Jesus’ baptism is one of the most intriguing stories in the Gospels, not because it underlines the institutional rite but because of the way it validates our humanity. Here’s my sermon from last Sunday.
___________________________
A little over three hundred years after Jesus walked the earth (and Matthew and the others wrote down the gospel stories that had circulated in the early church), the Roman Emperor Constantine made Christianity the official religion of the empire. One of the results of his edict was that the official church needed an official theology so they could tell who followed the rules and who needed to be kicked out or, better yet, executed for heresy.
Yes, I know that is a simplistic historical summary, but it’s still a pretty good one.
The earliest Christians, for example, didn’t spend a lot of time worrying about how Jesus could be both human and divine at the same time. There were some people who tried to explain it—even in our scripture—but they weren’t trying to lay down church law or say it was the way everyone had to see it or else. They were more comfortable, it seems, living with the paradoxes and questions that Jesus offered in the way he lived and in the things he said, perhaps because they were closer to him in time, or perhaps because they weren’t trying to support the empire while telling the life story of someone who tried to turn the empire upside down every chance he got.
Even though Jesus has often been referred to as a king, whether it’s the magi asking where to find him or the soldiers mocking him at the crucifixion, it is not a title he took on willingly or even without irony, as we see when he rode into Jerusalem on a borrowed donkey on what we call Palm Sunday. That event marked the last days of his life; his baptism marked the beginning of his ministry in much the same spirit.
One of my favorite poets, Naomi Shihab Nye, wrote about it in a poem titled, “I Feel Sorry for Jesus.”
I Feel Sorry for Jesus
People won’t leave Him alone.
I know He said, wherever two or more
are gathered in my name…
But I bet some days He regrets it.
Cozily they tell you what he wants
and doesn’t want
as if they just got an e-mail.
Remember “Telephone,” that pass-it-on game
where the message changed dramatically
by the time it rounded the circle?
Well.
People blame terrible pieties on Jesus.
They want to be his special pet.
Jesus deserves better.
I think He’s been exhausted
for a very long time.
He went into the desert, friends.
He didn’t go into the pomp.
He didn’t go into
the golden chandeliers
and say, the truth tastes better here.
See? I’m talking like I know.
It’s dangerous talking for Jesus.
You get carried away almost immediately.
I stood in the spot where He was born.
I closed my eyes where He died and didn’t die.
Every twist of the Via Dolorosa
was written on my skin.
And that makes me feel like being silent
for Him, you know? A secret pouch
of listening. You won’t hear me
mention this again.
As we think about Jesus’ baptism this morning, we need to begin with remembering that what happened to him at the Jordan River was not what we are a part of when we have a baptism. In our liturgy, we often refer to his baptism, but baptism was not something Jesus ever asked of anyone in order to be his follower.
What Jesus went to participate in was a baptism of repentance, which is a word that means more than just being sorry for something. It has more to do with turning around and starting anew, setting a new purpose. That’s why John was out in the wilderness, way past the edge of any town. Matthew says John was calling for people to change their hearts and lives, to change their purpose, because God’s realm, God’s economy was at hand. Jesus showed up to do exactly what John was asking. He came to the wilderness and got in line with everyone else in order to set his heart toward what God wanted him to do. He came to join with the others at the river, not to declare himself separate from them. He wasn’t out there as an act of personal validation; he was there as a part of a communal act of solidarity.
The early theologians—and many who have followed after them—struggled with the idea of Jesus repenting because they were determined that Jesus was sinless so why would he ever need to repent? That issue was not a concern for Matthew and the other gospel writers. As we have seen, the heart of Matthew’s story begins with the messenger saying that the child was to be named “God is With Us.” Now, just two chapters later, God is With Us is standing at the river, waiting to be baptized with everyone else as an act of repentance, a statement of purpose. Whatever Jesus had been doing with his life up to that point was not going to change. At the end of chapter two he was a young boy moving from Egypt to Nazareth. Here at the Jordan, he is thirty or so, making a statement of commitment to God.
The baptism was one of two things that happened in the wilderness. Jesus was baptized and set his heart to God’s purpose, and then he was tempted—tested to see just how committed he was to God’s purpose. (We will look at the temptations next Sunday.)
It’s also worth taking a moment to talk about what we mean by wilderness. If you have ever seen pictures of Israel and Palestine, you know even the settled areas are on the edge of the desert. So, if the cities and towns are already dry and dusty, imagine what they called the wilderness. It was a hard place, which also makes it a worthy metaphor when we talk about the places in our lives where we are perhaps most open to repenting, to making meaningful changes in direction and purpose. Even if we have never been in the desert, all of us have experience in the wilderness.
But I’m getting ahead of myself and skipping over my favorite part of the story.
When John baptized Jesus, he didn’t just pour a few drops of water over him. Jesus walked into the river and John immersed him, dunked him and pulled him up soaked in solidarity. In that moment, the skies opened and a voice said, “This is my beloved child in whom I have taken delight.”
What an amazing occurrence. Jesus committed his heart to God and then God responded by saying, “I love you and you make my heart smile.” What made it even better, is that it all happened in the middle of everyone else who had also been baptized. This was not an individual affirmation; it was a communal epiphany. Everyone was in on it. Jesus came into his own in the middle of the wilderness along with everyone else who was there. He was not in the wilderness alone any more than the Israelites had been in the wilderness alone after they fled from Egypt. They had each other. Jesus had the presence and promise of God’s declaration as he stood in the middle of all the others in the wilderness.
We, too, are not alone in the wilderness, whatever that wilderness is. We are all beloved children of God in whom God finds delight. We are worthy of love. Our baptism marks us as a part of God’s beloved community, promising that even in the wilderness—in spite of it, and sometimes even because of it—God’s claim on our lives is meant to be something everyone can see.
Jesus doesn’t need us to explain him. We are called instead to follow him in repentance: to set our hearts towards doing justice, loving kindness, and walking humbly as beloved children of God. We are called to tune our hearts to God’s purpose, which is to tell everyone they are beloved children of God whom God adores. May we live into our calling. Amen.
Peace,
Milton