Baptism of the Lord          
Luke 3:15-17, 21-22
January 10, 2010                                                                                   

Baptizatus Sum

          At least twice a year this church family goes back to the old home place.  We stroll round the grounds and tell family stories.  We sit on the porch and listen to the old folks talk.  We walk out to the cemetery and trace our fingers over the names carved into the grave stones.  We pass round the babies and comment on how beautiful they are.  And before we go back home, we sum up our thanks in a prayer. 

          We do this, as I say, at least two times a year: on the eve of Easter and today, the Sunday designated “Baptism of the Lord.”  That’s because the home place we revisit on these occasions is not a farmstead out in Texas or a brownstone up in Connecticut, but a ritual act.  We match our promises with the ones that God made to us long ago. We take some water and pour in into a font.  We say a prayer.   We hold our breath and we plunge in. 

          We pass through the water with the children of Israel.  We wade out into the Jordan River with John.  Strong hands reach out to us and we let go of everything that holds us back.  We fall into those hands.  We pass under the water, where death awaits.  We are drawn up out of the water, emerging like newborns from the womb.  We die with Christ and are reborn to new life with him.  The heavens are torn apart.  The Spirit descends like a dove.  A voice both terrible and tender whispers in our ears:  “You are my child,  my beloved.  With you I am well pleased.”

          All of this happens in baptism – and more – so much more that words cannot contain the meaning of this sacrament.  That’s what sacraments do – convey a truth and grace beyond mere words.  Somehow baptism begins not with us, or with our ancestors in the faith, or even with Christ himself.  Baptism begins with the breath of God, brooding over the watery chaos on the very first day of creation.  Before God made the heavens and the earth, God had us in mind.  God claimed you and me from the foundation of the world. 

          At the heart of baptism is the doctrine of election, the teaching that before we can choose God, God, out of pure grace, chooses us. This was a teaching dear to John Calvin’s heart.  He thought believing in election would keep Christians humble.

          Unfortunately, amongst Calvin’s followers, it tends to have the opposite effect.  The misapplication of the doctrine of election leads to tautologies such as “pompous Presbyterians” and “self-righteous Calvinists.”  A member of the British Parliament back in 1776 said, “I would rather face an well-armed regiment of soldiers than one Calvinist convinced he’s doing the will of God.”

          Such insight!  And this fellow never attended a session meeting.

          But the doctrine of election needn’t make us pompous and self righteous – not if we understand it rightly.  “Consider your own call,” wrote the apostle Paul to the Christians of Corinth,

. . . not many of you were wise by human standards, not many were powerful, not many were of noble birth. But God chose what is foolish in the world to shame the wise; God chose what is weak in the world to shame the strong; God chose what is low and despised in the world, things that are not, to reduce to nothing things that are so that no one might boast in the presence of God.  (I Cor. 26-29)

          Nothing proclaims the doctrine of election more eloquently than baptism itself.  None of us comes to these waters on our own.  We are brought here, delivered by the Spirit.  Like young Emma, we have no power or virtue or status before God.  We cannot ascend to God.  Therefore God descends to us, claims us, and marks us as Christ’s own forever.

          I don’t know what’s ahead for Emma in her life.  Perhaps great success and happiness, quite possibly some heartache and sorrow.  If she’s anything like as sharp as her parents, she’s not likely to suffer from any lack of brain power, but perhaps a day will come when, like Martin Luther, she feels as though he’s bitten off more than she can chew, that her life is going down the tube, and the devil has her by the throat. 

          We must teach Emma to do as Martin Luther did – to dip her thumb into the inkwell of her writing desk and scrawl across it “Baptizatus sum!”  “I have been baptized.” 

          Of course, in Emma’s case, she will probably have to write this on her tablet computer.  No matter.  The fact remains that from this day forth, Emma belongs to God.  No matter how hard life gets.  No matter what its challenges and sorrows, this simple fact will always describe God’s servant Emma Bailey:  Baptizatus sum!  I have been baptized.  God has placed God’s mark on me and I belong to God.

          Not long ago I was searching the Book of Confessions for a statement to use in a workshop for young people who might be considering the ministry of the Word and Sacrament.  I ran across this wonderful passage in the Second Helvetic Confession:

Now to be baptized in the name of Christ is to be enrolled, entered, and received into the covenant and family, and so into the inheritance of the [children] of God . . .  Baptism, therefore, calls to mind and renews the great favor God has shown to the race of mortal men.  For we are all born in the pollution of sin and are the children of wrath.  But God, who is rich in mercy, freely cleanses us from our sins by the blood of his Son, and in him adopts us to be his [children], and by a holy covenant joins us to himself, and enriches  us with various gifts, that we might live a new life.  All these things are assured by baptism. 

          Enrolled, entered, received, cleansed, adopted, enriched – now there’s a list of verbs to live by.  And every one describes what God does for us simply because God loves us.

          Every time we participate in a baptism, we reaffirm our own place in God’s family.  We remember that everything God is doing for Emma today, God has done for us, and for the same reason.  Not because we deserve it.  Not because we are in any position to expect it, but simply because God loves us. 

          Even as we Christians take part in this response to God’s grace in this ritual act we have come to call the sacrament of baptism, we are aware of how quickly the ground is shifting beneath us.  Gone are the days when we Christians could assume a privileged place in society.  The days of  de facto establishment are past, even here in what used to be the Bible belt. 

          Unless your name is Rip Van Winkle you have to know that on the world stage, Christianity is just one amongst an array of religions, and within our own culture there is no longer any status attached to the fact that we have been baptized.  If anything, overt faith in the Triune God is becoming a hindrance, not an asset.  These days it’s much better to be “spiritual” than “religious.”  It makes you sound less presumptuous and frees up your Sunday mornings to sleep late and read the New York Times.

          To be baptized therefore is not just to receive God’s blessing.  It’s also to begin a journey toward the cross.  To be a Christian is to swim against the stream, to walk a narrow path, to follow Christ across boundaries of race and class and culture. That’s why Emma’s baptism, which is begun today, will not be complete until she has lived her whole life in service to the God who has loved her from the foundation of the world. 

          Baptism is not just a blessing; it’s also a calling, a sign of lifelong vocation.  So it is for Emma, and so it is for all the baptized.  This is what we must teach Emma as she grows in wisdom, and in stature, and in favor with God and human beings. 

          We rejoice this day in the grace the claims us, in the God who welcomes us, and in the gospel which sends us into the world to be a blessing to all people.  And now we respond to that grace in the sacrament of baptism  . . .

 

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