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| St. John the Baptist by Leonardo Da Vinci (1452-1519) |
Scripture can be found here...
Christmas is over. Jesus is all grown up now. The shepherds
and astrologers have all gone home, the starlight has dimmed, and the sounds of
the angel-song have faded away. In today’s gospel passage Jesus the man
encounters John the Baptist, who, honestly, seems like a pretty scary guy. Let
us be frank: John sounds little unhinged. But Jesus is going to see him anyway,
and that feels dangerous. Stand with me now, at the Jordan. And, here, in this
space, and with apologies to David Letterman, let us discuss the Top Ten
Dangers of Baptism.
10. Obviously,
in choosing to be baptized (or to bring a family member to be baptized) there
would seem to be a chance we might be directed towards some guy in a camel hair
vest with locust-breath calling us nasty names. In our reading, John the
Baptist calls out the religious professionals of the day, the Pharisees and the
Sadducees. This seems to indicate that people like me should be very nervous
about baptism, because it means we are to be subjected to a level of
truth-telling we don’t always relish.
9.
That same locust-breath guy also appears to come
armed with an axe and a winnowing hook, making the whole thing feel vaguely
like the beginning of a slasher film.
8.
In choosing baptism—or even, in renewing our own
baptismal vows—we might need to repent. The Greek word for “repentance,” the
word used in this passage, is “metanoia,”
and what it really means is to turn around, to change direction. If I repent,
what direction will I have to go in? What path will I have to take? What if I
am directed somewhere I’ve never been before? What if I’m unsure of the way?
7.
As a result of repentance, we might need to
learn humility. Oh, what an unpopular word this is. Humility means rootedness,
groundedness. We think it means volunteering to let people walk all over us. It
doesn’t. It means to recognize that though we are all different, we are all the
same, too. It means that we are no better (and no worse) than anyone else,
though we have our own individual strengths and weaknesses, and quirks and
twists and ways of being in the world. Humility means being able to say, as
John says to Jesus, “I am not worthy” in a completely non-ironic way. It also
means being able to say, “I can do that,” or “I can learn that,” or maybe even,
“I was wrong.”
6.
We might also need to learn when it is, and when
it is not, about us. Here’s a clue: Mostly, it’s not about us. John looks like the ultimate successful
new-church-startup pastor. There he is, out by the Jordan, sleeves rolled up,
baptizing person after person—and the people are streaming to him, the people of Jerusalem and all
Judea, and all the region along the Jordan. John is the guy all of us pastors
would be discussing over coffee, or in a corner at the Presbytery meeting. How
does he do it? What’s his secret? But when the rubber hits the road, which is
to say, when Jesus shows up, John completely gets that it’s not about him. A
famous painting of John shows him pointing a finger over his shoulder. The
message is, “Not me. Him.”
5.
And then there’s the water. If we present
ourselves for baptism, we’re going to have to deal with the water. With the
prospect of getting wet, wading in, plunging in. There’s also an unnerving
element of needing to let go, needing to place ourselves and our trust fully in
the arms of the one dunking us. Baptism is a frightening and dangerous act of
trust.
4.
And the waters of baptism can do all kinds of
things. They can wash us clean, but what if I liked my makeup or my hairdo or my
carefully constructed mask??
3.
The waters of baptism also place us in a pool—a
pool with all kinds of other people, and we don’t get to carefully curate our
companions. In choosing to be baptized, Jesus jumped into the pool with all
humanity, and, in a certain sense, we do too. And you know how dangerous humans
are, with their ability to change one another’s hearts. All the beauty and
brokenness, all the sin and glory of messy humanity is in that pool, and so are
we, clinging with all our might to God’s grace to stay afloat…. until we
realize we can stop clinging. We are floating, and it has nothing to do with
our own abilities or might. It’s God who is holding us. That’s the definition
of grace.
2.
And then there is the aftermath. After Jesus was
baptized, the heavens opened and he saw the Holy Spirit descending to rest upon
him. What was that like? What does it mean, to be saturated or covered or
anointed with the Holy Spirit? Ask a baptized person. You will get a variety of
answers. The letter to the Ephesians tells us that, in baptism, the Spirit
equips us for ministry—not all the ministries, but the one or ones to which we
are called. What does that feel like? Being called to ministry? Do we get a
phone call? (Answer: Sometimes.) Do we get a sense that something might give us
joy or energy? (Answer: Sometimes.) Do we get a sinking feeling, a “I can’t say
no to this even though it’s going to be hard” feeling? (Answer: Sorry, but,
sometimes.) If we present ourselves for baptism, we have to be ready for the perilous
aftermath.
1.
And finally: the voice. In baptism we are
claimed by one who calls us beloved. After the heavens open and the Spirit
comes down, the voice of God speaks: “This is my Son, the
Beloved, with whom I am well pleased,” says God. Imagine. How would
it change your life to know that God calls you beloved? You. Not the movie
star, 25 lbs. thinner, several years younger, more hair and muscles, less
baggage you. You. Now. As you are. Now, don’t imagine it. Know it. You are
God’s beloved, and so am I, and so are those people who are driving by the
church right this minute, and so are all the football players on the team you
can’t stand. God calls us all beloved. Beloved. How would it change your life to
know that? How will it change your
life? What possibilities will you dare? What risks will you take?
Baptism seems dangerous to me. It is the first step into a
life that is out of our control—but most assuredly in God’s keeping. It’s the
first step to discovering things about ourselves we could not have otherwise
imagined. And it’s the first step in accomplishing what Howard Thurman calls
the real work of Christmas:
To find the lost,
To heal the broken,
To feed the hungry,
To release the
prisoner,
To rebuild the
nations,
To bring peace among
brothers [and sisters],
To make music in the
heart.
Christmas is over. The work of our baptism, the dangerous,
joyful work of following Christ has begun. Thanks be to God. Amen.
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