We begin Lent with, of all things, a rainbow.

That’s right: a rainbow.

Our Hebrew text this morning is the story of the rainbow covenant, given to Noah and his sons after the flood, when they were at last on terra firma along with the birds of the air and the beasts of the land-- finally released from the ark that had been their salvation. It may seem an odd place to begin Lent, but if we recall that this is a starting-over place, a new birth; and that the flood that precedes this story was God’s way of setting a limit to violence, we may begin to grasp where the lectionary means to take us.  In Genesis 6:11 we are told:” Now the earth was corrupt in God’s sight, and the earth was filled with violence.”  God, in this story, decides to begin again. It took only six chapters for God to sack it all and try again.  After the creation stories, the next few chapters of Genesis are simply an escalating history of human violence: from the blood of Abel, killed by his brother, Cain, crying out from the earth through a series of begetting where just before God chooses to wipe it all away, we finally hear from a descendant of Cain: a fellow named Lamech, that he has killed a man for wounding him, a young man for striking him. And he says boldly and without shame, “If Cain is avenged sevenfold, truly Lamech seventy-sevenfold.”

            This story of Lamech reminds me of an interview I saw once about a gang member who killed another gang member for ‘dissing him.’ And how many times have we been stunned in front of our television sets as our own country bombed a foreign country out of some misspent vengeance?   (Just in case you might wonder what these ancient texts might have to do with us in our much more advanced and civilized world.) I look at the violence in our day and I am awash in hopelessness as well as a longing for an end to the violence.  I must admit, if I were God, I might also throw up my hands, throw in the towel – wipe it all out.

            These ancient peoples were looking for a way to explain things they didn’t understand. And long before the law was given against murder, clearly this kind of violence troubled those ancient minds. They saw, and didn’t understand, a mushrooming of violence. I, have to say, I share their dilemma. 

            With the flood, the judgment fits the sin, or is an extension of it: God fights chaos with chaos. Of course there is some wishful thinking in these texts. Both for an explanation that if people are created in the image of God, then perhaps human violence was inherited from God. We all tend to create God in our own image. But there is another wish as well. A wish for an end to the violence. A longing for peace. And a longing for a power greater than the violence, someone who will enter in and put an end to the madness.

            So, the floodwaters roll in, God’s sovereignty is restored, and the weapon (the bow) is hung up for all time. The bow is set aside in glorious plain sight and by its sign all creation is drawn into covenant. This rainbow covenant is with all humanity.

            From our own experience, from cruise missiles to the multiplication of handguns (How many hundreds of million in our country?), surpasses, it seems to me, even the brutality of the violence in Genesis. After all, we find ourselves entertained by ever more creative forms of violence in movies and on television.  We are numbed to regular old garden-variety murders. They now must have a bizarre twist or exceptional cruelty to get our attention in the press. Designer violence. State sanctioned violence is accepted as a norm, and necessary, even in the face of studies that show the death penalty does not accomplish the imagined goal of deterrence. And, what can be said about the violence of war, perpetrated by our government, and now the growing threat of nuclear weaponry?

            In the rainbow, God promises not to use violence to destroy humanity. Oh, that we could make the same promise to God!

            I suppose we ought to cling to this rainbow sign. There is at least some hope in that colorful bow hanging in the clouds. There is a dream on God’s part arching over us. A dream I think we share: a nonviolent world.

            Covenant promises to all humanity. We begin Lent with arainbow dream of a more peaceful world.

            In our epistle lesson this morning, the writer reminds us of that saving promise in the rainbow. And lifts up another promise: the baptismal covenant. We may want to pay special attention, since we are celebrating a baptism today.

            This morning, through the sacrament of baptism, Nora Dianne becomes a member of Christ’s church. She is engrafted into the body of Christ. Paul uses body language to speak of the church, and I find it helpful. This (my hand) is a member. My foot is a member of my body. In baptism, we ‘member’ little Nora Dianne . . . we join her to the body of Christ.  She becomes important to our wholeness, and to our functioning. She depends on the rest of the body for the lifeblood she needs, and she contributes her gifts for the good of the whole.

            Peter uses language that is hard and sometimes difficult for us to understand. He talks about our being saved through our baptism.

            We need to remember that when Peter wrote this letter, he was writing to a church that was being persecuted. This was a community facing a campaign of state terrorism and its spin-off mob violence. There is a hymn line; “by the light of burning martyrs,” which refers specifically to Nero’s practice during the time this epistle was written, of lighting his garden parties with human torches – Christians bound aloft. New horrors were being invented each and every day.

            Such dreadful brutality toward those who followed The Way was the reason that in the early church, there was a lengthy period of preparation before becoming a member of the body of Christ. In fact, it took three years to join the church. There were preparation classes, and much prayer and soul searching. Joining the church was not taken lightly. The church knew it could not ask people to join a movement in which they were invited to die without preparing those folks for what they were getting into, and nurturing them so they had the inner resources on which to draw to continue the important work of Jesus, and have the strength to suffer the consequences of speaking truth to power. They were told the stories of Jesus’ teachings. They were invited to love all people the way Jesus loved: to the death. They were invited to dare to live differently than those in the surrounding culture. They were schooled in understanding the cost of discipleship.

            We hear little in our day and time about the cost of discipleship; about what it means to hand our lives over in seeking to follow the Way of Jesus, the Christ. The early church took this very seriously. They were joining themselves to the liberating, healing work of Jesus’ ministry. Not to doctrines. Those early Christians had found something they wanted to share. They found an alternative to the domination system, and to systemic violence. They found a way in which they could speak the truth of God’s love to power. To stand for those who were considered ‘the least of those.”

            They found a way their lives could make a difference. Could be about so much more than they had imagined. It would be at great cost. Many would lose their lives. But Jesus’ teaching was life giving.

            So they were willing to risk their lives and sometimes lose them for others sakes, and for the sake of this great good news that liberated them.

            They wanted to be a part of something that made more sense than the religious system of their day, which had chosen not to rock the boat. It was practical, of course. It put fewer people in danger . . . the religious system of the day had chosen not to take risks, not to speak truth to power. They did so because they figured the cost of discipleship to be too great.

            They did not factor in the cost of not being disciples. The cost of non-discipleship.  In choosing safety, or, as Jesus’ put it: in choosing to save one’s life: there is a gutting of the heart and soul of God’s people—they lost the rich inner life, they lost their way . . . When a people who were called to be a light . . . choose to live in the shadows of safety and comfort the light goes out. These are sad tales of those who were called to be salt, and who lost their passion . . . their savor, and their souls. To put an end to the violence, God needed a people to speak the truth to power. God needed a people who knew, who KNEW love was the way and would always be the way.  God needed a people who would help confront violence in all its forms. God needed a people who would choose life over death. Who would choose good over evil. Who would choose light over dark. Who would choose love over hate, or, to be even more accurate: to choose love over apathy. God needed a people  to proclaim that love to all the world. To stand up when any of God’s children were suffering. To say no to the lies, and yes to God’s trust. God needed such a people then. ( God still needs such a people.)

            In the early church, it was made clear to those who came for membership exactly what it meant to put God first in one’s life. To put love first. To put one’s life on the line.

            For three years, they prepared, and in the six weeks before Easter, when they would be baptized, and share communion for the first time, the training became intense. So, the time before Lent has from the beginning been a time to explore what it means to follow Jesus on this Way.

            Around the time our epistle was penned, when the church was under attack, soldiers demanding the writings that were so important to this little movement in bud would storm homes of suspected Christians. Writings, teachings, names were demanded at the threat of death.

            Many went to their deaths, unwilling to hand over their friends or the treasured letters . . . unwilling to hand their tradition over to those who did not value it. Unwilling to see the liberating, radical message of Jesus be passed into hands that sought to destroy it. For some, such a ‘handing over’ was seen as tantamount to crucifying Jesus all over again. (We would not have these early teachings, or the records of Jesus’ teachings were it not for those who passed them on to us at the cost of their own lives.) Whatever you think of all this, it raises a question we all might ask ourselves: For what would we be willing to die?

Some could not--would not-- die for the Way. Some handed over the writings. Some turned in their sisters and brothers in the faith. The early church called them tratadores: Traitors. None of us wants to be in relationship with people whom we feel have betrayed us.

            The church was faced with a dilemma when some of those tratodores, after a while, regretted their actions. When those traitors had second, third and more thoughts about what they had done, and were filled with regret (and, one can imagine, self-hatred). When some of the tratador came to the church to say: “We are so very sorry. We want to be members again. We want to be a part of the church again.  They felt, as one can imagine, like a hand or a foot that had been severed from the body. The body suffered trauma. It had been dismembered and betrayed.  The tratadore, feeling cut off, knew that a member severed from the body would atrophy and die. They were suffering from the cost of non-discipleship.

            The church could have rejected them. The church could have sought revenge. But, sometimes, sometimes the church can practice what it preaches. What does a church that preaches love and forgiveness and believes in repentance and transformation do with those who have betrayed it in such a deadly way?? You see the dilemma!

            Sometimes the church can shine. The early church instituted Lent, a period of time for those who had failed to be faithful disciples to repent and focus again on what it means to be a follower of the Way.

And, the whole of the early  early church joined the tratadores in that period of penance, and prayer and fasting, because the early church recognized that we all fall short. We have all betrayed Jesus. And we all need time to remember that life is very short, that we are going to die, and that every choice we make is important. We all need time to examine our lives and ask ourselves if the way we spend our time and money and use our gifts reflects a primary commitment to the Way, which demands our all. We all need time to ask ourselves what it means to be a baptized child of God. To be those who know they are Beloved and have a secret to tell the world: that everyone is Beloved. We need a time to explore our own commitment to the Way of Christ, the nonviolent dream of God. We need to ask ourselves, for what are we willing to die? The answer to that question will reveal to us for what it is we live. What is primary in our lives.

            Hold to your baptism, 1 Peter urges a church that is being persecuted, hold to your baptism like a raft in the storm, a passage through chaos. Hold to the knowledge that God in Christ is sovereign over all the powers. They have been faced in the wilderness testing, and finally in the cross and resurrection. They are overcome not by further chaos but by nonviolent love.

            More is implied, of course. Since Christ overcame all powers, and died for all, baptism signifies not only the unity of the church, but of all humanity. Indeed, this is the sacramental covenant in which all alienation is overcome, where right relationship to the creation itself is restored. Christians live in that reconciliation == a true beginning again. An ancient sign fulfilled. 

As we welcome little Nora Dianne into this church this morning, I wonder how we will do at handing over this tradition. There are questions that nag at me.

Why were people joining that early church? That’s an important question in our day and time. The early church didn’t have stadium size buildings, or rock bands or beautiful grand pipe organs, or stained glass windows. It didn’t have day care options, or a gymnasium for the kids, or a bookstore or lots of programs. The early church did not have any church growth consultants or it’s own television show. It couldn’t even offer a deduction on taxes.

But people were willing to spend three years just to join the early church, and risk their lives. They were dying to be members of this movement, this Way.

Why?

If you ask me, it’s because they believed that their lives could have meaning, that they could give their lives, spend their lives in something they believed could make the world a better place. They believed in the vision of the Realm of God, the Kin-dom of God that Jesus held out to them. They believed that they could be a part of that – not after death – but in their day and time.  They believed that they could be a part of a Beloved Community. One in which love trumped hate, compassion trumps violence, life trumps death.

            I have a confession to make. I believe it, too. I want to believe that my life can be about something greater than being a consumer and having and achieving. I want to believe that the world can be different. Can be better. And I want to believe that, in spite of all odds, my life can be spent in a way that will help, in some small way move the world closer to God’s dreams of nonviolence. I want to say ‘Yes!’ to that vision Jesus held out, with my whole being.

            When we baptize Nora Dianne this morning, it is that tradition that I want to pass on to her. That dream of being the Beloved community. I want her to know that her life is precious, and has a purpose. I want her to know that as we baptize her this morning, we are saying to her, “God has claimed you, Nora Dianne, as God’s own. God needs your hands, your heart, your head – God needs you to help us become more fully the Beloved community. The world needs the church just as much now as it did in Jesus’ day. The whole of the bible is about God trying to form a people, a people set apart for the sake of the world, who can catch that vision – who can stand up to the domination system and stand up to the senseless violence in our world and say – no – SCREAM – God has a better idea!! God sees things differently! The old way isn’t working!!

            It is costly to be this people. It comes at a great price to us. But to NOT be this people comes at a greater price, not just to us, but also to the world.

            The church, for the most part, I think, has forgotten this dream. The church for the most part has tired of trying. Has thrown in the towel, and decided to entertain the members or hunker down in fear and attack one another instead of turning its energies into taking stands against the domination system.

The church has become a weak mess of pottage when the world needs a bracing meal. Lukewarm when the world longs for fiery passion.

            I can’t be a part of a lukewarm church. I won’t be a part of a lukewarm church. I want to be a part of a transformational Beloved community. I have just this one life, and it is growing shorter every day. I want to be the kind of disciple that I think the Great Teacher, Jesus, deserves. I want to teach Nora Dianne about this radical Jesus, and give her the hope the early church found in his message.

            Jean Vanier, founder of the L’Arche Communities, says it so well in his book, Community and Growth:

            “A community is only truly a body when the majority of its members is making he transition from ‘the community for myself’ to ‘myself for the community’, when each person’s heart is opening to all the others, without any exception. This is the movement from egoism to love, from death to resurrection; it is the Easter, a passage, the Passover of the Holy One. It is also the passing from a land of slavery to a promised land, the land of inner freedom.

            A community isn’t just a place where people live under the same roof; that is a lodging house or a hotel. Nor is a community a work-team. Even less is it a nest of vipers! It is a place where everyone—or, let’s be realistic, the majority! —Is emerging from the shadows of egocentricity to the light of a real love . . .

It takes time for a heart to make this passage from egoism to love . . . It takes time and much purification, and constant deaths, which bring new resurrections. To love, we must die continually to our own ideas, our own susceptibilities and our own comfort. The path of love is woven of sacrifice.”

            We forget. We forget that we are called to be the Beloved Community and we forget how to be deeply loving.

            We forget that giving our lives away for this is  the only way to really live.

            Jesus gave us a way to remember. Jesus gave us a meal to nurture us, just as any engrafted branch needs the right soil and the right moisture; so, too, do God’s people need sustenance for this journey.

            We have ‘membered’ Nora Dianne this morning into the body of Christ.  I have reminded you that she becomes a member of this body just as a hand or a foot is a member of the body. When a member is severed, the church is less whole, and the member atrophies and dies. When a member that has been severed is reattached, it is said to be re-membered. When we eat this bread and drink this wine together, we re-member Christ. We remember that we are a part of the Beloved Community. We remember who we are and what we are about and what God is about in the midst of us.

            We begin Lent with a rainbow. We begin Lent with water and bread and wine and dreams of a world in which little ones like Nora Dianne – all little ones-- can live fully in peace and the joy of knowing God’s love. We begin Lent with hope.