Sermon – Isaiah 58.9b-14, P16, YC, August 21, 2022

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baptism, church, community, darkness, Episcopal Church, faith, Jesus, journey, light, messy, salvation, Sermon, water

Last night, we baptized Becky Breshears in the waters of the Chickahominy River.  When most of us think of baptism, we imagine the baptism of an infant or child, someone for whom godparents make promises to raise in the life of the faith, much like we did with baby Olivia a few weeks ago.  The sacrament of baptism for a child is certainly considered being fully initiated into the family of Christ, but we make pronouncements and promises on behalf of the baptized.  And as the baptized grows up, we continue to shepherd and guide her, answer her questions, and help her claim her faith as her own.  There is an endearing, almost romantic, notion to baptism, full of idealism and hope. 

At least, that seems to be true in Episcopal Churches, where we quite primly and gently pour water from beautiful fonts over the heads of babies – the messiest part being if the water accidently runs into the baby’s eyes.  Of course, adult baptism is totally normal in our tradition too, we just do not do adult baptism as frequently.  When we do adult baptism, we become much more like other denominations, who have always understood baptism to be a mature proclamation of one’s own faith.  In some ways an adult baptism is more exciting because an adult baptism is not about something we hope and pray will develop into a faithful life, but adult baptism is the fully developed proclamation now – a set of pronouncements and promises on one’s own behalf.  An adult baptism is bold, dramatic, and, especially in instances like last night, much messier!

But adult baptism, especially in the Episcopal Church, are not about proclaiming one has her faith life all figured out – that she has some sense of earned clarity and certainty that has led her to baptism, as if baptism is the end of a journey of discernment.  Quite the opposite; baptism is a beginning for Episcopalians.  The baptized does not proclaim she knows all there is to know about faith and salvation.  Instead, the baptized claims that she is starting a new journey with Jesus, with a community of faith who walks with her.  And part of the act of baptism is giving the newly baptized tools to walk that journey.

That’s why I love the lesson from Isaiah today.  Instead of scripture capturing a moment (like a baptism), scripture today tells us what the baptized journey will be like.  Isaiah describes five things that are critical to the life of baptism.  First, the faithful will “remove the yoke from among you” – or in modern language, be an agent of economic liberation for the oppressed, not taking advantage of others.  Second, the faithful will refrain from “pointing the finger,” or take responsibility for one’s own actions, not accusing others but acting to change the self.  Third, the faithful will “refrain from speaking evil,” because “speech, when it is careless or deceitful, can be destructive and injurious.”[i]  Our words have power and are to be used for good.  Fourth, the faithful are to “offer food to the hungry.”  The life of the faithful is a life of self-sacrifice and sharing what we have learned to call our own.  And finally, we are to “satisfy the needs of the afflicted” – not just helping others or solving their problems but letting the disadvantaged “define their own needs and letting them set the criteria for deciding whether our help is effective.”[ii]

What the prophet Isaiah tells us is that as the faithful, we structure our lives differently than the secular, self-interested world might have us live.  That includes honoring even the sabbath – this holy day, not as just a day to go to church (though I hope you all will regularly – either in person or online), but also to be a day of honoring God through letting go of the self and focusing on the Lord and on the cares of those in need.   That’s why in our gospel lesson Jesus’ actions of healing others on the sabbath is so controversial – because Jesus reminds us the sabbath is a day of selflessness, healing, and giving glory to God.

Last night, Becky committed herself to that life, and we, as fellow baptized recommit ourselves this very day, to a life lived differently – a life lived in the light of Christ.  The prophet Isaiah tells us that when we live faithful lives, our light shall rise in the darkness, the Lord will guide us continually, will satisfy our needs in parched places, make our bones strong, and we shall be like a watered garden – a spring – whose waters never fail.  We shall be repairers of the breach, restorers of the streets to live in. 

Earlier I used the language of self-sacrifice.  What the Holy Spirit does in baptism and what the Church tries to continue to do on every sabbath is relocate the self from the center of our universe and place us firmly within a community of faith who cares for one another while placing God in the center of our universe.  When we take that step in baptism or renew the step our parents took for us, and in gathering in weekly worship (whether gathering in person or gathering virtually), we commit not to having this faith thing figured out – but just that we want to live a life where our parched places are always quenched through the living waters of baptism, and where our lives become bigger than they have ever been – where our lives shine the light of Christ in the darkness.  Amen.

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[i] Jon L. Berquist, “Exegetical Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. C, Vol. 3, Supplement for P16 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2010), 4.

[ii] Berquist, 4.

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The Truth about Weddings…

Tags

abundance, Anglican Communion, Cana, conflict, Episcopal Church, feast, God, Jesus, joy, marriage, miracle, pain, tension, water, wedding, wine

Photo credit:  http://www.freebibleimages.org/photos/wedding-cana/

Almost two years ago, we welcomed our second daughter, Cana into the world.  We have gotten countless questions about the choice of her name and we find ourselves telling the story about the wedding in Cana over and over again.  Sometimes the repetition is annoying.  But mostly, retelling the story is a gift in itself.  You see, the story of Jesus’ first miracle is a story of great joy.  There is the setting of a wedding – one already filled with merriment and delight.  There is the wonder of a miracle – the amazing ability of Jesus to convert water into wine.  And there is the shock of abundance – not just the enormous amount of wine that Jesus produces, but also the best wine of the evening.  There are certainly questions in the story:  What is happening between Jesus and Mary?  Is this kind of miracle an exercise in indulgence?  Why does Jesus choose this as his first miracle?  But the questions usually fade in comparison to the joy.  Jesus chooses an occasion of joy to bring forth a miracle of abundance and pleasure.  I cannot help but smile every time I read the story.

Attending a wedding this weekend, hearing the story of Cana in Sunday’s lectionary, and thinking about our own daughter Cana, I cannot help but be left with a sense of gratitude for the gift of abundant joy given to us by Jesus in his first miracle.  There are parts of Jesus’ story that are neither joyful nor abundant.  But this first miracle gives us a taste – a literal and delightful taste – of the abundance of God’s love and kingdom.  I really cannot seem to wipe the smile off my face when I think of any of the three of those reminders of Jesus’ abundance and grace.

Perhaps that is why I am so saddened by the continued discord in the Anglican Communion about gay marriage.  In my country, the occasion of the legalization and blessing of gay marriage in the Episcopal Church has been a source of great joy for my gay and lesbian brothers and sisters, as well as their allies.  That, coupled with the ordination of gay and lesbian clergy, has left many in our church feeling a deep connection to the joy and abundance that Christ brings.  And yet, that joy is bringing great sadness to a large portion of the Anglican Communion.  Here we are at the earthly banquet, and instead of a joyful occasion of abundance, we are at a different feast – one where family drama and strife is overshadowing the joy of some of our members.

The irony of the wedding of Cana being appointed for the same Sunday that the Episcopal Church is grappling with the Anglican Communion Primates’ decision to suspend the full participation of the Episcopal Church in the life and work of the Anglican Communion is not lost on me.  But maybe that is the truth of every wedding – the constant tension between heavenly grace and abundance and human sinfulness and frailty.  Behind every dreamy wedding is some glossed over (or sometimes very obvious) family drama.  But even in the midst of family tension, there are usually moments of grace – glimpses of the abundance Jesus wants to shower upon us.  That is what I am grasping onto this week:  in the midst of pain, and facing the ambiguity of these next years in the Anglican Communion, God will keep breaking through with abundance, joy, and miracle.  Though I do not know all the answers to the biblical or the ecclesiastical story, I am grateful for the gift of Cana.

Sermon – Mark 1.4-11, E1, YB, January 11, 2015

Tags

baptism, beloved, God, Jesus, sacred, Sermon, water

I have always had an affinity for water.  I am not sure why, but something about water connects to something deep in my soul.  Whether listening to water bubble over rocks in a river, hearing the roar of a waterfall, listening to a lake lap on the shore, or hearing the crashing of waves on the beach, something about the sound of water quiets my mind and connects with some deeper part of me.  Some of my most intimate conversations with God have taken place near water – times when I was facing a big transition, times when I was worried about a major life event, or times when I had run out of things to say and just needed a place to just listen.  Whether a quiet drip or trickle or a roaring rush, somehow the noise of water connects me to the mysterious and transcendent voice of God.

To be honest, I have always thought my connection to the water was a little strange.  But this week, as I studied our lessons, my connection suddenly made sense.  Water has always been a part of our faith narrative.  When we celebrate a baptism, we always retell the biblical story of water.  One denomination retells the biblical story this way, “Eternal Father, when nothing existed but chaos, you swept across the dark waters and brought forth light.  In the days of Noah you saved those on the ark through water.  After the flood, you set in the clouds a rainbow.  When you saw your people as slaves in Egypt you led them to freedom through the sea.  Their children you brought through the Jordan to the land which you promised.  In the fullness of time you sent Jesus, nurtured in the water of a womb.”[i]  Of course we know there are countless other water stories in scripture: Jonah who is thrown into the sea and swallowed by a great fish, Jesus who calms the seas and walks on water, women encountering God as they draw water in wells, and eunuchs running to rivers to be baptized.  Water is everywhere in our biblical narrative, and is where many people see, hear, taste, and feel God in their lives.

Today, we hear one of those ultimate stories of water – in fact, today is a feast day in the Episcopal Church:  Jesus’ baptism in the waters of the river Jordan.  When Jesus comes to be baptized, baptism in the river Jordan has already been transformative for many.  People from all over the Judean countryside have been coming to John to confess their sins, repent, and be baptized into forgiveness.  As if those experiences of conversion were not enough, something even more extraordinary happens in that water.  Jesus comes from Nazareth to be baptized by John, and when he comes up out of the water, the heavens are torn apart and the Spirit descends upon him like a dove.  Then a voice comes from heaven, saying, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”  Just like all those other stories of water in the biblical story, something sacred and transformative happens in water – something so powerful that the heavens are torn apart, the Spirit descends, and the Lord proclaims favor, love, and affection.

Many of us do not remember our own baptism in water.  Though adults and young people are certainly welcome to be baptized later in life, most of us are baptized as infants.  Unless our parents or godparents told us the story of our baptism, we have no idea if we cried or cooed that day.  We have no idea what emotions or thoughts the priest or our sponsors had that day.  We have no idea whether we were inherently changed by the water that was poured over our heads.  For most of us, the holy experience of water at our own baptism is a lost memory.  But the Church does not let us forget the power of baptismal waters.  Every year we celebrate the feast of Jesus’ baptism.  Every year, we reaffirm our baptismal covenant – often multiple times per year.  And depending on the membership of the church, every year we baptize new members into the life of the church.  So even if we do not remember our own baptism, the repetition of the story of baptism, and the experience of reaffirming our vows, creates new memories for us.  That formation is so powerful that many of us will dip our fingers in Holy Water, looking for a blessing and a reminder of another water that was once poured over our heads.

But today is not a day just to celebrate sacred experiences with water.  Today is not just a day when we think back to our own encounters at the font and how holy they were.  Today is not just a day we think back to those biblical stories of water in our faith and marvel at the miracles that have happened through water.  Today is not just a day that we remember those moments by a river, lake, or beach where God seemed to be whispering comfort, truth, or blessing to us.  The danger with the text we hear from Mark today is that we could be tempted to do just that.  Our lesson ends with those words from the voice of heaven that says, “You are my Son, the Beloved; with you I am well pleased.”  We could sit here today and savor those words for Jesus.  In fact, I could tell you today that those words are words for you – that you are God’s beloved and with you God is well pleased.  I could do those things because they are true.  You are God’s beloved and God is well pleased with you.  The baptismal waters should always remind you of that – and others waters, like rivers, waterfalls, and oceans, may do the same.

But today we do not simply celebrate the gift of blessing, beloved-ness, and bounty.  Today is the day when we celebrate the “so what?” of Jesus’ baptism.  As one scholar explains, “Jesus did not receive the Spirit in order to enjoy privately its spiritual benefits, but rather in order to pass it on.”[ii]  In Mark’s gospel, in the immediate next verse, Jesus is driven out into the wilderness to be tempted.  His baptism opens a road that will lead to the cross.  For Jesus, his entire ministry is informed by this moment – this tremendous in-breaking of the Spirit and a declaration of Jesus as being the beloved of God.  But Jesus does not tarry in this moment.  Jesus keeps on moving, holding fast to the moment, but using the moment to change his future.

That is our invitation today too:  to think about the “so what?” of our own baptisms.  When I think about all of those sacred moments I have had near water, a distinct part of that memory is what walking away from those moments felt like.  Sometimes I walked away from that bubbling brook with a sense of peace that God would be with me in the trials that were ahead.  Sometimes I turned from that lapping lake with a sense of empowerment and energy about what new thing God was calling me to do.  And sometimes I walked away from that roaring ocean having no idea what was to come, but knowing that God would help me face whatever came.

Our invitation today is to consider the “so what?” of our own sacred watery moments.  You can come to Jesus’ story today like you would come to a body of water for renewal and refreshment.  You can soak in the blessing and affirmation that come to Jesus and to you.  But you will also need to walk out of those doors today.  In fact, our liturgy does not let you leave this place without a dismissal that sends you out in the world to do the work that God has given you to do.  The question this week is what that work is.  What is God renewing you for?  What is God empowering you to do?  The answers will be different for each of us.  But the answer is there, if you are willing to listen to the sacred sound of water.  Amen.

[i] Barbara Sholis, “A watery solution,” Christian Century, vol. 119, no. 26, December 18-31, 2002, 19.

[ii] Lee Barrett, “Theological Perspective,” Feasting on the Word, Yr. B, Vol. 1 (Louisville: Westminster John Knox Press, 2008), 240.