Wade in the Water
In July of 2023, I went camping in the Adirondacks with my dad and my siblings. We went to a state camp ground near Tupper Lake, called Fish Creek. We left Albany on Sunday afternoon, and it was beautiful. Clear blue skies, not too much traffic. We stopped on the way up and got a Sunday New York Times to read once we got there. And we had the perfect site, too. It was right by the water, with a good spot to launch the canoes. It was windy, but other than that it was perfect weather to begin our couple nights camping. This wasn’t our first rodeo, so we knew to check the weather beforehand so that we could prepare. There was some rain in the forecast, but it didn’t seem like anything we couldn’t handle. So, we spent that Sunday afternoon just hanging out. My dad and siblings took the boats out while I stayed back and read the paper. It was a perfectly normal day camping in the Adirondacks. We set up our tents, tarps, and rain flys when it was still nice out, and when it started to sprinkle we retreated to our tents and called it a night. None of us knew just how much it was going to rain until the next morning. You never quite forget the feeling of waking up in a puddle of cold rainwater. Our sleeping bags and pillows were soaked through, our campsite was flooded. As it turned out, we had started our trip at the beginning of what would later be known as the Great Vermont Flood of 2023. While the rain and flooding certainly dampened the rest of our time at Fish Creek, what we experienced was nothing compared to other parts of New York and Vermont.
Eleven people died in the flooding. Over two billion dollars in damage was caused, as roads and bridges were swept away. Homes, churches, businesses, entire towns left flooded and wrecked. Our waterlogged tents paled in comparison to what the towns around us were experiencing. When disasters such as these occur, disasters that are still labeled by some as “natural,” it can be tempting to place the blame on the water for the death and destruction. After all, it was the water that swept over the roads, the water that fell from the sky and caused brooks and rivers to rise, the water that caused damage to buildings and created the conditions for human harm. But it is us humans that create the conditions that exacerbate these storms, and make them more and more common. We poison the waters that we drink, that we and all of Creation depend on for our very survival. We continue to use and abuse the non-human Creation that we have labelled as “resources” for our own gain, disregarding our own dependence on the rest of Creation—and disregarding the inherent dignity of our non-human kin. But what responsibility do we have to the non-human Creation? Is it simply self-serving to say that we ought to care for the rest of Creation or risk our own peril? Why is it so easy for us to forget that the witness of our ancestors of faith has long included non-human Creation?
From the flood and the birds who acted as messengers of new life, to the big fish that would not allow Jonah to run from where God was calling him. From the parting of the Red Sea as the Israelites stumbled towards liberation, to the life-restoring water that sprang forth even from rock. Rocks who, according to Christ, would continue to cry out for liberation, even if every human tongue was stilled. We humans love to center ourselves in the story of salvation, in the story of liberation. But we have never been the center. Even our messiah is a lamb, a mother hen, a vine with many branches.
Just a few weeks ago, on the fourth Sunday of Advent, I baptized a child for the first time. Afterwards, during the children’s message, I described baptism as a covenant made among the individual being baptized, God, and the Church. It is a covenant to grow together, to provide care, to teach, and to learn. It is a covenant to resist evil, and to live as God calls us to live, to walk as Christ walked before us. But we forget that this covenant also included the water. The liquid contained in the bowl and pitcher isn’t just a prop. This living water is a part of the covenant, to be bound by the same water, to reject the mindset of singularity and individualism, and to remember that we are all linked. Each of us, as people, but also the rest of Creation that can’t always speak for itself. The water is there not only to remind us of John’s practice of baptizing in the Jordan, not only as a reminder of the idea of baptism as a cleansing ritual, but also as a representative, an ecumenical witness from our non-human neighbors reminding us that God created them, too, that God speaks through them, too, and that we are to care for them, just as we are called to care for one another.
As we prepare this morning to remember the covenant that we made at our baptism, or that was made for us, or that we confirmed when we joined the church, may we embrace all of our covenant. May we embrace the call and the commitment we have made to one another, to be more than just an individual person. May we embrace the call to work together, to breathe together, to co-labor and con-spire as members of the body of Christ. And may we hold onto the precious water that seals this covenant, the water that nourishes our bodies, that flows through all of Creation. The water we must cherish now more than ever.
And so, siblings in Christ, remember that through the sacrament of baptism we are initiated into Christ’s body, the Church, we are incorporated into God’s mighty acts of salvation, and we are given new birth through water and the Spirit. All of this is God’s gift, offered to us without price. Through the reaffirmation of our faith, we renew the covenant declared at our baptism, acknowledge what God is doing for, with, and through us, and affirm our commitment to Christ’s holy Church.
We remember this gift of water that has woven its way through Creation since before we humans came into the picture. We remember this gift of life, the living waters that flow through our bodies, that nourish our food and craft the rocks and mountains. We give thanks for this life-sustaining source of renewal, the bearer of new life. From the River Jordan to the Rio Grande, from the shores of the Galilee to the coast of the Mediterranean, all those seeking new life, seeking safety, and seeking wholeness come to the water, longing to be made whole. Forgive us, oh God of the waters, and convict us. Guide us to live our solidarity with the waters you placed on this earth, to see them not as mere resources to be exploited, but as a part of who we are. Remind us that as the water flourishes, so, too, do we all. May we live out this gratitude, and allow it to move our hearts to action.
And now, on behalf of the whole Church, I ask you: Do you renounce the spiritual forces of wickedness, reject the evil powers of this world, and repent of your sin? (I do) Do you accept the freedom and power God gives you to resist evil, injustice, and oppression in whatever forms they present themselves? (I do)Do you confess Jesus Christ as your Savior, put your whole trust in his grace, and promise to serve him as your Lord, in union with the Church which Christ has opened to people of all ages, nations, and races? (I do) According to the grace given to you, will you remain faithful members of Christ's holy Church and serve as Christ's representatives in the world? (I will) Let us remember our baptism.