The Guardian Angel

Text: Mark 1:12-13

Our text is short and powerful. It is made up of four separate statements—each of which begins with the word "and."
Listen:
And—the Spirit immediately drove him out into the wilderness.
And—he was in the wilderness forty days, tested by Satan;
And—he was with the wild beasts;
And—the angels helped him.

When I was growing up, two pictures always hung over my bed. One was of my grandmother. I remember well the day we put it there. I was five years old and one Sunday afternoon my grandmother’s brother, my Uncle Owen, came to visit. Under his arm he was carrying something wrapped in brown paper. I went running down the stairs to meet him and he greeted me with a big smile. "I have something for you," he said.
When we reached Mama’s front porch, he sat down in one of her big rocking chairs, and he told me to come stand in front of him. Pointing to the large package on his lap, he said, "Because you have your grandmother’s name, I brought you this."
I quickly unfolded the brown paper and there was a dark mahogany oval frame with the picture of a girl in a brown dress with a sprig of holly pinned to her breast sitting in a straight chair. I was a bit confused at first because I did not know who the girl was. But Uncle Owen soon solved the puzzle. "That’s your grandmother," he said, "when she was twelve years old."
From that moment on that picture became my most prized possession. And that very day Momma helped me hang it over my bed, and there it stayed.
The other picture was always there. I don’t ever remember it not being there. It was close by and far down on the wall so I could always see it. I guess my Mother must have put it there when I was very little. I looked at it every night as I was going to sleep. It helped me remember that God was always close and was watching over me through the night.
It is the picture of a guardian angel. Two young children are crossing a bridge over a deep gorge—a girl and a boy. The girl is the oldest and she has her arm around her little brother. I used to pretend these children were my little brother and I.
In the background is a huge waterfall, and way down under the bridge is rushing water and rocks. In front of the children, there is a hole in the bridge left by a broken board. It is a very perilous scene.
But hovering over them is a glorious golden-haired angel with her arms outstretched toward them and her beautiful pink and aqua robes flow all the way down into the gorge. She almost fills the picture, so you know despite the danger, the children are safe. Because a guardian angel is watching over them.
The comfort I received as a child from this picture, I believe we can receive from our scripture reading for today. Mark tells us that Jesus has been driven into a dangerous and threatening place. He calls this place the wilderness.
The wilderness is a place that does not support life. It is a place where there is no food and no water. Not only that—the wilderness is a dwelling place for hostile forces that menace human life. Death stalks there. It is a place outside human habitation where only fierce beasts roam. Danger lurks around every turn.
In this place, Jesus is without any visible life support systems and he is open to attack. He is completely vulnerable. But, Mark immediately adds—and the angels helped him.
Just like my picture, Mark paints a very perilous scene. But hovering right there over Jesus are angels, and they are helping him. So, we immediately know that despite the danger, Jesus is safe. Because the angels are helping him.
Mark does not tell us the specific ways the angels helped Jesus; he just tells us that they did. And I think that is good, because it leaves his message more open for us. Jesus’ needs in the wilderness were his own. And our needs in whatever wilderness we may be in are our own. What we need to be assured of is that God’s provision is sufficient in any dangerous and threatening place we may find ourselves. Too often, we forget that. I know I do.
That’s why it’s comforting to return again and again to this scripture and read how the angels helped Jesus. It helps me remember that the resources, which were open to Jesus, the man, are also available to me. Then, once again, I trust God as I did when I was a child looking at the picture by my bed of the guardian angel. I remember—
The guardian angel hovers near,
To guide these tiny feet
Past the dangerous pitfalls
Which they perchance might meet.
So in all our troubles and sorrows
Our hearts need never fear,
For God is always with us,
His angel always near.
Amen.

My Remembrances of Coretta Scott King

Remembering Coretta Scott King
On 31 January 2006, Coretta Scott King, the matriarch of the Civil Rights Movement, joined the church triumphant. As the news of her death broke over NPR radio, I was, ironically, seated at my dining room table writing "thank you" notes. I paused to listen. My heart was deeply saddened, but, as my mind quickly flashed over memories of past moments when I had been privileged to enjoy her presence, I was also grateful. So, I began to compose in my mind a "thank you" note to her.
This "thank you" note was not a note of thanks for her own personal contributions to the Civil Rights Movement and to the memory of her husband, Dr. Martin Luther King, but rather a thank you for her personal gestures of graciousness to me.
During my second year of seminary at Candler School of Theology, one of my courses was the Theology of Dr. Martin Luther King. In this course, we read Dr. King’s own writings; not histories and not other peoples books about him, but his own words. During that semester, our professor, Dr. Noel Erskine, invited Coretta Scott King to speak to our class. As it turned out, she visited our class numerous times.
Her first visit began rather formally with her speaking to us from the head of the class after which we were permitted to ask her questions. But, before the class ended, she was seated in our midst and we had entered into dialogue with her. When she returned thereafter that is the way it always was—an intimate circle of students, teacher, and Coretta Scott King in dialogue.
Sometime after this class had ended, I attended a reception at one of Atlanta’s fine hotels at which Coretta Scott King was also present. When I saw her there I had a great desire to go over and speak to her. So, I did. When I presented myself to her, much to my surprise and amazement, she remembered me. She called me by name, recalled specific comments that had passed between us in class, and she graciously introduced me to her circle of friends. Before we parted, she thanked me for having come to say hello to her.
I often visited the King Center during my time at Candler, for my interest in Dr. King as a theologian did not end with Dr. Erskine’s class. Coretta Scott King was not always there when I visited, but on occasion she was. And each time I saw her she welcomed me most graciously. She was always interested in how my studies were going and never failed to ask me about my family.
Then, a most extraordinary thing happened. During my professional assessment, I was nominated for the John Owen Smith award for excellence in preaching. What this nomination then requires is that the nominees preach before an audience of faculty members, special guests, students, and anyone else who wishes to come. From this preaching event by the nominees, a special committee chooses the recipient of the award.
That year, there were four or five nominees, one of whom was Coretta Scott King’s daughter Bernice. I do not remember the order in which we preached, but I do remember thinking after Bernice preached that she would no doubt be the one recognized for her preaching. She was so powerful, and sounded so much like her father.
Several weeks later, I was astonished to receive a telephone call from the committee informing me that I was to receive the coveted John Owen Smith award for preaching. An even greater acknowledgement, however, in my eyes, was yet to follow. Only a few days had passed after the announcement when I received in the mail a note of congratulations and well wishes from Coretta Scott King.
That note was my last personal contact with Coretta Scott King. But her warmth and grace I have never forgotten. I am grateful for having known her no matter how brief that time was. For Coretta Scott King was truly one of the most gracious and beautiful women I have ever known. Thank you, Coretta Scott King.