Reflecting on Luke 13:15-16, 21-22

The Jordan River

Ah, water.  At the dawn of creation the Spirit hovered over it.  The Great Flood became a waterway for Noah’s arc, carrying life in all its forms to safety.  The Red Sea opened and provided a third way—neither death by Pharaoh’s sword nor by drowning its waters—for the Hebrews to pass over.  When Jesus submitted to baptism in the Jordan the heavens opened and the Holy Spirit hovered once again, this time over the beloved Son.  At his death, when he was pierced, water and blood poured from his side, setting into motion our own passover into eternal life.

It’s not hard to imagine that every day of the week, for two thousand years, somebody has been baptized in the Jordan River.  How many millions have walked into that cold river these past two millennia, hearts pounding with joy as they went under the water, professing faith in the Father, the Son and the Holy Spirit?  Today (if it is outside of the Easter season) when a person is baptized the priest or deacon will bless the water.  Unless, of course, somebody has brought water from the Jordan River for the baptism.  That water has already been blessed, forever.

Sharing God’s Word at Home:

What memories do you have from the baptisms you have witnessed?

Reflecting on Matthew 2:1-12

Respite on the Flight into Egypt -- Luc Olivier Merson, 1879

In the Boston Museum of Art there hangs a nineteenth century painting that is so stunning that one can only stand in front of it and pray.  Respite on the Flight into Egypt portrays an exhausted Joseph, sleeping on the ground next to a small campfire that only gives enough light for us to see his body stretched out on the sand.  But the light carries the eye upward, upward, and now we know that, yes, we are in Egypt, for there is a massive sphinx, staring out into the dark desert.  And―of course!―we see the source of that beautiful glow that has caught us and stopped us in our tracks.  There, in the massive arms of the granite guardian of the great Egyptian temple, sleeps Mary and her Child.  All are supremely at peace.  Joseph guards the scene as Mary cradles her baby, and the wondrous ancient lion/man cradles her.

Where do Mary and her Child sleep during their flight away from Herod?    Where else?  They sleep one hundred and fifty feet high, in the arms of the most powerful symbol of the most powerful nation on earth.

Herod should have taken a cue from the heavens.  When the Prince of Peace entered human history as a child, celestial beings, and wise foreigners, and the greatest wonders of the ancient world all did him homage.  If you look closely you’ll see that they still do.

Sharing God’s Word at Home:

In what ways can you discern all creation giving glory to God?

Reflecting on Luke 2:41-52

What is it about parents and their children?  The love that exists between them is like no other bond.  They carry each other in their DNA, and their relationship is so profound that it serves as a lifetime identity card.  Even when the years of childhood have long past, we still say, “Yes, I am my child’s parent. ” “Yes, I am my parent’s child.”

When the shepherds burst into that Bethlehem barn that Christmas midnight to tell the new mother what the heavens

Jesus in the Temple

had just sung to them about her Son, she treasured it.    And when Simeon and Anna told her that her baby would bring the redemption of Israel, she marveled at that too.

But what child is this who wanders away from his parents’ caravan―the caravan going back to the Galilee, back to the security of a tight community of relatives and friends―and “finds Himself” back in the Jerusalem Temple?  His parents searched with great anxiety for him for three days before they found him there.  Of course, a lifetime later his mother searched for him for three days once more, and all the mysteries she had been holding in her heart broke open with that empty tomb.

Sharing God’s Word at Home:

In what ways do children and parents need to “live in the mystery” as their relationship grows in wisdom and strength through the years?

Painting by Heinrich Hofman c. 1881