Mark 1:4-11
January 12, 2003
Sermon preached by Rev. Donald Ng at the First Chinese Baptist Church in San Francisco.
Every August for a good part of 20 years, I would be at the American Baptist Assembly at Green Lake, Wisconsin directing a national senior high conference. When nightfall came and standing outside in the open space, you look up in the sky and you would see the amazing constellation of stars that any city boy like me had ever seen. Against a black sky, there were the Big Dipper and the Little Dipper and over there was Orion’s belt and here was…
It was beautiful, and under those conditions—miles from any city lights, the sky coming all the way down to the horizon, and closer to the North Pole—the sky looked like the inside of a great black bowl, turned upside down, with holes punched in it everywhere and light blazing down from above.
Raised in a scientific age I knew that the sky was not a big black bowl turned upside down. Standing in Wisconsin, I was just a speck of life on the surface of a small planet whirling around the sun, one of billions of stars making up a galaxy hundreds of light years across the universe so vast it completely boggles the mind. The sky isn’t a bowl.
But during nights in Wisconsin, I could understand how ancient people might look up at that starlit sky and imagine themselves living under a solid dome with holes punched in it here and there to let in light or rain or snow. It looked like you might be able to throw a rock high enough to hit it. Or shoot a flaming arrow and see it stick.
Dome Sky
“In the beginning,” the Bible says, “God created the heavens and the earth.” On the first day he said, “Let there be light,” but on the second day he said, “Let there be a firmament,” a firm something between the earth and what’s above it. Listen to what the New Revised Standard Version says,
“And God said, “Let there be a dome in the midst of the waters, and let it
separate the waters from the waters. So God made the dome and separated
the waters that were under the dome from the waters that were above the
dome. And it was so. God called the dome Sky. (Gen. 1:6-8)
The Old Testament scholar, Lawrence Boadt understood the ancient Hebrews idea of the earth to be like a round plate. Surrounding this plate is water on all sides, underneath and above. A firm bowl—this dome spoken in Genesis—keeps the upper water back but allows rain and snow through. The image we have is like one of those cake dessert plates that have a glass dome. Below that plate and all around that dome is water and above the water somewhere is the dwelling place of God.
If you can picture the world like that then some of the stories in the Old Testament begin to make better sense. Listen to Genesis 7:11:
In the six hundredth year of Noah’s life, in the second month, on the
seventeenth day of the month, on that day all the fountains of the great
deep burst forth, and the windows of the heavens were opened.”
Can’t you just imagine God reaching down into the waters surrounding the dome of the sky, opening up a window, and letting oceans of water pour through to flood the earth? I think the ancient Hebrews did.
How about Genesis 11, where the people decide to build a great city, and a tower with its top “in the heavens?” They were thinking that one day their scaffolding would reach so high that the workmen would bump their heads against the sky. And then with a hand
saw cut a long gash in it, stick their heads up though the hole, and look around for God.
We might say what a crude and unscientific conception of the universe! And yet I’m not too sure we’ve evolved so much since those days. Some people still refer to God as “the man upstairs,” as if you could prop a ladder against the sky and climb up to where he is. Even the more scientific among us have trouble giving up the idea of a God who is “up there” somehow, in Heaven, wherever that is.
If I asked you to point to God right now, without thinking, you would probably point up. (I doubt that you could make yourself point down.)
Buried in our primitive unconscious there may be the memory of a sky like a solid dome, separating the waters from the earth, and separating us from God.
John the Baptist
So, hear the good news of Jesus Christ as recorded in the Gospel of Mark. “In those days,” Mark says—the days when people still thought the sky was a dome and God was up there somewhere watching our every move, the days when John was clothed in camel’s hair, with a leather belt around his waist, and he ate locusts and wild honey, John was preaching, “Repent and be baptized.”
“In those days,” John was hinting that God might, at any time, reach down from one of those heavenly windows and squash the unrepentant. “In those days,” Mark says, “Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan. And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, ‘You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.’”
The sky was ripped open. This time it wasn’t oceans of water that poured through to flood the world, but the Holy Spirit, fluttering down like a dove, and the voice of the Father saying, “Here is my Son.”
Separated from God
In this single, startling act, the God smashes though the barrier that has separated us. Not out of anger, but out of love, God bridges the gap that separated us forever.
God never intended to be separated from us. God never wanted to just observe us from above like someone looking at a piece of cake under the glass. The truth of the matter is that God didn’t separate from us, but we separated ourselves from God. The firmament mentioned in Genesis, that solid dome of sky, is a barrier of our own creation. It may be that in those ancient times, like now, some people just felt safer having God on the other side of the glass.
But the Bible tells us that God didn’t want to be there. In the story of the Incarnation, God lifts up the dome and sends his Son to live inside the dome. In this story of Epiphany we see that God can’t bear the thought of not having us know him. God cracks open the dome and shouts in a voice loud enough for everyone to hear, “Here is my son! If you want to know me, get to know him.”
As Christians we often believe that we know who Jesus is. But the truth is that we can never fully know him. Sinless, Jesus humbled himself and came down to the River Jordan like so many others who were being baptized by John. In his baptism, Jesus made himself to be like us. He identified with us before we would identify with him.
How many of you remember your baptism? When I was baptized at my home church in Boston, I was in high school. My cousin, Donna and I were the only two to be baptized at that time. I remember the lukewarm water, the fear of going under the water, the thought that so many people will be watching me. But the memory that has endured from my baptism is the fact that my baptism is like what Jesus experienced in his baptism.
I needed to be baptized by John for my sins. But Jesus, without sin, didn’t have to but he did. By being baptized, I am reminded of how God wants us to know him and by getting to know Jesus and being baptized as he was, we get to know God. In Christ, the barriers that separated us from God are taken down.
Sky Ripped Open
When Mark says the “heavens torn apart” or the sky ripped open, we tend to imagine that the clouds suddenly shifted and a ray of sunlight broke forth from above. But Mark’s worldview was different from ours. And when he says, “the sky was ripped open,” he may have meant exactly that. The solid, firm dome above the earth was split apart so that the Holy Spirit could come fluttering down like a dove. And the voice of God boomed like thunder, “You are my son, my Beloved. With you I am well pleased.”
On the day of Jesus’ baptism, Mark saw an epiphany–a moment of God breaking through to humankind. The image of the sky being ripped open is a wonderful illustration of God’s determination to know us and to be known by us. With a great tearing sound, God removes whatever barriers separating us from God.
At Jesus’ crucifixion, the temple curtain in the Holy of Holies was torn apart. This has the same meaning as the sky being ripped open. No one except the high priest had access to what lay beyond the curtain, where it is believe is the very essence of God. The priest would be permitted to enter only once a year on the Day of Atonement. At Jesus’ death, it was the Day of Atonement for all. The curtain was torn, and the way is made clear. What was hidden is now revealed. All can now see God face to face.
In our own baptisms, we come to see God face to face. When we confessed that we have sinned, God grants us his forgiveness. In Jesus, our lives have been atoned with God. All barriers have been removed for God to know us and for God to be known by us.
Looking Up to Him
There’s a story about a son who admired his father who happened to be a minister. You can say that the son “looked up to him.” In his eyes, his father was something like a god, stepping up to the pulpit each Sunday and handling down pronouncements in a thundering voice. This son decided to enter the ministry too because he wanted his father to be proud of him. It wasn’t a bad thing—admiring your father—but the admiration created a terrible distance between the son and his father. It built a pedestal higher and higher until the son found that he could no longer reach him.
For the most of his adult life, that’s how things were. The son was always glad to see his father but their relationship seemed stiff and awkward. Then, in his old age, the father came to live with his son. The son needed to help his father get into bed. He saw how the skin on his legs has become like wax paper, the swollen ankles, and the veined and purple feet. The son had never known his father like that before—so undignified and dependent.
On a night before his father’s death, the son heard a noise and got up to see the door to the back porch opened. There he found his father, collapsed on the yard while a steady rain fell on his bare legs.
The son thought, “Here’s my big, strong Daddy lying here like a rag doll.” He carried him back to his room. With the rain on his cheeks you wouldn’t have been able to tell that the son was crying.
This is a hard story to tell. But you can see how in that moment, the pedestal that this son had built for his father came crashing down forever. And as he took him in his arms, there was a closeness between them that had never been there before.
There is another story, of a time when a man hung on the cross like a thrown-away rag doll. But as people looked on him the distance between them and God collapsed. The pedestal came crashing down and the curtain in the temple was split open from the top to the bottom, and the heavens torn apart.
Great Tearing
In Jesus’ baptism, God broke through to humankind. There is still a lot of great tearing happening today. God is determined to know us and to be known by us. The epiphany of Jesus’ baptism is just the beginning of God revealing himself to us. God is coming to us again and again, breaking down all those barriers we put in God’s way.
God is saying to us once again, “Please don’t separate yourselves from me. Don’t let the barrier of this curtain or the barrier of the sky keep me at a distance.”
God said, “Look. In Jesus, I have bridged the gap by ripping the sky open.”
Let us pray.
Gracious Lord, you have come to us by ripping apart any barriers that we have set up to keep you from us. Teach us to come to you with our confessions and our commitments so that our relationship with you is strong and honest. Help us to see you face to face in our baptisms and as we serve you in word and deeds. O God, you are everything to us. Amen.