The Water that Almost Drowned Us, a sermon based on Genesis 9: 8-17 and Mark 1: 9-15, preached on February 18, 2024

In 2007, I became the Associate Pastor for Mission and Outreach at Good Shepherd Presbyterian Church in Lilburn, Georgia. That job description didn’t last, however, because after I began my ministry as Associate Pastor for Mission and Outreach, the Director of Christian Education left, and I suddenly became the Associate Pastor for Christian Education. Then, a few months into my second year, the Senior Pastor left, and I became the Senior Pastor. Three different job descriptions in two years was a lot of transition, which I would not have asked for. I wouldn’t have asked for all that change, not only because out of the three roles (I was barely qualified to fulfill one of them.), but because that much instability made me anxious, and that much change didn’t just challenge me; it overwhelmed me. During those years, I experienced so much stress that I broke out in hives. I started to see a counselor. I was pushed beyond my limit, and I needed help. All that change wasn’t comfortable. I didn’t enjoy it, and I wouldn’t have asked for it, so, in 2007, as I was considering this opportunity to go to Good Shepherd as their Associate Pastor for Mission and Outreach, had I been able to forecast the future and see that if I agreed to go, my job description would change three times in two years, I never would have gone there in the first place. However, today, as I look back on those challenging years, I can easily see how those years prepared me. I know now that the rapid change strengthened me, and so today I give thanks to God for the water that nearly drowned me. The title for this sermon is “The Water That Almost Drowned Us,” and I’m wondering if that title resonates with you. Were there events in your life that nearly took you out? Were there hard years that made you feel like you were drowning? Sinking? Struggling? Fighting to come up for air? Was there a season in your life that tested you, challenged you, pushed you beyond your limits so that you nearly drowned, yet instead of drowning, the hard time made you who you are today? When I think about such challenges, the challenges that nearly drown us but instead make us more than who we were, my mind goes back to my first hours as a parent. The night our daughter Lily was born, her mother had labored for hours. As the contractions were coming in rapid succession, Lily’s heartbeat slowed, Sara was rushed into surgery, and by an emergency c-section, our daughter came into the world. As they were stitching Sara back up, I was in the nursery with our newborn daughter. She couldn’t be held right away, but I stood right by her side, and so long as my hand was on her stomach, she wouldn’t cry, so I stood there, looking at this new person who had merely been a kick inside Sara’s stomach a few hours before. Now, she was here, and I was her father. Do you know the feeling? I learned how to swaddle her in class, so once I was allowed, I wrapped her up and rocked her in a rocking chair. Rocking her for the very first time, I felt both overjoyed and overwhelmed. Once the adrenalin left my body, I also felt tired, only when we were back with Sara in a new room in the hospital, the nurse walked us down there, then she left, so Sara and I were on our own with a brand-new baby girl who had needs all her own. When baby Lily cried, it was up to us. When she was hungry, it was our job to do something about it. It seemed like I only slept in five-minute increments, so slowly but surely, the overjoyed part melted away, and I was simply exhausted and overwhelmed. Do you know the feeling? If you’ve read the book or watched the TV series “Lessons in Chemistry,” then maybe you remember the mother who, during a season when her infant daughter cried incessantly, confessed to her neighbor: “I’m a terrible mother. I’m not having any of those special moments that you’re supposed to have with your baby. Those blissful moments that I’ve read about in the women’s magazines. I’m ashamed to say I’ve been ready to give her away at least twice now.” That last comment made her neighbor stop in her tracks. Turning around, she asked, “You’ve wanted to give her away… twice?” Then the neighbor shook her head and laughed. “Twenty times would still make you an amateur.” I love her neighbor for saying that. New parents need to hear things like that, and after sympathizing so effectively, later she said to this new mother, “Soon enough, you’ll expand.” These days of early motherhood may not be easy, yet because they are hard, they are stretching you in such a way that you’re becoming someone new, for sometimes, from the water that nearly drowns us, we rise to new life. In a universal sense, this is the story of Noah and the ark. I’m thankful that this is a story that every child learns from a young age because we all need to know that there are moments in life when the world we knew dies, that a new world may be born. There are moments so challenging that we’d never choose to go through them again, yet in the process, our old selves die that our new selves may be born. This is the way it always is, and so repeatedly, we hear this story. More than that, repeatedly, we live this story. A great author and scholar is Joseph Campbell. I hope you’ve heard of him. His most famous book is called The Hero with a Thousand Faces. In this book, he explores common elements found in myths and stories from around the world. After studying thousands of stories about heroes like Osiris, Prometheus, as well as the Buddha, Moses, Mohammed, and Jesus, Campbell identifies universal themes and proposes that many of the stories we tell about our heroes follow a similar pattern: that of separation from the known world, then a crisis or series of catastrophes and tests, which, should the hero endure them, enable him or her to return home enlightened and changed. This pattern is easy to see in classics like The Iliad and The Odyssey, in which the hero, Odysseus, leaves home. When he finally returns home after a war, multiple shipwrecks, and temptations, he is not the same man who left. He comes home a new person, for from the water that nearly drowned him came a new life. The new man is mature in ways he wasn’t before, enlightened in ways that only a process of harsh refinement can explain. So it has been with us. The challenges of life change us, and while what we’d all ask for would be peaceful days filled with crossword puzzles and ice cream sandwiches, it’s our greatest challenges that have made us who we are. My favorite line from Joseph Campbell is that the hero and the villain must swim in the same water. What drowns one baptizes the other. In our second Scripture lesson from the Gospel of Mark, Jesus is baptized by John. What happens immediately after His baptism still surprises me. Our second Scripture lesson from the Gospel of Mark begins with His baptism, which is as picturesque as a baptism could possibly be. Just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove upon him. And a voice came from the heavens, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” How special is that? It’s the most beautiful baptism account of all time. Only then, the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness. He was in the wilderness forty days, tested by Satan, and he was with the wild beasts. Now, that part doesn’t sound so good. After most baptisms, the family has a nice lunch at the house. Sometimes there are cupcakes. That didn’t happen with Jesus, for while His hair was still wet from His baptism, His temptation began. Yet this is often the case: From the water that nearly drowns us, we rise to new life. I believe that. I believe it because I’ve lived it. I wouldn’t be surprised if you have lived it, too. In our lives are many struggles, and the ones that don’t break us sometimes make us stronger. Sometimes, from the struggles we gain strength we never thought we had. Other times, it’s through the hardship that we see God most clearly. This week, I read through our church’s publication. We used to call it a newsletter. Now, it’s too fancy to be a newsletter. We used to use this publication to advertise events that were coming up. Now, we do so many of the announcements through the bulletin, emails, and the church website, so we use this publication to celebrate ways that God is at work among us. If you’ve read the Lent issue, then you’ve heard already about Dr. Bob Smith, who, in his 35 years as a member of First Presbyterian Church, has been through some difficult times, and yet during the hard times, he learned how to listen to the heart and what it means to be chosen for a purpose – not a destination but a journey. Clyde Grant’s story is published in this issue as well, and if you read about this man who’s been on the battlefields of Afghanistan, providing medical care to the men and women injured on the front line, then you’ll hear that he has been through that deep water as well, yet through the struggle, he’s learned to breathe. He’s learned how to be present. He’s learned to take a walk in his backyard to find peace. Katharine Wesselink wrote an article as well. You may know the story she tells, how she was diagnosed with stage III bile duct/pancreatic cancer in 2022 and learned during her treatment that great lesson from the Apostle Paul to put on the whole armor of God. During her hardship, she discovered the kind of faith that only comes from adversity. Now, I don’t like adversity. I would never ask for adversity. If I had some knowledge to offer to help us all avoid adversity, I would preach about that. However, the Bible doesn’t teach us to avoid hard times. Instead, Scripture teaches us that even Jesus was in the wilderness 40 days tested by Satan, yet the Bible also tells us that the angels waited on Him as well. If you’ve been reading the devotional the Stephen Ministers of our church prepared for this season of Lent, then you’ll know that the devotional for this morning was written by Bennett Frye. Bennet’s doctor ordered a test out of an abundance of caution. Unfortunately, the test found something serious. On the way home from the hospital, having just heard the news, he stopped off at the grocery store to buy some bananas. “The cashier handed me my change” Bennett wrote, “a quarter, two pennies and a nickel. Funny how I remember that. On the way to the car, I looked at the quarter and to my surprise saw it was not a quarter, but a rather crude silver coin with the impression of a flying angel stamped upon it. I suddenly felt the presence of an angel and the assurance of God; not assured that I would survive but assured that He was present.” Bennett still carries that coin, and may you continually be reminded that by the water that almost drowned us, we may see the power of God. Amen.