Who's Baptizing Whom?

2015-01-11 Mk 01 04-11 Who's Baptizing Whom?

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If you have small kids, or if you had children who were small before becoming progressively larger, you know the true joy of Christmas isn't just in the getting of gifts; it's also in the getting rid of gifts. The Gifts of Christmas Past. It's called, The Purge. There's so much more room in Santa's sleigh than there is in your house. Right? Now that the tree has turned dangerously brown and everything's covered in needles, you do The Purge. You hold up the aging Polly Pocket and you say to your child like a southern prosecutor, "You're not really going to play with this dilapidated, old, toy, ever, again. Isn't that right?" And you put Polly and last year's version of Elmo, and Woody and Buzz the dinosaur in a box. And with a big Sharpie you write, "Garage Sale" on the side. Just like in Toy Story. And you take it down to the dark, damp basement with all the other boxes marked, "Garage Sale," that you're going to get around to. THIS spring. And you just feel, lighter. Cleaner. Relieved. And so will your kids. As soon as they let go of the box and feel their way back upstairs. There's only so much stuff you can put in your house before the people from the TV show about hoarders show up. And once you've done The Purge, you feel good. You feel free.

We all accumulate. Sometimes it's physical stuff, like toys. Power tools. Shoes. Games, gizmos and gadgets. Ball caps. Star Wars action figures. Beanie Babies. UT bobbleheads. There's a thin line between "collecting" and a cry for help.

But sometimes, we're more weighed down by stuff we can't see. You know, the stuff stuffed in our heart, our spirit, our mind? They tell us we only use 20% of our brains, so there's a lot of space up there. Some have more than others. We accumulate habits that turn into addictions. We pick up points of view that turn into prejudice. Or ways of speaking, or twisted ways of thinking, or ways of acting that are just plain ugly. Sinful. And we know they're messing us up, but that's the direction we've been going for as long as we can remember. A person in motion remains in motion. A brain at rest remains at rest.

And we build up immunity. If you've spent the past year, or past years, or past generations being a certain way, you've got a lot of momentum. It's so hard to stop. It's so hard to stand firm when the tide's slamming against you.

Maybe that's why John the Baptist was so popular even Jesus came to him. When we do that purge, that confession, that repentance for the forgiveness of sin, there's this incredible lightness that falls over us. We feel lighter, cleaner. Maybe even born anew. We open the box and shake out all the broken pieces and it feels so right. Right with God. Right with the world. Almost as if the skies are opening and God's saying, "Well done. I'm proud of you."

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Mark, chapter 1, verse 9 says, "In those days Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan." He came with all the other people from the countryside and the big city to be baptized in repentance for the forgiveness of sins. This much we know. 

People always ask - or often ask - Did Jesus really need to? 

Preachers do all sorts of gymnastics around this one. Because confessing sins you don't have makes no sense. Maybe Jesus had some secret sin the Bible won't talk about. Or maybe it was because he was tempted, and temptation itself is sinful. You could argue that our traditional, Christian definition of sin is too limited. That sin is more than our personal peccadilloes (and that's a good word that just sounds naughty). You could say sin is more than just bad thoughts or bad actions; sin's the general human condition of separation from God. OK. Explain that in a Children's Sermon.

But see what comes next. I think that's the really, really important part.

Verses 10 and 11 say, "And just as he was coming up out of the water, he saw the heavens torn apart and the Spirit descending like a dove on him. And a voice came from heaven, "You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased."

What's clear in verses 10 and 11 is the affirmation. The blessing. The love. The pride. Jesus was blessed. The Father, Son, and Holy Spirit all sang as one in a mystical moment of Triune harmony. There was a blessing. And it was glorious. Could Jesus have gone on to do what he did without that moment of blessing in the river of confession? I have no idea. Baptism is a sign, and an act, of unconditional love. Unconditional love does not do gymnastics.

People talk a lot about unconditional love. But until conditions are unfavorable, it's just talk. God's love dives past, parts the waters of conditions. The entire, physical world is built on laws of condition, laws of cause and effect, laws of action and reaction, of force against force. True, heavenly, unconditional love is not from this world. It's just kind of one of those things we that we know it when we see it. 

Like the man with nothing to confess going to be baptized.

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In this part of the country, you can get into arguments about baptism. How much water you use, how deep it is, and whether you can do it every Sunday. We don't baptize as often as some churches. And we only do it once. And we sprinkle. In the Presbyterian church, we say, once you're baptized, you're always baptized, whether we do it here, or you had it done in some other church, or in a river, or in a hospital. You just get it once, and it sticks. And it doesn't matter if the minister or the priest messed up and called you by the wrong name, or spilled the water, or forgot half the words. But in our church and our Tradition, baptism is one and done, and it's good.

And we baptize babies. Babies who are just as sinless as Jesus. I've talked before about how baptizing babies is my absolute favorite part of being a minister. It's as close to heaven as we'll ever get on earth. And it's not because the babies are so cute (they are). And it's not because the parents and grandparents are so happy (they are). It's not because of anything any one of us does. Or accomplishes. Or confesses. Or doesn't confess. Or forgets to do. I look out after a baptism and some of you are crying. Usually the same ones. You're the town criers. That's what you do. Tears and laughter and splashing with joy are completely appropriate responses when there are no words to describe the wonder and peace of unconditional love. Through our actions, God saying, "This is my son. This is my daughter. This is my child in whom I am well pleased." It's a blessing. And it sticks.

I think Jesus' baptism did as much or more for the practice of baptism than it ever did for him. By following his example, we have a model for how to say the unsayable. We have an outward sign of inward grace that simply is. We don't know how or why it works and it doesn't really matter whether we do or not. It just does. And for that, we are grateful. 

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It's interesting to me that the Lectionary pairs this passage with one from Genesis, first chapter, first verses.

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. Then God said, "Let there be light; and there was light. And God saw that the light was good; and God separated the light from the darkness. God called the light Day, and the darkness he called Night. And there was evening and there was morning, the first day.

The first day. A new day. A new beginning. The beginning of beginnings. The start of starts.

The new year is when people make resolutions. All the commercials that aren't for GEICO are about weight loss. Or health clubs. New year, new you. Shed the pounds. Shed the sins of Sonic Blasts. Repent the foul fiend of fried food. Call upon the holy name of Marie Osmond and ye shall be saved. Yea, verily, brothers and sisters, you can be cleansed and start anew.

But it's so hard. Which is why we see the same commercials year after year, why we keep losing the same 20 pounds, year after year, why we keep making the same promises to ourselves and our loved ones, year after year after year, why there's so much regret piled up in our spiritual basements, so much anxiety in our mental attics. There's so much we have done we wish we hadn't. There's so much left undone that should have been.

A new day, a new beginning, the beginning of beginnings – the dumping of darkness, the start of a new creation – it's almost, almost something only God can do.

Jesus rose up out of the darkness covering the deep. Jesus rose up while a wind from God swept over the face of the waters and there was light. There was lightness. Jesus showed us that God is all about washing away the junk that weighs us down. Jesus shows us God's all about the light and the lightness of new beginnings.

John baptized Jesus in the waters. But Jesus baptizes us with the new light of a new day. How does it work? We don't know. It's not about what we've done; it's about what God is doing. God is still creating. God is still baptizing us with grace enough for another day. Day after day. Days enough to fill a new year.

What if? What if your life was filled NOT with all the junk you've accumulated – and sometimes that can be a lot – what if your life was NOT filled to bursting with all the junk you've accumulated, but instead ful-filled with the light of Christ? 

What if this year was guided NOT by all the stuff you resolve to do? What if instead your days, your year was a new creation, formed and re-formed by God who says of you: "You are my beloved; with you I am well-pleased"? No fees. No conditions. No even unreasonable offers refused.

What if?

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All of us have stuff we need to get rid of this year. But the baptism of Christ shows us God's already gotten rid of it. God got rid of it long before we knew we needed to. You're already God's beloved. Be pleased and be pleasing today, tomorrow, and all year long.