DATE: January 12, 2014
SCRIPTURE:
Isaiah 42:1-9 and Matthew 3: 13-17
©Rev. Alison J. Buttrick Patton
Seabury Center
That’s how it begins, Jesus’ grand entrance, according to the gospel of Matthew. John the baptizer stands at the edge of the wilderness, knee-deep in the Jordan River, preaching to the people gathered around him on the shore. All eyes are on him, this disheveled prophet with the commanding presence. Some of the crowd is dripping wet, as though they’ve recently been submerged in the river. John’s voice is ringing out: “Repent; prepare the way!” Then, somewhere over John’s shoulder, out past the crowd in the distance, a figure appears: a tiny dot that turns into a lone person advancing across the rocky terrain. The desert sun turns everything to a silver haze, but as the figure gets closer, you see that he looks about thirty, a working class man with an easy gate and a weather-worn face. The crowd doesn’t notice him at first, but John does. He stops speaking, so the crowd follows his gaze, until all eyes are on the newcomer, who passes through the crowd and walks right up to John – wades into the murky Jordan River, looks at John expectantly, and says, “Hello, cousin.”
OK, we don’t know exactly what he says, but it’s clear what he’s asking. “Baptize me.” John protests at first (“Surely, you should be baptizing me!”), but eventually, he takes Jesus by the shoulders and dunks him in those chilly waters. When Jesus emerges, water streaming down his face and hair, the special effects kick in: clouds part, the sun flashes, something like a dove descends to alight on Jesus and a voice – a voice like Charleston Heston or Alanis Morissette… You choose. A voice says, “This is my Son, my Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”
That’s how it begins: Jesus’ ministry and everything that follows: It begins in the water. At the edge of the wilderness. With a blessing.
Kind of like creation itself. In the beginning, says Chapter one, verse one of the very first book of the Bible, called Genesis, which means beginning, or origin, or story. In the beginning when God created the heavens and the earth, the earth was a formless void and darkness covered the face of the deep, while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters – a ‘wind’ which could also be translated as a ‘breath’ or as ‘Spirit’ and which conjures up the image of wings skimming the waves, like the wings of a dove…
In the beginning, God said: let there be light; let the waters be divided; let there be dry land and plants. Let there be stars and sun and moon; let there be creatures of every kind, creatures that swim and run, crawl and fly. Let there be humankind in our own image…” In the beginning, God said it was good.
That’s how creation begins: with a formless void; and water; and a blessing.
I suspect the writer of Matthew meant us to make the connection between that first genesis, and the second; between creation and new-creation, and then: between Jesus’ story and our own story.
In the beginning, a would-be disciple stands by the font, or on the beach or at the river’s edge, and prepares to relinquish an old life and embrace something new. When we baptize an infant, with very little old life to leave behind, we tend to speak of baptism as the moment when we welcome that child of God into Christian community. But when a person is old enough to choose baptism (which was always the case in the early church), the language of the traditional baptismal liturgy packs a powerful punch: in the waters of baptism we die and rise again to new life in Christ. Those moments under the water, when we cannot breathe, when our eyes and ears are filled with water and everything around is watery silence, those moments are meant to simulate death. And that first sputtering breath we take, when we re-emerge, that’s the first breath of a new life in which we are somehow bound to Christ and made part of Christ’s church.
In our own tradition, we rarely immerse anyone, choosing instead to pour a little water over the person’s head. And I have to say, I lament the loss of that more potent symbolic act of going completely under. Still, the water is present: it runs down the face, and soaks the hair. Still the baby cries, sometimes, or grabs the pastor’s microphone, or tries to run away. Still the adult feels the pressure of the pastor’s hand and hears the words of support uttered by other members of the body of Christ. Still there is a turning, a shift from old to new… So a new season in the life of faith begins: with water, and promises, and a blessing.
There is something compelling, something energizing about beginnings. The beginning of a story, or a project, a new year or a new faith journey: In the beginning, everything is still possible, like a clean slate; a blank canvas; pages yet to be read or days yet to be lived. We can lean into beginnings; we wonder: what will happen? We imagine great things: flashes of light and the voice of God.
That is the gift of beginning – and also what undoes us: in the beginning…anything can happen. Which means, anything. We could stumble, or fail, or find our lives inalterably changed; we could actually feel the brush of spirit-wings, or hear the voice of God… The prospect is enough to take our breath away, to leave us hesitating at the river’s edge, water dripping in our eyes, our knees knocking. The challenge is to keep going anyway, to ask: What next? After we come up for air; after the baby is kissed and the congregation applauds; after that first week, or the first bold brush stroke on the canvas: to take a deep breath, open our hands and say: OK, God: Now what?
Here’s what came next for Jesus, right after that voice proclaimed, “This is my son, my beloved… “ The very next verse in Matthew’s gospel reads, “Then Jesus was led by the Spirit into the wilderness to be tempted by the devil…”
The same Spirit that moved over the face of the water, that dove-like Spirit that descended on Jesus, that life-giving, love-bestowing creative force, took the first opportunity to lead Jesus away from the water and into the wilds where he would suffer hunger and thirst and wrestle with the devil. And after that, Jesus would emerge, call disciples, and launch a ministry: teach, feed, heal, bless, upend, unsettle, restore, transform the world … We’ll read more of that story in the coming weeks, but I mention it here because those verses remind me that the beginning is not half so powerful as what comes next.
In the words of Isaiah, “I, the LORD, have called you for a good reason. I will grasp your hand and guard you, and give you as a covenant to the people, as a light to the nations,
to open blind eyes, to lead the prisoners from prison, and those who sit in darkness from the dungeon.”
We, the church, are called for a reason: called to witness, to spread hope and healing, justice and joy. Our baptism is also our commissioning, our being sent out. Which means the best – and the hardest, are yet to come. As God called Jesus, so we are called to roll up our sleeves and to wade into the water…
Here’s the thing: as soon as we do that, well, we stir up the mud. We splash each other or get water up our noses. We make mistakes. We trod on each other’s toes. We disagree about priorities, about what God is calling us to do. We try some stuff that doesn’t work out. Which is why beginnings are so much more appealing than middles: Middles are messy, and sometimes painful.
Lutheran pastor Nadia Bolz-Weber knows this, and names it out loud, whenever she is welcoming a group of new members to her congregation: Church For All Saints and Sinners. I’ve quoted her before, but this bears repeating. At every new member brunch, Nadia says this, “I’m glad you love it here, but … at some point, I will disappoint you or the church will let you down. Please decide on this side of that happening if, after it happens, you will still stick around. Because if you leave, you will miss the way that God’s grace comes in and fills in the cracks of our brokenness. And it’s too beautiful to miss. Don’t miss it.”
Sisters and brothers, we are at the beginning: the beginning of the gospel story; the beginning of a new year… So what better time to imagine all the possibilities for Saugatuck Church in 2014, to ask, what next? Where is God’s Spirit leading us now? Into what uncharted waters is God calling us to wade? What risks shall we take; what ministries shall we try, even if we fail? What’s happening in our world that we cannot ignore – what prisoners cry out for release? The prophet Isaiah put these words on the lips of God: The things announced in the past—look—they’ve already happened, but I’m declaring new things. Before they even appear, I tell you about them.
I wonder, sisters and brothers in Christ: what might God be telling us, this season? It seems the perfect time to listen…
It also seems the perfect time to re-commit ourselves to this community of faith – this amazing, faith-filled, stumbling, striving, adventuring community of faith. It is the perfect time to remember that this body is not perfect, will never be perfect. but it is blessed, blessed by baptized members old and young; and by those who are just discovering – or rediscovering the Christian faith; blessed by adopted children, wise grandparents, gay folks and straight folks, singles and families of all shapes and sizes; we are blessed by entrepreneurs and artists, teachers and attorneys, problem solvers and question-posers… and blessed — all of us — by the Grace of God that fills in our broken places and binds us together into one body of Christ.
May knowing that give us the courage to embrace this new beginning, to boldly step out in faith. And if, some days, you hesitate, if some mornings you wake up feeling anxious or unsure (as we all get) then begin here: Take your morning shower. Let the water run over your face and remember those words, “This is my Beloved.” Remember that you are loved by God and called to be part of God’s mission. When you wash your hands, remember. When you brush your teeth, remember. When you drink a glass of water, when you spill some down your shirt: Remember. We are loved. In the end, isn’t that what gives us the courage to step out into all our new beginnings? For that I say: Thanks be to God. Amen.
Scripture Texts
Isaiah 42:1–9
But here is my servant, the one I uphold; my chosen, who brings me delight. I’ve put my spirit upon him; he will bring justice to the nations. He won’t cry out or shout aloud or make his voice heard in public. He won’t break a bruised reed; he won’t extinguish a faint wick, but he will surely bring justice. He won’t be extinguished or broken until he has established justice in the land. The coastlands await his teaching. God the LORD says— the one who created the heavens, the one who stretched them out, the one who spread out the earth and its offspring, the one who gave breath to its people and life to those who walk on it— I, the LORD, have called you for a good reason. I will grasp your hand and guard you, and give you as a covenant to the people, as a light to the nations, to open blind eyes, to lead the prisoners from prison, and those who sit in darkness from the dungeon. I am the LORD; that is my name; I don’t hand out my glory to others or my praise to idols. The things announced in the past—look—they’ve already happened, but I’m declaring new things. Before they even appear, I tell you about them.
Matthew 3:13–17
13 Then Jesus came from Galilee to John at the Jordan, to be baptized by him. 14 John would have prevented him, saying, “I need to be baptized by you, and do you come to me?” 15 But Jesus answered him, “Let it be so now; for it is proper for us in this way to fulfill all righteousness.” Then [John] consented. 16 And when Jesus had been baptized, just as he came up from the water, suddenly the heavens were opened to him and he saw the Spirit of God descending like a dove and alighting on him. 17 And a voice from heaven said, “This is my Son, the Beloved, with whom I am well pleased.”