Rivers make
great barriers. Rivers are dangerous and unpredictable, deep here and shallow
there, calm on the surface but swift just beneath. Rivers don’t just stand
between one side and another. They try to carry off anyone who would cross
them, catch them up in their currents and hasten them to the sea. They dare any
would-be trespassers: just try to get past me! The Potomac River once divided
this country into north and south. The Mississippi marks for us east and west.
The Rio Grande tells us in or out. Yes, rivers make great barriers.
No river is
mightier—and so no barrier is greater—than the river of death. Death is the
strangest of rivers. At first glance, it looks more like a parched riverbed,
dry, and empty, and lifeless. Approach death, stand close enough to its shores,
and you realize that this strange river has a force behind it almost like no
other. Like the whirlpool of a great rapid, its emptiness pulls you in,
dragging you against your will.
For the
ancient Greeks, the river Death was the river Styx: as strong a barrier as you
could want between the living and the dead. Hope for this life vanished at the
far edge of the Styx. Few in our day take the Greek myths to heart as anything
more than good stories, but for many of us, Death remains as insurmountable as
the Styx.
But it is
not the Styx that lies between the Israelites and the Promised Land in Joshua
3. It is the Jordan River. All hope does not vanish at the banks of the Jordan.
And when the Israelites prepare to cross the Jordan into the Promised Land, the
land flowing with milk and honey, the waters of the Jordan do not sweep the
people of God down into the Dead Sea. Instead, the Jordan parts, “the waters
flowing from above stood still, rising up in a single heap,” and Israel crosses
from the wilderness into the Promised Land.
This is the
second crossing, the second baptism for Israel. The first was at the Red Sea,
with the Egyptians hot on Israel’s trail. At the first crossing God washed away
the idols and the oppression that had characterized life in Egypt. On the far
shore of the Red Sea, the Lord claimed the Israelites as his people. At the
second crossing God cleanses the filth from forty years of wilderness
wanderings. On the distant shore of the Jordan, the Lord brings his people
home.
Not
everyone could cross the Jordan at once, of course. No doubt some at back of
the line must have watched their brothers and sisters cross the Jordan ahead of
them and thought, “I wonder if the waters will hold back for me, too.” But they
didn’t need to worry. The waters did not budge. Every Israelite crossed safely;
“the entire nation” walked across on dry ground.
Brothers
and sisters in Christ, on this All Saints’ Sunday we find ourselves on the
banks of Death. Others have gone before us, beloved friends and family members,
cherished members of the body of Christ. They have crossed ahead of us, and we
know one day we will follow them through the river. If you’re like me, you
probably wish you could catch a glimpse of them on the far shore; you might
long for even the briefest vision of assurance that they have crossed safely, a
vision, also, of hope that you will one day stand with them. Do not be
troubled. God does not carry us through life only to dump us by the Styx. The
river that stands between us and the saints who have gone before us is the
Jordan River, not a great barrier but a gateway to God’s eternal promises.
Just like
the Israelites, all of us must undergo two baptisms. At the first baptism, our
own crossing of the Red Sea, God washes us clean of our sin and claims us as
his people. The Father seals us with his Holy Spirit and makes us disciples of
his Son Jesus Christ. This first baptism marks the beginning of our journey—not
a journey we could ever undertake alone, but a journey with our fellow pilgrims
and disciples, a journey as the church. At this first baptism God put to death
our bent toward sinning and so saved us from the second death.
But there
remains, for all of us, a second baptism: death, the death of the bodies God
has given us. The filth and grime from our imperfect discipleship pilgrimage
must still be washed away. Having passed through the waters of the first
baptism, we need not fear the waters of this second baptism. They will not
overwhelm us. God holds them back with a mighty hand and will deliver us to
safety on the banks across the way. Our great High Priest stands in the middle;
his cross is the ark of the new covenant, the surety of our safe passage.
What will
we find across the Jordan? “A great multitude that no one could count, from
every nation, from all tribes and peoples and languages, standing before the
throne and before the Lamb, robed in white, with palm branches in their hands,
… saying, ‘Salvation belongs to our God who is seated on the throne, and unto
the Lamb!’” (Rev 7:9-10). “O give thanks to the Lord, for he is good; for his
steadfast love endures forever” (Ps 107:1).
The
multitude is the multitude of the saints of God. Their journey is over. They
await the resurrection of their bodies, but already for them death and sadness
are no more. The march of the saints is not what happens on the other side of
the Jordan. The march of the saints is what takes us up to the Jordan—and leads
us across. If we want to be counted in that
number, we need to put on our shoes now.
We need to follow the well-worn paths of the saints, paths of prayer and
praise, paths of virtue and peace, paths marked by the cross of Christ. These
paths lead us up to the banks of the Jordan. And there the saints will discover
that no river is a barrier to God, that not even Death itself can sweep past
Christ’s cross to drown us.
May we also
be found in the company of saints. Amen.
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