And the Spirit Descended like a Pigeon

“And the Spirit Descended like a Pigeon”

Good Shepherd Lutheran Church (North Quincy, Massachusetts)

Year B, Epiphany: Baptism of the Lord, Mark 1:4-11

Sam Melton, MDiv ‘19

Over the past couple of weeks, I had the wonderful privilege of going home for Christmas to St. Louis, where my parents currently live. However, this time around the holidays were a bit different. My parents are preparing to move to Florida, apparently as retired people often do-- my cousins are all much older, and there there are no longer little ones running around, and so Christmas looked different for us this year. As my parents are preparing for this major life transition it seems as though the childhood home I had come to know and love, doesn’t really look or feel like the home it once did.

Though the pictures have been taken down, the furniture is moved, and there are new coats of paint on the walls, there is one thing that has continued to remain consistent in my family’s holiday tradition. Even in the midst of these major life transitions throughout the years, there is this little ficus tree that has seemed to keep its place in the house. Though many of you likely have memories of gathering around a big bushy, beautiful, Christmas tree, maybe one of those that fils your house with the smell of pine, on Christmas morning, my family has gathered around this little ficus tree that sits in the corner of our living room, year after year. And it’s okay to laugh, because now that I’m older I truly understand how odd this must sound, it’s one of those things growing up you think is ‘normal’ until you realize how utterly strange it really is.

But, at some point in my family’s history, we started putting lights on this ficus tree, and instead of going through the ritual of pulling out the Christmas tree and decorating it together as a family, my family and I began simply wrapping lights around the ficus tree and this somehow grew into the tradition of then just leaving the lights on the tree year-round, and progressed to simply plugging the lights in during December. This really, quite strange family tradition of mine is probably the one tradition, that regardless of life changes, divorces, marriages, births or deaths in the family, has stayed the same. It is that one consistent quirk of my family that I can count on and so, again this year, come Christmas morning, my family gathered around this same ficus tree to open gifts.

I wonder what sort of quirky little traditions your family has? If there are any that like my family’s ficus tree might sound odd, strange, or downright weird to outsiders? Perhaps it is something as simple as inside gift giving, like maybe the infamous Good Shepherd rubber chicken that re-emerges at the Yankee Swap each year? These odd little traditions extend outside of the holidays too, maybe with family or friends, you have inside jokes that you send each other regularly, or there’s a favorite lunch spot you and your friends love. Whatever those little traditions or quirky little things we have with friends, at church, or with family, I would go out on a limb to say that more often than not, from the outside those traditions probably don’t seem like the absolute most beautiful things to others? 

As I’m sure you weren’t imagining the prettiest, most beautiful ficus tree you had ever seen in your life, the beautiful piece of this tradition for me, was never the ficus tree itself, but instead the life giving family that surrounds that ugly little tree. I find a little slice of heaven, a little peek into the love of God, in those moments, and though it doesn’t often look like what we or others may expect it to look like, those quirky moments are what remind me that God is here too. It isn’t the ficus tree or the rubber chicken that we find so lovable, but instead the laughter and love of those beautiful moments that extend beyond these little symbols.

Oddly enough, the ficus tree and even the rubber chicken --- was the first thing that came to mind when I was reading our Gospel lesson from Mark today. Though this too perhaps sounds a little odd, I promise if you stick with me, you’ll begin to see why.

In Mark, we hear the story of Jesus’ baptism taking place through John the Baptist. This is the same story we heard during Advent, just a few weeks ago,  from the Gospel of Matthew, in which Pastor Alissa reminded us of our gifts and offerings to this community. And so we are hearing this story yet again, but in a different time in the church year, but this time during Epiphany. Today, the Baptism of the Lord, or more commonly referred to as Epiphany, we celebrate the manifestation of God among us. An Anglican Priest reminds us that, “Epiphany is the celebration of the God who comes among us…” a time when, “The ordinary becomes extraordinary…”

And so it is no coincidence that we hear this story again on this day as we re-read it under the this lens of the ordinary becoming extraordinary. Today, this passage acts as a reminder that God is among us and found in the ordinary, everyday, stuff.  

If we remember from our Gospel reading today, we hear of Jesus’ baptism, and witness this mass of people coming from all over the country to watch the baptisms of John at the Jordan river. I imagine all of these people gathered around, watching what seems to be this sort of spectacle, watching this oddly dressed man in the river, dunking people in the name of the Holy Spirit. It seems like this dramatic, crowd-drawing, event taking place. 

We hear this passage in two parts, repentance acting as the first part and forgiveness as the second part. So, directly after the crowds have gathered, those gathering around confess their sins, repenting, in the presence of Christ. And as John, dressed in his camel hair clothes, with a belt around his waist, and eating locusts and wild honey, says that though he baptizes Jesus with water, it is God that baptizes and blesses Jesus with the Holy Spirit. And as Jesus is blessed by the Holy Spirit the heavens split apart, tear open, and the Spirit descends upon him like a dove and the voice says to Jesus, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” What a dramatic, incredible, spectacle we get to witness.

I find these last two verses so beautiful and valuable as we are reminded that we are so, so, loved, by God. I love this passage for one reason in particular though and I want to read you my favorite translation of it, so, listen carefully for the differences. These verses come directly after Jesus comes to the Jordan and reads:

“Just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a pigeon upon him. And a voice came down from heaven saying, “You are my Child, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

...And the heavens tore apart and a pigeon descended upon him. We usually hear this verse depicting the Spirit as coming down from heaven like a dove, but how does this imagery of a pigeon coming down from the heavens and descending upon Jesus change this story for you? This translation, coming directly from the original Greek text, translates the Spirit coming down as a simple, common bird, something like a pigeon and therefore allows us to hear of a God that comes in ordinary ways. 

When we imagine pigeons, most of us likely picture the pigeons descending upon breadcrumbs and trash at the T stop. This past week makes me think of the gross, dirty snow and slushiness of the T stations, wading through feet of snow, while dodging these flying, pretty ugly and kind of gross, pigeons as I make my way to the train. When I think of these pigeons that so many of us see daily in the city and I map that feeling onto this reading of the pigeons descending upon Jesus after his baptism, the message of this story changes quite dramatically. 

This different translation brings us to question what we call beautiful. Our concept of beauty often allows us to see the dove as a beautiful bird, but causes us to see the pigeon as ugly. Why is this exactly? Perhaps this is because the dove is simply more rare, while the pigeon is more common in our lives, or because the dove isn’t often found in those common spaces like parks and T stops, that we likely find pigeons in? Whatever the reason, this passage forces us to question what we name as beautiful and why.

What are the things in our lives that we name as beautiful? Perhaps the first thing that comes to mind are those treasured moments with grandkids, special events with kids, weddings and celebrations and beautifully decorated Christmas trees?  Yet, I wonder if we begin to see the beauty in those little common moments too, if we change how we think of beauty, how we might be able to change what we deem as beautiful? How can we extend our own definitions of beautiful? During Epiphany, Mark is pushing us to do just this--- to see the common and the ordinary as beautiful too.

What does it mean to us as a community, if we can call those pigeons at the T stop, the slushy grossness of the snow in the streets, or the birds eating the trash out of the dumpster, as beautiful too? Jesus’ baptism and our own, is calling us to do just this. The pigeon coming from the heavens, this ordinary bird descending upon Jesus is paired with God naming Jesus as his own, calling him a beloved child and telling him that God is well pleased with him. This story becomes an incredibly beautiful narrative, this gorgeous reminder that the ordinary things, that people like us, are loved deeply by our God. This story is our reminder that those crumb-eating pigeons, the scrappy looking ficus trees, the odd-looking yet beloved rubber chicken, and those ordinary sinners and saints are so incredibly loved by God, so valued by this community, and so worth of God’s forgiveness. 

When the pigeon descends from heaven, the heavens are tearing open in this unexpected way. What we don’t often name as beautiful, God calls beautiful and deems it worthy of Jesus. It is this radical story of seeing the love of God in an unexpected way, in a way that isn’t necessarily all perfect and cleaned up like we expect it to be. In this way, we are told that we are worthy too, that everybody is worthy of the love of God, doves and pigeons and even chickens.  

Through baptism, God reminds us that we are worth loving and yet, in baptism as we become a part of this community of Christ, we are challenged to extend this same love and worthiness to others. 

In the midst of New Year's Resolutions, I wonder if as a church we can remind ourselves and our neighbors that there is no resolution that will make us more worthy of God’s love. There is no amount of weight lost or number of miles walked that will make us more worthy of love. I hope that as a community this year, we continue to act as constant reminders to one another--- of those words spoken from the heavens: “You are my Child, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.” 

And with this reminder, I challenge us to ask ourselves what we consider to be beautiful. What is it that we feel we need to clean up for each other at church, what are we hiding from others out of shame or fear of losing their love and approval? Mark reminds us that within this community there is nothing that needs ‘cleaning up.’ We are called to bring our whole selves, our shame, our fears, and our challenges, to this community and this same community is called to support one another. We are just as much a church of vulnerability, as we are a church of love. The Gospel of Mark beautifully reminds us that we are beloved children of God, while simultaneously challenging us to love each other more fiercely.

I hope that throughout this year, we can continue to see the beauty in the ordinary and unexpected things together, journeying and reminding one another of God’s baptismal promise: “You are my Child, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”

Amen.