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Isaiah 42: 1-9
& Matthew 3: 1-13
Baptism of the Lord/ 12th January 2014
The reformer
Martin Luther (1483-1546) believed that baptism is an once-in-a-lifetime
experience that takes a lifetime to fulfill.
My guess is that
many think it happens once, is experienced once, and that’s it. It’s true that we Protestants baptize a child
or adult only once. If you were baptized
in the Roman Catholic Church, for example, we did not baptize you again when
you became a Presbyterian. Still, it’s
easy to think of baptism as a singular event, a specific act, and that once
it’s “done” you’re “in” and then “home free;” when the time comes for you to
die you’ll go straight to heaven without any detours. This thinking is so prevalent in the Church, Protestant
and Catholic alike, which makes it difficult to fathom what Luther was getting
act.
For
example. True story. Years ago, serving
the First Presbyterian Church in Mendham, New Jersey, I was asked to do a
funeral for a person I didn’t know. The
local funeral director needed a Protestant pastor to conduct the service. When the service in the funeral home was
over, family and friends were dismissed in order to prepare the casket for
burial. As I was leaving the room the
nephew of the deceased came up to me, just as the casket was about to be closed,
and said with a troubled voice, “I don’t think my uncle was baptized. Could you baptize him now?” I was a little shocked to hear that—actually,
more than a little. I didn’t know what
to do. It caught me off-guard. This scenario was never covered at Princeton
Seminar (!). So I kicked into action and
did what a lot of pastors do: one part of my brain was trying to process all
the assumptions the nephew was making about the meaning of baptism; one part of
my brain was trying to assess my pastoral responsibilities to the grieving
nephew; and another part of my brain was wrestling with the dozen or so
theological issues, including several heresies, contained in his question. All this was happening at the same time. I don’t exactly remember what I said; I eventually
mumbled out something that probably wasn’t all that helpful. I basically assured
him that it wasn’t going to mean a lot to your uncle now. (This scenario was later used as an exam
question for a Presbyterian polity course taught at the Theological School at
Drew University in Madison, NJ.)
You see, baptism
is a once-in-a lifetime experience that takes an entire lifetime to
fulfill. Gregory of Nyssa (335-394)
speaking on the mystery contained here said that baptism is “a slight thing but
the source of great possessions.”[1] What’s promised and affirmed in baptism,
either for us by our parents and/or by us as adults, takes a lifetime to
fathom and to live out. We don’t
understand it or embrace it overnight, even after years of church school and
confirmation. The meaning and
implications of baptism doesn’t really come into focus until one matures in the
faith.
Why does it take
so much time to fulfill, to live into what is affirmed and promised in this rite? One reason, I think, is because baptism is
ultimately about identity: who we are and
whose we are. And, as we know,
identity takes time to form.
Consider Jesus’
baptism. He allowed himself to undergo
the same process that all the others called out to the River Jordan experienced,
he identified with those who are separated from God, in need of washing, in
need of being cleansed. When Jesus came
up out of the water something new was offered.
The Spirit of God descended upon him and then he heard the voice: “This is my Son, the Beloved; with who I am
well pleased.” What springs forth from
the waters is Jesus with a new, fuller sense of who he is, his core
identity. He hears who he is, he knows his connection with his Father; he knows
who he is and we know too. Here is the
Beloved of God—in the flesh. This experience then shapes the rest of Jesus’
life and ministry as she struggled to be faithful to his identity and his
calling.
This must mean,
then, that all those who follow this Jesus are baptized into him, into his
life. This means that somehow, some way
we share this same identity with Christ, or, better said: when we are in Christ we discover who we really are. In fact, at the risk of sounding blasphemous,
I believe there is room in our theology to hear God saying to us in our own baptism: “You are my son. You are my daughter, the Beloved, with you I
am well pleased.”
What’s declared
in our baptism is our true identity:
Child of God. Beloved. Well-pleasing to God. This is who we are. That’s what Jesus was born to show us. So then the shape of the Christian life
becomes the journey of living into
this identity, living into this
reality, this life, this identification, getting comfortable with these names.
But
is this how you see yourself, really?
When you look in the mirror in the morning, is this how you feel about
yourself? Child of God? Beloved of God? Well-pleasing to God?
If yes, then,
give praise and thanks to God, because you’re farther along the journey than
most.
If not,…then can
you see why it takes a lifetime to live into what God is already claiming for
us in the waters of baptism?
So, how do we
get there? We don’t earn our way there
through acts of charity or goodwill or simply being nice. And it’s not a matter of willpower, of
willing our way into believing this; neither is it an issue for psychotherapy—as
beneficial as all of these are. Instead,
it’s a matter of becoming who you are—already. It’s about coming to see ourselves the way
God already sees us, now: as God’s children, beloved, worthy of love, pleasing
to God. Arriving at an accurate self-image doesn’t happen in a moment (although
it could), but it takes a lifetime of walking with Christ and praying in and with and through Christ,
and discovering through the power and presence of the Spirit, that we are
infinitely more than we think we are, sinners that we are—yes—yet precious in
the eyes of God.
There’s
something to be said for the fact that Jesus was baptized in a flowing
river. Not in a lake or a pool or in
stagnant water, but in flowing water.
Baptism is a way of saying that when we are in Christ our lives are
being caught up in the free-flowing current of God’s grace carrying us along to
where we need to go. To be baptized,
like Jesus, means we have jumped into the flow of God’s grace. And out of the
depths of the water we surge forth into a new life. We might say that baptism is a rite of
passage. Presbyterians generally don’t
refer to it as a rite; we call it a sacrament, a visible sign of an invisible
grace, as Augustine (354-430) said. But
it is a religious ritual. As ritual
there are at least two ways to view it: either something done by rote, with
little thought, something that’s done simply because everyone is doing it or something that is sacramental, that
is holy. When a ritual is approached
correctly it becomes an entrée into something truly profound. Through ritual, David Tacey suggests, “we
enter into the flow of the universe and something ancient is released in
us."[2] The word ritual comes from the Latin “ritus”
meaning “to flow”; the word river has
the same root. A ritual symbolizes that we are participants in a divine drama,
each with significant parts in a cosmic play of redemption.
To
be baptized in Christ means we have jumped into the ongoing flow of God’s
grace. We are moving, flowing toward our
true identity—getting to know the person we already are by grace—growing ever
deeper into our knowledge of God. This means our lives as Christians can never,
ever be static. Grace calls us to flow. It’s
a process. We are slowly discovering who
we are and whose we are. New life surges
within us. As this happens we gradually discover that we do not belong to
ourselves but to God. We steadily live into and from an image of ourselves given by Christ: Child of God. Beloved of God. Well-pleasing to God.
And
we discover these things together. We
can’t get there on our own. We need
community. In fact, this is one
essential aspect of the church’s ministry and we promise it to everyone
baptized here: We will remind you who you
are and whose you are.
But it’s so easy
to forget these things. Right? There are so many voices and experiences that
are trying to tell us we’re someone else, that we don’t matter, that we are not
who we know we are by God’s grace. Against the many competing voices telling us
otherwise we need to hear the voice of truth, the only voice that matters, and
to hear it again and again. That’s why we need reminders, people who remind you
who you are. On good days, that’s what
the church is supposed to do and does.
When the church fails to do this, then who offers that reminder to
you? Who reminds you that right now you are
already connected with Christ? You are my Son, with you I am well-pleased.
You are my daughter, the Beloved. That’s what we need to hear whispered into
our ears whenever we approach a baptismal font, whether here or elsewhere.
When
St. Francis of Assisi (1181-1226) had a vision of Christ and heard a call to
enter a world of poverty and to care for the poor, his father, Pietro, a
wealthy man and leading figure in Assisi, was furious. His father shamed Francis in the town square
because Francis shamed his father.
Undeterred from his calling, Francis lived in a small hut in the plains
below the town. Whenever Francis had to
walk up the hill to town he was deeply fearful of meeting his father in the
streets. Pietro would often hurls curses at Francis and reject him again as his
son. Francis carried a lot of guilt
about this and the relationship with his father remained broken for the rest of
his life. One day Francis had to go up
to into town and, feeling fearful, invited a beggar from the streets to join
him, to walk by his side and protect him.
Francis instructed him, “When my father hurls curses and abuses at me, I
will hear them painfully in one ear, but I ask you to walk on my other side,
and whisper God’s favor into my other ear, [saying,] ‘Francis, you are my
beloved son. You are a son of heaven and
a son of God.’ Just keep repeating it until I can believe it again.”
As we approach
the baptismal font this morning, reaffirming our baptismal vows, claiming a
shell from the font as a reminder of our baptism, perhaps we can hear that
voice whispering in our ears. The voice
we need to hear again and again. You are my beloved. We need to hear it not once, but for a
lifetime, until we believe it and trust it.
When that happens, whenever it happens, we will be free to go where God’s
voice wants to send us, caught up in the ongoing flow of God’s grace.
[Later in the
service the members of the congregation reaffirmed their baptismal vows. Individuals made their way down the center
aisle to the font, but were asked to first pause to allow the person standing
behind them to whisper in an ear: You are a beloved son/daughter of God.
Then they proceeded to the font full of water to choose a shell.]
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