul, “You are my beloved, in you I am well pleased.” Everything about our life as Christians flows from that experience.

A couple of years ago I was reading through the online version of the Clarion, Iowa newspaper when I saw an obituary for Junior Everhard. There was no listing of a family, no accomplishments, nothing about his life. Just a notice that a graveside service would take place. I wondered who was there. I figured at the very least, Jesus would show up.

I gave a prayer of thanks for one of God’s children. Amen.