The Rev. Carol S. Wedell
January 11, 2009

Last Sunday night I was sitting in the stands at an indoor soccer complex, watching a tight game between the Eastside Kickers and the Orange Crush.  During every break and before and after the game, you could hear almost all of the adults and youth alike singing the same tune.  "I don't want to go back tomorrow."  Meaning, of course, that either school or work awaited the person who was lamenting.  I did hear of one younger boy who was excited to return to school, but in this group the sentiment seemed unanimous: a couple more weeks at home would have been just fine!  The fact that we are in the longest nights of winter doesn't help.

Christmas has come and gone.  And many of us are still waiting for something. We find ourselves this Sunday following Epiphany trying to figure out what it is that we need to help us enter the New Year feeling renewed rather than frenzied. Even our readings this morning leave us nostalgic for Luke's story of Jesus' birth, and another opportunity to sing "O Come All Ye Faithful." 

Today, though, is the day in the church year when we remember Jesus' baptism - this year as told in the gospel of Mark (which means short, sweet and to the point!)  Our tradition at Church of the Western Reserve, as at many churches, is to use the context of Jesus' baptism to remember our own baptism, our own calling by God, our own moment of being marked as God's own.  We "remember" it symbolically, even if we don't literally remember our own baptism - which for many of us is probably the case.  I sure don't!  It is an important opportunity to reclaim for ourselves yet again, what it means to be a part of God's family, what it means to be loved without question.

When the church asks us to remember our baptism it is not asking us to remember a specific event in our past.  It is calling us to remember who we are - to claim our primary identity.

Have you ever watched a young child sitting on the edge of a pool or on the shore watching his playmates splashing about?  You can see it in his face.  Part of him really wants to join them - it looks so fun, and they are all together, while he is sitting out by himself.  But it also looks scary. He's heard stories and seen pictures. He's been told a million times to be careful around large bodies of water. Water can be dangerous.  It can wipe out thousands of houses in few minutes, or drown someone just as quickly.  And so he sits, not quite sure what to do.  He's just doesn't want to get wet.  Not today, anyway.  Maybe another day.

And he's right of course.  Think about all that we know about water.  We literally can't live without it - we need it for drinking and for cleaning, for growing food.  Yet even in the Bible we hear of floods and waters that overtake the people.  The truth is while we desperately need water, it also has the potential to hurt us.  As described in the reading from Genesis, at its most base form, water is a kind of chaos that needs to be tamed.  Anyone who has watched flood waters destroy knows what I mean.

So with very few words, Mark tells us that "Jesus came from Nazareth of Galilee and was baptized by John in the Jordan.  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."

Notice that unlike some of the other gospels, Mark tells the story of Jesus' baptism as an intimate encounter between himself and God and not a big spectacle for everyone else to see and hear.  What did this baptism mean for Jesus?  It certainly didn't mean that it would keep him safe from trouble.  We know too well how the story of Jesus goes.

Rather, it seems that what Jesus' baptism meant to him was an acknowledgement of his new name:  beloved.   When he found himself in trouble, he wouldn't find himself alone.  When things weren't going his way, he would still have God's words in his head, and the Spirit's company. And it means the same thing for each one of us.   God's love for us doesn't depend upon us, upon what we do or don't do.  God's grace doesn't wash off.  Because Jesus was baptized as we are, wherever we go, Jesus goes too.

An online colleague tells the following story:  Kathy had been participating in a spiritual retreat. During the final hour on the final day, each participant was invited to come to the center of the circle and declare out loud the "name" by which he or she was called, the name by which the Holy Spirit had anointed each one to do God's work in the world. The exercise was going really well until a certain young man stepped into the center and sat down. The group waited. Silence. They waited some more. More silence. Polite Protestant impatience began to express itself... creaking of chairs, clearing of throats, glances at watches, surreptitious counting of the ones who hadn't yet been to the center of the circle.

The young man finally lifted his gaze from his hands in his lap to a place above their heads. "I've prayed and looked for my name for three days. It isn't there." That broke the polite silence in the room. What does he mean, exactly... "The name isn't there"?

"It's not that I didn't want any of those names we talked about. But they aren't strong enough," he confessed to the group. "They aren't strong enough to undo the one I already have. My father gave it to me. Over and over again. My name is..." He stopped and his gaze dropped back down to his hands. Then he almost whispered. "My name is ‘Not good enough.'"

There was silence then, deep enough to drown in. Tears formed in many eyes. The group watched and listened, helplessly standing by on the shores of this man's grief, this dangerous confession of inadequacy. Then there was a stir and a handful of the retreat participants got up and circled the drowning man. An ancient tradition... the laying on of hands... then spontaneously one voice uttered the words, "You are my beloved son. With you I am well pleased." Another voice joined in. A chorus of voices, male and female, arose, surrounding the young man, buoying him with love and affirmation. And in that moment, the group found themselves witnesses to a rebirth. (Ginny McDaniel, Midrash 1/9/09)

Mark tells us that the "heavens (were) torn apart" before the Spirit dive-bombed Jesus.  And for all of us who have been hearing the wrong name it is precisely in that torn place that the Spirit comes, bringing the words we all need to hear:  "You are my child - my son, my daughter, my beloved, with you I am well pleased." 

I'm guessing that more than a few of you are living a "torn" place right now.  I've talked to too many this week whose lives are turned upside down - the loss of a job, the spouse who leaves after decades of marriage, saying, "I never loved you,"  the vibrant parent who discovers that his life is to be cut short - soon, the person whose chronic mental illness is impacted by the current weather and other circumstances, the child who is being bullied at school or constantly yelled at at home, the spouse who is coping with the dementia of  their life  companion, the teen who can't seem to find a place to fit in, the older person being forced to look at moving out of a comfortable home or dealing with increasing health issues, the man or woman who has severed all ties with their family because of years of damaging behavior, the young adult, middle aged single or retiree who isn't sure if there will be enough money for food this month, the family where anger is just under the surface, ready to explode, the woman living with chronic pain, and so many more all know a great deal about those torn places - more than any of us want to know.

For all of us, in whatever torn place we may find ourselves, the voice of the Spirit invites us to remember and claim the words at our baptism. You are God's child, deeply and unconditionally loved.  Finally, you belong somewhere.  Remember who you really are - don't believe the lies that you hear in a thousand places.  Look and see in yourself what God sees in you:  someone worthy of love and respect and compassion.  This is your name:  beloved.  In God's language it can be nothing else. You are a member of God's family - a family big enough to include everyone who responds to that voice. A family where water is thicker than blood. For any of us who wonder if we really belong, if there is a place for us, here is the answer - yes, yes, yes.

To remember our baptism is to seek balance on a storm-tossed sea, knowing that we can clasp on to Jesus' shoulders like holding on to a life raft.  We are not alone.  As dangerous as water can be, the giant waves of life will not drown us. Like the little boy sitting on the edge of the pool, it isn't entirely safe to risk getting wet with the waters of baptism. But look at what we miss if we avoid getting wet!

Sometimes, we make the baptism, particularly of infants, into something so "nice" that we neglect to mention the uncomfortable aspects of inviting God's Spirit to invade our lives. It's fairly common for parents to be concerned that their child will misbehave or their baby will cry during their baptism.   And a part of me thinks that is how it should be.  Because that is real life.  Baby's cry.  Life can be hard.  I've had baby's spit up on me, take off my microphone or nearly jump out of my arms so they can play with the baptismal water.  And all of those very real life moments remind us that it isn't our perfect behavior that is being claimed in baptism.  God's love, God's grace and a new name - beloved-are what we receive when we are willing to get wet.

To be baptized, to get wet in these waters, isn't just some nice ritual we perform.  It is an initiation into a new family, where life can indeed by dangerous.  It also comes with an invitation - to enter into the same life-changing ministry that Jesus initiated.  When we find ourselves face-to face with a love that comes with no strings attached, we cannot help but respond with gratitude, gratitude lived out in every aspect of our lives.  If God can love us and let us into the family - then who are we to leave anyone out?  As we live into our baptismal name we are the ones who extend the welcome to those standing on the outside, wondering if there is room in this family for them.  Mother Teresa was asked what she considered to be the biggest problem in the world today? She answered, "The biggest problem in the world today is that we draw the circle of our family too small. We need to draw it larger every day."

You know, once a year is not often enough for us to be reminded that we are beloved members of God's family.  How different would our lives be, how different would we be, if every morning when we woke up, our first thought was: I am a beloved child of God?

But here is good news!  Because God chooses to use the most common and earthy substances to remind us who we are, every day is a day to be reminded to whom we belong.  As we get up and shower or wash our face, as we take a long drink of water, as rain pours from the sky, the water of baptism surrounds us.  So not just today, but every day, let us remember our baptism and be glad!

still, waters

like water skimmers,

we simply glide along

the smooth facade of our lives,

    till you come running up,

    diving right in,

    coming up with rivulets

    caressing your big grin,

        as you splash water

        in our eyes so we can

            see;

we drift along

just below the surface,

occasionally coming up for air,

hoping you cannot spy us

hiding in the shadowed pools,

    but you step in

    with your waders on,

    tying the special fly

    the Spirit made for you,

        casting, casting, casting,

        again and again,

            until we take that first bite

            of your grace

            and we are hooked;

throwing caution to the wind,

you drive out onto our frozen souls,

setting up the shack,

chipping through the ice,

dropping your line in the hole,

    patiently waiting

    (while you pass the bread

        and bottle around

        with your two buddies)

    to pull us into

        the warmth of your heart.

(c) 2008  Thom M. Shuman