Image: Blak Douglas (aka Adam Hill), ‘Negative Cleared Assets’, 2009.
‘Wilderness and otherness’
Andrew Collis
Baptism of Jesus, Year C
Isaiah 43:1-7; Psalm 29; Acts 8:14-17; Luke 3:15-17,21-22
“Spirits of the universe, give glory to God,” the psalmist sings. “The voice of God is heard in storms, rousing all creatures. God’s voice strikes fire from desert rocks …” It’s a fitting psalm for our celebration of the Baptism of Jesus. And it invites consideration of the fact that following his baptism by John in the Jordan, Jesus is led by the Spirit into the desert. Jesus is led into a wilderness we might call a storied country.
Jesus is baptised by John (the wild one) and then led into the wilderness. While there is much on which we might focus – personal confirmation of identity as Anointed and Beloved, public acknowledgement of said identity, the role of the Spirit – let’s dwell a while on this detail.
One commentator writes: “If there is any comparison between Jesus’ baptism and ours … it’s that baptism assumes wilderness. Not to test our loyalty. Not to tempt God’s commitment. Not to get us to [activate] the Spirit. No. Because none of that is biblical. A quick review of Numbers should remind us that being in the wilderness is part of what it means to be the people of God” (Karoline Lewis).
Not only is wilderness (or desert) a place in which water is especially precious, and not only do we encounter wild animals alongside the angels (as Mark reminds us), but being in the wilderness (in all senses of the word) is part of what it means to be the people of God.
In other words, our desert wanderings are not so much personal as communal affairs.
In the wilderness (the wild, untamed, unfamiliar places; landscapes and seascapes; mythical country, country vulnerable to human greed and exploitation) there are stories and there are voices – there are others we might well hear.
It’s not so much that Jesus is there to negotiate a trial or endure a burden. It’s not so much that Jesus is there to make his way through hardship as though survival were synonymous with salvation. A display of sheer will and perseverance can only accomplish so much. And it doesn’t sound like something our God, who is all about relationship, calls for.
So, if we take Jesus’ baptism seriously, what does it mean to be led into the wilderness – if our own self is not primarily on the line? If proving our worth or substantiating our identity is not the primary issue? If showing our wherewithal to “make it through” is not chiefly in question?
It means that being baptised and then immediately led into the wilderness, a storied country, is about faith lived in community.
Jesus’ baptism suggests that being in the wilderness is not simply about the self but about the other. About God’s other. Jesus’ time in the wilderness (including temptations to personal power and comfort – power over others) does not simply verify his own sense of self, but his sense of self for the sake of who God needs him to be for the world God seeks to save.
The scene calls to mind my friend Blak Douglas’s spiritual and artistic practice of regular travels throughout “regional” and “remote” NSW and beyond – wilderness journeys in and out of storied country for the sake of his art and his people (past, present and future). Wilderness journeys that he might discover a (teacher-brother-painter) self (angry, humorous, patient) more attuned to others.
He is led into storied country that he might listen – that he might learn to care for country – and that vital stories might be told in and through him.
The artwork we have before us is one such story. With characteristic wit, it subverts the notion of land as realty in the name of revered Elders and in the Spirit of land as a reality – wild and other – in which we live, move and have our being (Acts 17:28).
The Israelites were not alone in the wilderness. They had each other. They had a story of liberation and a covenant with a God of justice and compassion. Jesus was not alone in the wilderness. He had the Spirit and the promise of God’s declaration of love (along with those wild animals and heavenly guides).
We are never alone in the wilderness. Baptism propels us into community (into storied country – Christian, Abrahamic, ecumenical, ecological, Indigenous – to and from sacred sites of which we are often sadly ignorant) and if ever we rely on baptism as only that which safeguards our individual security we have misinterpreted Luke’s story.
We have missed the bigger promise that baptism brings – the promise that even in the wilderness, and oftentimes because of it, our call to embody the kindom of heaven on earth is meant to be manifest to all. We are not only privy to personal epiphanies, and if/when we are, we will need to figure out how to share them or help make it possible for others to experience them.
The nature of epiphanies is communal, Luke suggests. “You are my Own, my Beloved.” Everybody got to hear that, not just Jesus, and so when he is led into the wilderness, he already knows this is not a private affair, a personal test, a lone examination. The wilderness is its own epiphany (as Blak Douglas and countless others would attest), but an epiphany for all to witness.
“The universe exalts in new birth. Glory to God! Strength to your people!”
“[T]he vocation that is mine is always a vocation for others and among others” (Jean-Louis Chrétien).
Baptism is about who the other (including the land, the water, and myriad species) needs me/you/us to be. To be present in the wilderness. To bear witness to God’s words from heaven. To proclaim that baptism cannot simply be about the self, but entails being the light for the sake of God’s kindom on earth. We are God’s beloved. Amen.
Does the story of Jesus baptised and led into the wilderness recall a time spent in a wilderness – a wild, untamed or unfamiliar place: a home to others?
Based on a sermon by Karoline Lewis.
